Chapter Text
Tim wasn’t okay.
He wasn’t fucking okay.
He was on a hard bench, his leg bouncing up and down, up and down, Damian’s knife spinning around and around in his hand.
Hours.
It had been hours since Damian had gone into surgery, hours since Tim had been forced to change out of his clothes, clothes that had been stained with his baby brother’s blood.
Hours, even, since Bruce had been taken aside by a Doctor.
Bruce hadn’t returned and that meant that Damian was dead and if Damian was dead then what fragile remains of Bruce Wayne was going to fall apart too which meant that Tim was going to have to piece him back together again but Tim couldn’t do that, he couldn’t do that because this time he had lost a fucking brother and not just an almost stranger he liked to follow out on the streets.
It had been hours, too, since Tim felt as though he could take in a single breath.
Damian was dead. He must be. If he wasn’t, Bruce would have come back, if he wasn’t, Tim would have been told already, if he wasn’t then- then-
Tim gripped onto the stupid blade his stupid brother had forced into his hand and he threw it as hard as he could, the hilt colliding with the concrete wall of the stairwell.
His heart caught in his chest and he launched himself towards the fallen weapon, his hand hovering just above the blade as it had done above his brother’s body.
Tim dropped fully to his knees, carefully, so carefully, picking Damian’s blade up off the ground.
He cradled it, the tears slipping down his face before he could stop them.
A distant part of him knew that he was being ridiculous, knew that he should focus on the mission, should pull himself together and make certain that everyone else was okay but the rest of him wasn’t just breaking, it was dissolving into an unrelenting pit of agony.
Damian had laid there, on that ground, bleeding and dying and in pain and yet still asking for a piece of his soul to be given to his Mother.
Tim now knelt here, knowing that he himself needed to go to his father, their father, and make certain that Bruce never felt alone.
A door echoed high above and Tim scrambled, pressing himself and the blade into the hidden recess of the stairwell.
His lungs screamed for air but he refused to take any in, knowing all too well that it would come out as a broken gasp. He rocked in place, holding Damian’s blade close to his chest. The same chest that felt wrong, the fabric of the scrubs he’d been given tearing through his skin.
Footsteps now and Tim pressed harder into his little corner, pressing a hand tight to his mouth to keep himself from making a single sound.
Damian had tried to stop himself from making a sound too, the boy had laid there broken and he had tried to overcome his own biology, he had tried to stand even when his body had been simply incapable.
Tim’s head was spinning but he couldn’t let himself breathe, he couldn’t let himself scream, he had no right to scream, not when it was his fault that Damian had-
Had-
Damian was dead.
He was dead, he was dead, he was dead and Tim had sworn not to let him be revived, he had fucking sworn to his baby brother that he would be able to have a peaceful death that was not prolonged with magic or chemicals and yet it hadn’t been peaceful at all and even now Tim knew that he would do anything to get his brother back.
Cloning, the Pit, bartering with a death god, Tim didn’t fucking care, he needed to do it.
He couldn’t do it, not when Damian had begged him like that.
The footsteps were echoing and Tim couldn’t be seen like this, he couldn’t, but he couldn’t stop the tears and he couldn’t even get his legs working enough to stand up and he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do any of this.
This hadn’t been a mission, there hadn’t been a greater good, there had only been a car and blood and promises that Tim needed to keep.
And a blade, held so tightly in his hand that even the cover for it was digging into Tim’s skin.
The footsteps weren’t echoing anymore, they were pounding, and there was a shout, loud and clear but the words were lost to Damian’s begs, to Damian’s cries, to Damian’s weakening coughs that brought up blood.
“Jesus Christ, Tim!”
Hands grabbed at him but Tim roared, he couldn’t let them take him away from Damian, he wouldn’t let them take him away from his baby brother.
“Tim it’s me, Tim, just breathe Kid, Dick hurry the fuck up!””
