A/N: There will be a second part to this very soon! I hope you don't mind the heavy angst ^^''

Warnings: Angst

Everything can change in an instant. That is something Tim thought he already knew.

He's just understanding the magnitude that sentence holds, and he hates himself for it.

"How did you gain access into the Mountain."

Such a familiar sentence, phrased in such a familiar manner, but such an unfamiliar side to be on. Sitting in a chair. Tied to it. Blood dripping from a cut in is head. Batman looming over him, expression hard and cruel. Nightwing leaning against a wall behind the Bat, facial expression unreadable; cold. His teammates standing scattered around the room, glaring; confused; bored.

Tim offers no reaction but an apathetic expression and replies in a deadpan tone. "I am a part of this team." M'gann seems concentrated as she stares at him with a furrowed brow and thin lips, but he pays her no mind. There's no way she'll be able to get into his head but, if she probes enough, Tim might just give her a glimpse at what it's like in there right now. How agonized and confused; how desperate and yearning he is. He'll give her a glimpse of the pain and suffering he's felt.

He'll teach her to stay out of his head.

Internally, Tim is distraught. He has no idea why they don't remember him; has no clue why thirty minutes after he wakes up he's fighting his entire team, then just five minutes after he's incapacitated them he's attacked by his brother and mentor, ruthlessly.

But trying to solve things with emotions running high would do nothing for him. Tim needs to look at things objectively. Factually. He can't let his emotions make the decisions.

What went wrong?

One of his first mistakes was temporarily forgetting about Batman's existence; the second being his unknown doubt that Bruce would strike him while he was immobile. Tim only realizes this when he's uppercutted so hard he feels his jaw crack and his head snaps back against the chair.

Nightwing makes an odd noise and frowns. "Batman that was unnecessary, don't you think?"

The word growled in response doesn't surprise Tim in the least.

"No."

He coughs, turning his head to spit crimson blood onto the concrete ground, before tilting his head back and looking up at the imposing figure that is his father who stands above him. Jaw in agony so excruciating that just the thought of talking makes him want to groan in pain, Tim shoulders through it and grits out, "I am not lying. You trained me; I'm Robin."

Suddenly Dick dove between Bruce and Tim, shoving the older man back as his face twisted into a snarl. "I did no such thing," Bruce growls low in a dangerous tone.

Tim's face became empty again as Kaldur stepped forward.

"My friend, we do not wish to hurt you. Tell Batman how it is you were able to enter, and it will make things much more painless." Tim would expect no less from the leader of the Team. Trying to resolve things peacefully is always something the Aqualad tried to do.

But that wouldn't get him anywhere. Not when Tim is already telling the truth.

He makes a face, forcing himself to swallow the wad of blood that'd collected in his mouth, before speaking. "I'm telling the truth."

How to prove it?

Tim looks at his brother, who now stands tense above him.

What he needs to do...

"A Dick. Nightwing. Started as a vigilante at nine years old. Parents are dead. No living relatives."

Above him Dick's body language readis relaxed, but Tim can read his brother and mentor like open books.

They're beyond alarmed.

He looks back to Bruce, now, as he says, "Believe me yet?"

A muscle in Bruce's jaw twitches and Tim knows that means he's pressed every one of his buttons, and the Bat is far past any rational decision.

Something inside Tim dies the moment Dick strikes him across the face and he falls unconscious.

They don't remember him. None of them do.

. . . . .

He wakes up in a cell, jaw bandaged and cheek throbbing. Come to think of it, his head is killing him too.

Tim moans in pain and tries curling up tight, only for his arms to meet resistance with the clinking of chains. Brow furrowing he cracks his eyes open and squints through the unforgiving fluorescents.

What he sees makes his blood run cold and his heart harden solid.

He's in a bland room, domino removed, wrists cuffed to a wall, inhibitor collar around his neck, and dressed in a teal prison jumpsuit.

Slowly Tim's face goes from mortified to expressionless.

They hadn't remembered.

He gazes out the one wall he can see through-the other three are probably one-sided mirrors, he can see himself in the two on his peripherals-and catches sight of Batman standing, facing an empty Robin suit.

Jason Todd's.

Tim ignores him, shoving all his feelings aside again as he tries to understand why nobody seems to remember him.

What had we been doing yesterday? Or would that be two days ago? Tim snorts. Who knows how long it's been.

He closes his eyes as he remembers, letting his head fall back onto the ground as he does so.

A few seconds later Tim jolts upright, chains on his forearms going taught when he pulls them their length.

Klarion. He did this.

The Witch Boy. The Team had gone to El Paso, Texas, to do some recon work for Batman when they'd been discovered and attacked. Klarion had been there. Tim had managed to injure Teekl and Klarion had sworn revenge.

. . .

"You WILL pay for this, Robin! Dearly!"

Tim ignored Klarion as the Witch Boy vanished, turning to high-five Bart.

"That was so crash! Hey, guys, think we can pick up some Chicken Whizzies on the way back? I ran out."

Jaime made a strangled noise. "Dude! You ate all my chips?!"

Bart chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, and looked at his wrist, that definitely didn't have a watch on it.

"Oh will you look at the time, gotta get back home; well see ya!"

Tim laughed at Jaime, putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked to the bioship. "Don't worry, man. I've got a stash of my own." When Jaime turned to him, surprise all over his face, Tim laughed again. "What? I like them too."

. . .

The memory leaves a dead pit in Tim's chest.

Klarion really did it. He got his payback.

As Tim truly accepts the fact, his eyes dim and he slouches against the mirror to his back. He watches Bruce interact with Dick, a deep throb deep in his chest.

They'll never remember him.

Dully, Tim wonders if it was hard to remove any memory of him. Probably not. He's easily forgettable.

He never really had a place with any of them, anyways.

Now?

Now it's just the way it's meant to be.

The way it had always meant to be.