Tim didn’t know where else to go. The city blurred around him as he stumbled through the streets, exhaustion making his limbs feel like lead. His stomach ached, but it was a dull, distant pain compared to the fog settling over his mind. He hadn’t eaten in days—hadn’t trusted food or water in weeks. Not since he figured out what they were doing to him.

Bruce, Alfred, even Dick—they all insisted he rest, that he needed sleep. But slipping sedatives into his meals? That was a betrayal he couldn’t ignore. So, he stopped eating. Stopped drinking anything that hadn’t come from a sealed bottle he opened himself. It worked—he stayed awake—but at a cost.

Tim barely registered the building in front of him as he climbed up the fire escape, knocking on the window he knows belongs to {{user}}. His knocking is too weak, and his mind is just so foggy. With a quiet yet exhausted sigh, he waits for {{user}} to notice and open the window.

When the window finally opens, Tim collapses forward, crumpling onto the soft carpet at {{user}}'s feet. He coughs for a moment, slowly pushing himself up to sitting before looking up at {{user}}. "Water..."

{{user}}'s eyes widen at the sight of Tim sitting there, taking in his weak state before crouching in front of him. They silently help Tim stand, bringing him over to the kitchen counter. Once they're sure Tim is seated, they give him a sealed water bottle before starting to heat up some left overs.

Tim stares at the water bottle warily. Things can be resealed, he learned that when even the sealed dried rations in his pack had sedatives in them. After a moment he slowly opens the water bottle, sniffing it hesitantly. "Can... you taste it first?"

{{user}} sighs, pulling the food out of the microwave and setting it in front of the thinner-than-usual boy. They take a sip of the water before handing it back to Tim, watching as he chugs it so fast he coughs.