There were so many hands and they were dragging him away from Damian’s body and he couldn’t let them, he couldn’t, he was screaming and he couldn’t let them and there was no body at all, there was only a blade because Damian’s body had already failed and it was all Tim’s fault, everything was always Tim’s fault.
A scream echoed against concrete and metal and he barely registered it as his own before those hands, those fucking hands were grabbing at him again.
Warmth enveloped him and Tim shook and he screamed and he had let his baby brother die and he had promised not to revive him but he needed to, he needed to.
Tim couldn’t lose anyone else, he could never again lose anyone else.
Someone tried to take Damian’s blade but he couldn’t let them, it was all he had left, he had promised to give it to Talia and he had promised Damian that he was going to be fine but if he was fine then someone would have told Tim that and no one had and-
“Tim. Breathe.”
That was Dick’s voice, right in his ear, but Dick couldn’t be here, he needed to be by Damian’s side, but if he was by Damian’s side then he would know he had lost another brother and he couldn’t know that, he couldn’t.
The world was pulsing, spinning, exploding all around him and there had been so much blood, there was still blood, the clothes he had been forced into were clean and yet there was still blood drenching his soul.
“Timbo, fucking breathe, Kid, you gotta breathe.”
But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t.
Damian was dead because of him.
Bruce had lost another son because of him.
Dick had lost another brother because of him.
One hand clutching Damian’s blade, the other dug deep into his chest wishing he could just rip his heart right out of it.
“Easy, easy,”
Dick’s voice was echoing alongside Jason’s and Jason shouldn’t be here either, Jason hated hospitals and he hated dead people and Damian was dead and he wasn’t coming back and-
And the world was fading and Tim was fading alongside it.
His grip on Damian’s knife loosened but he couldn’t drop it, he couldn’t, he held onto it as tightly as he could but the world was already trying to fade again and there had been so much blood.
There had been so much blood.
Damian had been small, laying there on that ground.
He had been scared, too, more scared than Tim had ever seen him.
“Tim? Tim? Fuck, he’s gonna-”
Jason’s words fell away with the rest of the world.
Tim’s body felt… Wrong, somehow.
He was laying on his side, his bed a little harder than he remembered it being. Everything felt distant, even his own fingertips felt strange and fuzzy.
Tim’s pillow was a little different too, not nearly as soft as he liked it and for some reason it almost smelled like…
Jason?
Awareness sank in slowly, his mind taking an eternity to fit in the pieces of information his body was reporting on.
He was on his side on a hard surface but his head was pillowed by what he was fair certain to be Jason’s jacket. There was a hand running up and down his arm, quiet but fierce words being exchanged above him.
Tim was…
On the ground?
This wasn’t a bed, this wasn’t even his room. There was a smell to wherever he was, one that made his head spin.
Tim stilled.
Antiseptic. That smell was antiseptic.
Tim launched up to his feet but he never actually made it off the ground before hands were already guiding him back down again.
“Easy, easy, Timmy,” Dick said.
The bottom of Tim’s gut swooped, the fuzziness in his hands and feet finally recognisable for what it really was.
Tim had passed out.
He was in a hospital for some reason and he had passed out.
Dick had gone back to running a hand up and down Tim’s arm but Tim ignored the feeling, instead focusing on what almost felt like indentations on one of his own hands. He flexed the hand, feeling it ache, feeling like it should be holding something but nothing at all was in his grip.
“Where is it?” He demanded.
Tim forced himself up, shoving both Dick and Jason away.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Damian’s blade, I swore I’d give it to Talia, I have to give it to Talia, I have-”
“Tim. Slow down.”
Dick’s voice was so firm that Tim felt his back straightening, for a moment his training replacing all else. Then his shoulders dropped again, his entire body aching.
He looked around quickly, finding that for some reason they were in a stairwell.
There were still old tears staining his face, Tim distantly registered, though in truth it felt utterly ridiculous to think about how he had reacted.
Then again, just the memory of Damian laying in a pool of blood was enough to get his heart thundering all over again.
“Where is it?”
