Forced Bonds

Chapter 51

[Unknown]
December 26, 10:59 EDT

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There is a large pain in his head as Tim starts to wake. The feeling makes him dizzy and he leans to the side where he empties his stomach. Once finished, the remaining acid sting his throat and the boy lets out a groan in displeasure. Cracking his eyelids open, he eyes the black puddle before him. It doesn't register that puke isn't normally that color. Tim looks around, his head lolling to far in every direction.

Blood seems to stain every part of the room, the stones painted a dark brown with the crusty fluid. As if several bodies had been slammed into it, the door seems to be the most stained. At least, that's what Tim supposed. The lighting is dim, which he is thankful for. There is nothing worse than waking up in a hospital bed after a head injury. It doesn't matter how comfortable the pillows are, the light just bores through one's skull.

In an attempt to stand, Tim takes notice of the lack of bindings. The skin around his wrists and ankles are raw, like one would expect after being held hostage...

Oh, and his clothes are gone too.

The cold has numbed his body. Not quite to the point of chattering teeth, but it helps to negate the pain of his injuries. He did a once over of his body. Skinny... but he was always skinny. Perhaps gaunt was a better word. Tim hadn't eaten in a long while... Bruises seem to litter his skin. Deathstroke let that butler dude use him as a punching bag, something about a reward? Tim racks his brain, but can't seem to recall anything.

He brings his attention back to the room. Deathstroke must've moved him, he doesn't recognize the design. The room looks like it had been chipped out, nothing like the smooth concrete of Deathstroke's base. "I would've gone with... some iron bars. Maybe add some chains. Jeez, this place looks like a mineshaft," Tim says absently. He coughs as the rancid taste in his mouth seems to climb up his throat again.

Tim steps towards the metal slab of a door. It hurts to move, thankfully it is easier due to the temperature. However, if he were to lay down again, he might get hypothermia from the rocks. Actually... he might already have it. Wasn't it the most dangerous when you weren't shivering? Um... Tim can't recall. His mind is whirling.

He blinks several times in an attempt to clear his spinning vision. "C'mon," he grits. He puts both palms against the door, feeling dried blood underneath his fingers. When he still feels unbalanced, he places his forehead against it as well. There is a groove there that is shaped just like his skull. Tim decides not to question it. Once sure he isn't going to fall over, he pulls a hand away and brings it back in a fist.

Bang.

Again.

Bang.

Bang.

Tim continues to pound on the door, and the sound continues to make his vertigo worse. He can feel himself begin to sway.

Bang.

Bang.

They don't want to kill him, right? He might die in here... Tim throws up against the door, his stomach just as rattled as his mind.

Bang.

Bang.

Sure a lot of people hate him. Well, not yet. He hadn't even been Robin for half a year yet. He feels his eyelids flutter.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Oh lord, is he going to die here? But he hasn't done much yet! He hasn't made a difference!