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Tim felt something snap in his leg and he screamed, tumbling to a stop against a pile of debris.
Frantic, breathless calls sounded off over the comms, but Tim knew no one would be able to get to him. This was supposed to have been a simple mission for the Titans, handed out specifically because all their superpowered members were out this week for various reasons.
Tim, Dick, Roy, and Artemis were supposed to have had this handled.
It was clear now they did not.
“Nightwing?” Tim called over the comms. “Anybody?”
An explosion sounded, a little too close for comfort, and Tim ducked reflexively, huddling further into his cover. “Hello?”
“ssss…Red…ssss…status….”
“Nightwing? I’m injured. Need help.” He wasn’t sure how much was getting through.
“…hang on…ssss…RR…coming…”
More explosions, this time ones Tim recognized as detonation arrows. Roy and Artemis must be close, presumably clearing a path so Dick could reach Tim. Sure enough, a moment later, he saw Nightwing through the smoke, using the piles of debris like his own personal jungle gym.
Spring off a fallen support beam, kick a goon in the face on his way down, use a bit of rebar to redirect, flip over some rubble and scissor kick to fell another two bad guys. It was graceful, beautiful, but Tim could tell Dick was moving just a little slower than usual.
They were all exhausted beyond reason, at the end of their reserves.
The mistake that came next was inevitable.
The archers, trying to cover the entire field, missed a sniper. Dick, focused on getting to Tim, didn’t have time to get out of the way.
Tim could only watch in utter horror as the bullet slammed into Nightwing’s side, sending the black and blue hero into free-fall from 20 feet.
Nightwing landed hard, and he didn’t get up.
Tim made a decision he hoped he would never have to.
He threw back his head and screamed. “KAL-EL! KON-EL! HELP!”
Within moments, Kon was by his side, scanning him anxiously. “Red, your leg! Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Tim leaned against him gratefully. “No, but Kon, Nightwing…”
“Superman’s got him.” Kon soothed, pointing to where a red and blue figure was kneeling over Nightwing’s last position. “I’ll take you and Artemis, and Kal has Nightwing and Arsenal, okay?”
Tim nodded, letting himself relinquish control to the supers. He tucked his head against Kon’s soft t-shirt and drifted as they flew back to the Watchtower.
Bruce was waiting for them when they landed, in full Batman gear, what Tim could see of his face under the cowl pale and set. He gave Tim a once-over with his eyes, assuring that Tim wasn’t badly injured, before moving to the hero still cradled in Superman’s arms.
“Clark, how is he?” Bruce asked anxiously.
“We should get him to the med bay now.” Clark said worriedly. “Barry, tell them to prep.”
The speedster darted off, and as Clark began to move Tim finally got a good look at his brother.
At the red staining his suit and smeared across the front of Clark’s.
He must have cried out because the next thing he knew Bruce was there, cowl pulled back, pulling Tim tight against him. “Easy, kiddo.” Bruce murmured gruffly. “Let’s get you taken care of.”
“Dick.” Tim all but sobbed, reaching for Clark’s departing form.
“He’ll be okay, kiddo.” Bruce’s jaw tightened. “He will be.”
There was a sharp prick in Tim’s arm, and he knew no more.
Waking up after sedation was as awful as it always was. Tim’s mouth was dry and gummy, his head swimming with cotton. Slowly the room came into focus.
Bruce, sans cowl, was dozing in the chair next to Tim’s bed, his head propped up on one fist.
Tim sat up quickly. “Dick! Ow!” He yelped, his leg reminding him rather rudely that it was injured. The limb was swathed in a cast from just above the knee all the way down. It was the last thing on Tim’s mind right now.
Bruce had moved at his cry, and was trying to press Tim back to the pillows gently.
Tim searched his face, fighting the hands. “Dick? Where is he? Why are you in here? Is he okay? Please, Bruce…”
“Tim.” Bruce growled. “Stay still.”
“Dick.”
Bruce sighed. “He’s alive.”
Tim felt the blood drain from his face. “But?”
Bruce swallowed hard, not meeting Tim’s gaze. “He’s still in surgery.”
Tim sank back into the bed, trying not to panic. “Bruce?”
“I don’t know.” Bruce pressed his lips to Tim’s forehead for a long moment, leaving a gentle hand on his hair even when he pulled away. “I don’t know.”
Tim fought tears and sleep and lost to both, Bruce’s hand his only anchor as he went under again.
When he woke, Bruce was gone. Clark sat in the chair, his laptop’s glow the only light source. He looked up at Tim, his supersenses obviously registering that Tim was awake.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Clark.” Tim’s voice was rough and scraped against his throat on it’s way out. “Dick?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
But Clark smiled. “He’s going to be okay. It was touch and go for a while - too long - but he’s out of surgery and expected to fully recover.”
Relief made Tim’s head spin. He closed his eyes and thanked whoever might be listening for sparing his brother.
When he had his emotions under control again, he opened his eyes to find Clark had stood and was offering him a cup of water. Tim drank gratefully, letting the coolness soothe his throat.
When Clark pulled away, Tim asked the question he really wanted the answer to. “Can I see him?”
Clark seemed to think for a moment, his gaze flickering to the machine monitoring Tim’s vitals and touching on the casted leg.
“Please.”
Clark sighed. “Okay. But very briefly. And I’m carrying you.”
Tim would have agreed to anything.
Clark disconnected the machine and gathered Tim carefully into his arms, paying extra attention to the placement of the cast. He began to move easily down the hall, and even though Tim knew he didn’t weigh much the show of Clark’s strength still awed him sometimes.
He bit his lip when he realized they were headed to the part of the Watchtower medbay reserved for serious injuries. Knowing that Dick had been critically injured and actually seeing it were two different things. Suddenly Tim wasn’t sure he was actually ready. But Clark had said that Dick was expected to fully recover, and Clark never lied.
Dick had to be okay.
Bruce was in the room, fully awake this time, though his eyes were heavily bruised with worry and sleeplessness. He looked up and managed a slight smile when he saw Tim.
“How is he?” Tim asked.
Bruce stepped aside so Tim could see the bed.
Dick was frightfully pale, several machines attached to his still form, monitoring his slow, steady vitals. Still, he looked worlds better than the crumpled form Tim had last seen drenched in blood. Tim felt the constant terror of the last day drain out of him as he scanned the machines. It had been a close call, but as Clark had said, all the numbers pointed to a full recovery.
He looked at Bruce, blinking back tears of relief and saw his feelings mirrored back to him in the older man’s face. “He’s gonna be okay.”
Bruce nodded. “Yes.”
A wave of exhaustion washed over Tim, and he barely felt Clark settle him onto the bed next to Dick.
He curled up lightly, his back pressed solidly against his brother’s side. Bruce ran a gentle hand through Tim’s hair over and over.
Just before he fell asleep, he felt a feather-light kiss pressed to his forehead and heard a soft voice whisper, “Love you, son.”