Sour Candy | T. Drake ✔

[13] Predicament

Tim watched Luke snatch the basketball from him again, going for another score. He chased him, trying to snatch the ball back but Luke with his height had a clear advantage and the ball passed through the hoop once again.

"Four to three," he remarked, "gonna make it a tie or not?"

"You bet."

However, Tim couldn't help but notice how unnervingly similar Luke was to Slade. Of course, he was his son, there had to be similarities between the two. And even though he looked nothing like his father except for the hazel eyes, at the moment he reminded Tim a lot of Slade.

Each swift move, each sharp effortless turn as the ball bounced in his hands, and that witty sense of humor accompanied by those hazel eyes... Tim suddenly felt suffocated, unable to focus on the current moment as unwanted memories from the time he had been held in Deathstroke's captivity flashed in front of him.

Luke noticed that something was wrong so he tossed the basketball aside as he approached him, "you okay?"

Tim stepped back abruptly before he could reach out to him and hazel eyes flickered in confusion, unable to see what he had done wrong.

"Tim?"

"I'm sorry," he retreated, "I just... Recalled something unpleasant."

Luke nodded, giving him space because no one knew better than him that sometimes people needed to be left alone instead of being flustered over.

He watched Tim sit down on the steps, his head held in his hands as he tried to erase the unpleasant memories from his past.

He knew very well that Luke was as opposite from Slade as he could be; the boy was loyal and caring, he had proved a lot of times before that he had no interest in following his father's footsteps, risking his life even to keep Steph and Dora safe.

Lucas was nothing like Slade.

But still, he was his son and there was a striking resemblance between him and his father that Tim could not overlook because he had unwillingly suffered for much longer at Slade's hands and couldn't erase him from his mind.

Luke's phone buzzed so he took it out of his pocket, seeing that it was a text from Camille however, the words flashing on the screen sent him into worry; Bring Tim inside, Dora's not well and we might have to take her to the hospital.

He looked at the boy who did not seem fine at all either but Luke knew he deserved to know about Dora, "Tim, Dora's not well. Cami's calling us inside."

His head had snapped up abruptly and he stood up, "what? Dora...?"

"I don't know, we'll have to go see for ourselves."

The two rushed inside, first checking in Dora's room which was empty so Luke led him down to Camille's bedroom. They opened the door to see Camille sitting on the bed with Dora laying down almost as if she was asleep, head cradled in her mother's lap.

But Tim could see that she was paler than she had been before lunch and there was no doubt that she was not fine.

"What happened?" Luke asked, hazel eyes flickering towards Dora in concern.

Camille explained how Dora had gotten sick after drinking milk and added, "I have called my friend Meredith, Dora didn't want to go to the hospital so I thought I may as well call a doctor here."

Tim had taken her limp hand in his own, "is she unconscious?"

"She's been passing in and out of consciousness ever since I brought her out of the bathroom," she replied, honey-shaded irises welling up, "she keeps saying that she's fine but... But she's not."