Jason and Dick exchanged a look and finally, finally, Jason pressed Damian’s dagger into Tim’s hand.
Tim sagged with relief, cradling it close to his chest. Then, remembering that Jason and Dick were watching him, he dropped his hands into his lap and he forced himself to breathe.
Then, his body forgot how to again, realising if his brothers were here then they weren’t at Damian’s side.
They should be at Damian’s side.
Even dead, Damian should have his brothers by his side.
“Tim,” Jason said. “The hell’s going on?”
Tim worked his throat but no words came out.
He tried again.
“Damian, he-”
He was dead he was dead he was dead and it was all Tim’s fault.
Acid burned in his throat, his eyes burning just as fiercely.
“Tim?”
Dick’s hand was on his knee. Dick was gentle as he tilted Tim’s head up, gentler still when he cupped Tim’s cheek and brushed away the tears.
Then Dick was straightening a little, his eyes blowing wide.
“Shit, did no one tell you?”
That he was dead, he was dead, he was dead.
“Tim, Damian’s in the ICU. He made it through surgery. It was… Pretty bad, but they think he’s going to pull through just fine.”
Damian was dead, he was dead, he was dead.
Tim had promised him, had sworn to him, that he would give the blade to Talia. Had sworn to him too that he wouldn’t be revived but Tim had to do it, he had to, no matter what it took he had to get his little brother back.
“Tim.” Jason said. “You hear that?”
That Damian was dead, he was dead, he was dead.
Yes, Tim had understood that perfectly well.
He had understood it even then, on that road, as Damian’s blood soaked through his jeans.
Jason took Tim’s hand into his own and squeezed tightly, so tightly that it almost hurt. The pain actually made everything else feel a little bit more real, even if his head was still hurting.
“Timbo.” Jason said. “He’s alive. He’s in the ICU but he’s alive. You got him here on time, you kept him conscious as long as you could. Dami’s alive because of you.”
“But he,” Tim murmured. “But…”
Tim’s gaze dropped down once more, at the small blade Damian had forced into his hand.
“He’s alive?”
It was a croak, one that Tim was not proud of.
“Yeah, Bud,” Dick said softly. “Did no one tell you?”
“I… No? It… It got too noisy in the waiting room and, and Bruce was called away and the smell was getting too strong and… And it’s like his blood is still on me and I know it’s not but that’s what it feels like and then everything got too much and… And B was gone for so long and he never came to find me and that means that Damian is gone because of me and Bruce is going to-”
“Tim.” Dick said. “B went to Damian’s side, just like you asked him to.”
Tim’s eyes were stinging all over again, the world starting to feel a little more distant.
“No I didn’t, I, I was with him on the pavement and then we were here and everything was so loud and…”
“Easy, Timmy,” Dick said.
Tim didn’t know when he had started rocking again but he forced himself to stop, curling into himself instead.
Jason shifted, taking the jacket from off the ground but instead of tugging it on once more, he brought it over Tim’s shoulders.
Without a single word, Dick tugged Tim against him, smoothing the hair from his face.
Tim held Damian’s dagger close to his chest.
“I thought… I really thought…”
“I know, Bud, and I’m so sorry that you were alone going through all this.”
A soft kiss was pressed against his temple but Tim didn’t deserve it, not really, not when he’d made such a fool of himself and especially not when he’d let Damian get so hurt in the first place.
“He’s okay, Timbo,” Jason said. “He’s in pretty rough shape, sure, but he’s gonna be just fine. It’s Damian, you know how he is.”
It’s Damian.
Damian does not cry like that.
It was an eternity before Dick and Jason coaxed Tim up to his feet, then an eternity longer before he felt able to step out from the stairwell.
His whole body was shaking, the excess adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but the need to see for himself that Damian was alright, that Damian was alive, outweighed all else.
