It had been a long time since Tim was this happy and nothing could bring him down now. It was so nice to have his brother back.

The old pipes creaked a little as he washed off the last of his tools, the hot water changing color as he worked. Pink bubbles piled up around the edges of the sink and Tim couldn't resist blowing a handful into the air. A freshly-scrubbed scalpel was carefully set on a towel to dry. He could still remember the vivid pinks and reds of the hero's insides, they were so warm and healthy. At least he didn't have to worry about the man's health in his absence.

Dick had always pushed himself too hard, so it was nice to see him take it easy for once.

Stitching up his brother had taken a little longer than expected, and he had barely enough time to toss his tools into his bag before Jason picked him up from 'work'. It was a risk to take his toys home with him, but it's not like he could leave the task to Conner. Bits of gore fell from the metal edge easily while his game was quickly reaching its end. Excitement and butterflies welled up inside of him. The future was a shiny, new toy that he couldn't wait to open.

A chuckle bubbled up from inside, remembering the look on his friend's face when he left without a word. Maybe it was cruel that he enjoyed seeing him jealous and at least it wasn't entirely his fault, Jason could be so distracting.

Kon had changed under the teen's tutelage, turning the JLA-hopeful into an accomplice in horror. But now that his experiments are reaching their end, he didn't need his assistant anymore. It was one of the oldest of humanity's questions; what good is a soldier in peacetime?

Alas dear Kon, you will be remembered fondly even if you were getting dull.

His cheerful mood returned with the thought of his newest pet. He could teach Dick how to cut, prep for surgery, and lots of the other fun things he couldn't share with Jason. Although, this time he'd spare Dick the hassle of remembering what happened. He doubted his brother's sensitive heart could take the stress.

He wanted to keep the happy brother he remembered.

His eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, curious to how much Dick could already recall. A deep sigh escaped his lips when he thought about how hurt and confused he must be right now. He ached to let his beloved brother out of his sight in his time of need, but holding on to him any longer would draw too much attention and risk having him being taken away. Maybe there would be time later to tie him to the bed and play nurse. He was already gauging if there was enough room on Jason's bed for all three.

He doubted his boyfriend would approve of having Dick included in their tight relationship even if it would be cute to see them cuddling instead of fighting. Maybe that would be his next project after the wedding, give them time to get used to each other again and for the programming to take hold.

Jason might become jealous if he introduced the idea too soon. The fear of infidelity was of course, silly.

Jason would always be his favorite.

…

Shapes and colors filtered through Dick's mind as he processed where he was.

Pale daylight poured from a part in the curtains and the air was too warm for comfort. There was a noise in his head as he stretched and there was the nagging idea that he was supposed to be somewhere. The peace of being back in his own bed and the fresh smell of coffee was short lived as the memories came flooding back.

His heart was lodged in his throat as he tried to determine if what had happened was real. He couldn't remember anything after being knocked out by Conner. His wrists were free of bruises and his hair was damp from a recent shower. There was so sign that he just survived a car crash and being tortured by his little brother. Maybe it just a nightmare?

But the dull pain in the back of his head was proof that it was all very real. He hissed in displeasure when he touched the stitches hidden by black hair, only to have his hand came back wet with medicated gel. A glance down revealed blue pajamas he didn't recognize. He touched the new cloth covering his body, the softly-colored silks felt luxurious and his hair was damp from a recent bath.

Fragments of memories flitted past his eyes and they were hard to distinguish from the drug-induced nightmares. A porcelain tub filled to the brim with pink bubbles …His stomach grew ill with the idea that his younger brother stripping and bathing him, later dressing him up like a prized doll.

Remembering what happened was like trying to piece a broken window when half the pieces were missing.The steaming water stung his skin but he couldn't make his jaw move in protest.

Tim was with him the whole time, whispering sweet nothings into Dick's ear as he cared for his patient. He did not want to be alone with this boy.

It was hard to tell what was real when his mind was trapped at the horrid intersection of reality, nightmare, and hallucination.

But there was always a small, red dot burned into his mind.

