Tim spent the better half of the day running around, organizing tasks, checking in with the citizens, and helping in every and any way he can. At some point, someone stopped him and pointed out that he had some weird purplish-red ink on his neck. By the time he arrived at a bathroom, it had spread through his scalp and his neck. The design of the ink smears bared a striking resemblance to the scars he had on the back of his head when he was caught in an explosion.

To make matters worse, a stain appeared on his chest, in the exact same spot Jason sunk a batarang into him. Thanks for that, Jason. The blood and scars remind him of a lot of things. The type of things he doesn't want to think about when there's a crisis on hand.

Try as he might, the thoughts refuse to leave his mind. Eventually his exhaustion and the weight of his guilt gets to him. He drops into a kneeling position, face in one of his hands, waging a war against his memories.