Before they let him see his little brother though, Dick and Jason forced him to change into new clothes yet again. A part of him thought that they were just delaying the inevitable, that at any second they were going to reveal the fact that they had lied and that Damian really was gone, but then when the fabric was no longer tearing at his skin and Jason’s jacket was once more draped over his shoulders, Tim found himself feeling far steadier than he had thought possible.
Steady enough that he somehow managed to take that step into Damian’s room.
Not steady enough to go any further, not when he saw that small body surrounded by machines and hanging bags of blood and monitors and a shadow of a man sitting close to the bed.
Tim’s heart seized right in his chest but Dick’s hand pressed against the small of his back, Jason’s warmth pressing against his other side.
“B, we found him.”
Bruce had become a shadow of a man after Jason had died and now it was that same shadow that loomed over that bed and it was all Tim’s fault, Tim should have kept him safe and it was all his fault.
“Breathe, Babybird.” Jason murmured.
But he couldn’t.
Damian was small. He was so fucking small on that bed and Tim was being ridiculous, he’d seen Damian hospitalised before and this was no different except somehow it was because this hadn’t been Robin that had got hurt, it had been Damian.
The shadow over the bed shifted and Tim should have never come here, he should have never-
“Tim.” Jason said. “Take it easy.”
Bruce was tall, he was so tall and he was a shadow and that shadow was all consuming and that shadow was stepping forward and-
And that shadow was wrapping arms around Tim.
“I’m sorry.” Tim croaked.
Bruce hushed him with a kiss to the top of his head.
“I’m so sorry.”
Tim barely remembered being guided to the seat that Bruce had been on, not until he was already sitting down onto it. He clutched Damian’s blade close to his chest, feeling his own lungs screaming for air he could not allow to come.
Damian was small.
He was so fucking small.
Bruce had knelt down at some point, a hand on Tim’s and Tim didn’t know why his hand was shaking but he couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t stop any of this, and Bruce tried to ease the dagger away from him but he couldn’t let him, he couldn’t, Tim had sworn that he would give it to Talia and Talia alone.
“Please.” Tim rasped.
Bruce’s blink was slow but he relented, instead reaching up and brushing the hair from his face just as Dick had.
“Tim,” Bruce said. “I’m sorry that I left you alone. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Tim didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when Damian was laying there so still.
No, not completely still.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, even as his skin looked distinctly wrong.
Bruce followed his gaze, shifting on his knees.
“Tim? What do you need from us right now?”
He needed this to be a dream, he needed this to be some fucked up nightmare that he would wake from and Damian would be fine and everything would be fine and Damian would even roll his eyes or click his tongue because really Drake, as if I would be felled by a single ridiculous car.
Tim held the blade ever tighter.
“I’m sorry.” He said.
To Bruce.
To Damian.
To everyone he has ever failed.
“I’m sorry.”
Bruce tugged Tim’s free hand gently, Tim’s body useless to do anything except go with the movement. As soon as Bruce pulled the hand towards Damian though, Tim’s heart thundered and his breath caught and Damian was dead, he was dead, he was dead, he was-
Damian’s chest rose.
Fell.
Rose.
Fell, Tim’s hand alongside it.
It was as impossible as it was miraculous.
“Try to follow it,” Bruce said. “Follow his breathing with your own.”
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Damian’s heart was a little weak, even the blood transfusions and fluids struggling to maintain his body, but it was beating all the same. Tim felt his own heart slow, beating in time.
When Damian inhaled, Tim did also.
When Damian exhaled, Tim did also.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Bruce was no longer holding Tim’s hand in place and yet still he did not pull away from Damian’s chest.
He was alive.
He was breathing.
He was unconscious and hurt and anything could still happen.
He was alive.
He was breathing.
Tim… Tim tried to breathe too.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“I…” Tim swallowed roughly. “I need to see Talia.”
“Tim,”
“I promised him I’d give this to her, please, Bruce, I promised him.”
“She’s already on her way.” Bruce said.
A chill ran through Tim’s soul.
If she had already been called, then Damian wasn’t yet fully out of the woods after all.