While he was propped up in the claustrophobic bath, over-medicated to the point that even turning his head became an exhausting task, the dot never left his field of vision. It was the closest thing to a decoration in the bathroom was barely larger than a closet. The teen would wipe his wet hands on his pants before he checked to see if the footage was good.

Years ago, Bruce had taught him multiple ways to temporarily block out pain or stress. One of them was to focus on a single, unrelated object or thought in an attempt to distance the mind from the stressor. It was essentially staring at the ceiling above the dentist's head so you don't think about the metal tools digging into your gums.

The crude form of meditation did little for the younger Dick Grayson, who was far too hyperactive to focus for any span of time.

The red dot mocked him as it observed everything and did nothing to stop it.

Dick was too frightened of what he would find if he chased after the memory, and he chose to let it stay buried. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, not knowing what would happen now. Was he some kind of brainless cyborg? Would he have any control over his body?

There was a murmur in the back of his mind he couldn't ignore, the whisper of a thousand voices. The sounds were pleasant to his ears and there was the urge to sink into them like a warm blanket. No, he couldn't go down that road. Not while there was still an ounce of fight left in him.

The first thing he found was his phone resting on the nightstand. The pocket device was fully charged and told him it had been two days since he was taken.

Two days? He thought in shock, I've been gone that long?

He went from screen to screen, finding messages from his family and his eyes widened to find that he had already responded to them. That's why they couldn't find me, they never found out I was gone.

As far as they knew he was off chasing a lead and was too busy to talk in person. Dick couldn't remember answering any calls. There was a moment of panic as the cell began to ring with Jason's name emblazoned across the screen.

He had to get his brother away from Tim immediately, ever second he wasted was another chance for the teen to dig his hooks in further. How would he even explain what happened to him without sounding crazy?

The moment the call connected, Dick started to explain "Jason, thank God you called. You have to get away from Tim right now and-" A voice cut him off before he could finish.

"Why would he have to do something silly like that?" The teen giggled.

Oh God, no… A cold chill ran down from his neck as his mind went white with fear. A flood of images overtook his mind with an unspeakable terror happing to Jason in each one. "What have you done with Jason?" He demanded, realizing he was screaming.

There was a displeased sound on the other end, "Don't yell at me..." Tim whined. "…I'll hang up on you if you're going to be mean. I just wanted to know how you were doing, I was worried about you since I had to leave in such a hurry."

The first Robin bit his tongue to hold back the torrent of anger and betrayal, but he needed the information too badly. "I want to know where Jason is and if he's alright." He spoke in the measured steps of a hostage negotiator instead of crying out how if he really cared, he wouldn't have drugged two of his brothers for his sick game.

"I want you to apologize first for hurting my feelings." He pouted into the receiver.

Dick wanted to throttle him, the boy hadn't finished picking pieces of his brain out from under his fingernails and he was still wasn't done fucking with him? If it was only his life on line, he'd-

He stopped that furious train of thought before it could leave the station. It wasn't just his life he was gambling with and the deaths wouldn't end with Barbara. Jason and the others are going to need his help if they were going to get out of this alive.

If it meant that he had to play tea-party with the devil himself, so be it. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, I didn't mean to." He said with the most remorse he could muster.

The teen either didn't catch that it was fake or simply didn't care, he smiled as said "I know what's wrong, you're probably just grumpy because you haven't had breakfast yet." Taking pity on his victim, he answered his questions. "Jason went out about an hour ago to get some supplies, he seemed fine when he left."

Dick allowed himself the moment of relief at knowing that Jason was safe for a little while, but there was another question eating him up inside. It was getting harder to ignore the voices. "What's happing to me?"

There was silence for a moment before Tim spoke, the childlike demeanor was set aside for once. "Do you really want the answer?" He asked giving him the option of blissful ignorance.

But there was no turning back now or ever. He was going to fight this. "…I have to know." He admitted, already knowing the road ahead of him was going to get far worse before he reached the other side.

The teen was thinking about the best way to phrase it, before explaining that "Some of your more unpleasant memories are being replaced. You'll still remember what happened to your parents but some of the more recent ones won't be around to bother you anymore. In short, you're learning to accept what I am."

"Whether I want to or not." Dick sneered.

Tim shook his head. "It will only prolong the pain to fight back. Think about how happy you'll be when it's finished." He insisted, urging him that it was a nightmare he's going to wake up from soon enough.

His brother cried out in pain at Tim's arrogance and cruel stupidity. "I don't want happy, I want to be myself! Don't you understand? The pain makes us who we are!" Becoming Robin, choosing to move on, every choice they made up 'til now was a product of their free will. Sure, not all of it was perfect but they were making progress. "If you truly wanted me to be happy…you wouldn't have done this to me."

This stunned the boy back into silence. His precious doll wasn't acting as he should and was forcing him to acknowledge his crimes. "I'm hanging up now." His voice faltered as he chose denial over accepting the truth. "I think it's time you had the breakfast I made for you."

The odd change in subject barely left his lips before the line was dropped.

Dick wasn't hungry.

In fact, he rarely ate anything in the mornings. He surmised it was because he was usually still coming down from patrol by the time standard breakfast hours rolled around, and he's not in the mood for runny eggs when a few hours ago he was busting skulls. Although that didn't diminish the simple pleasure of a bowl of cereal after dark.

So why was he going into the kitchen?

The noise at the back of his mind had been an imperceptible din mere moments ago had grown to a great roar. Tim was reminding him of his place.

Invisible strings were tightly bound around his muscles and turned him into a living marionette. He was a construct, a hollowed version of himself with a painted-on face. His younger brother had written him a role that he was doomed to play. Free will was an illusion giving by a cruel master.

The strings forced him forward until he found pastries in a basket tied with ribbon. Tim made these. The voices said as it showed him a picture.

He could see the teen wearing an apron as he cooked, the fabric would be soft and feminine with a bow tied in the back. The flowered garment was a natural fit on his lithe body. He thought of pulling the ribbons taut and tying it for him. Tim was always so careful, measuring out cups of pristine flour to make treats for his beloved family. He loved them and forgave them for sending him away.

It was home and love and acceptance, everything he ever wanted and all he had to go was let go.

Dick held his head as the pretty slice of their soon-to-be dollhouse life tried to blot out the ugly truths of it all. It told him that an ordinary accident hurt his knee, not a result of Jason defending his life from a madman. As horrible as the memories were, he had to hold on to them. It was only way to keep control over his sanity. His life was being rewritten.

He recalled what happened after he was knocked out in flashes, Tim had put two fingers in his mouth when he inserted a breathing tube. The unnerving feeling of metal tools digging into his head. He caught glimpses of the bed with the canopy.

Holding onto the torture kept the voices at bay, at least for now.

But he still couldn't stop himself as he poured himself a cup of coffee, his hands shook as he tore a muffin in half and started to eat. There were blueberry and lemon, they were his favorite and Alfred promised to make him a batch whenever the berries were in season. They would have been delicious if he was sure Tim wasn't poisoning him. Whatever taste they had was bogged down by diseased thoughts and origins.

He didn't even know if the mind-control would allow him to detect whatever chemical he tainted them with. They might be filled with broken glass for all he knew. The urge to spit it out was incredible but all he could manage was a gargled noise. Crumbs ran down his face and littered his shirt as he pulled pastry after pastry out of the basket. Struck with the sin of gluttony, he stuffed them into his face until there were none left.

He sat at the dining room table while the only sound was his stomach gurgling in protest. There were sharp pangs from his insides, muscles trying to contract and expel some of the sugared mush filling him to the point of bursting. He felt sick and ugly as the buzzing became a little louder. It told him how happy Tim would be if he saw him like this, gorged on his wonderful home cooking. The boy would laugh and say that he didn't need to eat the whole thing just to say that he liked it.

He pushed himself away from the table in disgust.

Half of it was from the act itself, the rest was hidden in his chest.

He was loved.