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With a hazy start, Tim peels his eyes open, laying still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as he tries to process…. well, anything. He squints as he slowly sits up, his head thumping with the beginning of a bad migraine, and he lets out a low groan. Something’s stuck in his hair- he reaches up, and pulls a large, wet leaf from his hair. He glares at it, unable to believe that it had the nerve to get stuck in his hair.
Oh- Tim shifts how he's sitting, feeling the rough, rocky ground that usually surrounds pools. It's made up out of a ton of little pebbles mixed in with cement, and he briefly wonders why the hell he would be at the pool. Dust particles and tiny bits of rocks are stuck to his skin, as if he'd been laying there for a while.
His chest feels tight and heavy at the same time, making it a tad difficult to breathe. Weird. He looks down at his chest, and finds nothing there, just the red of his crime fighting suit. So it doesn't really make sense as to why it's hard for him to breathe… it's not like anything is crushing his chest.
His limbs feel like they're made out of led, and he can barely feel his fingertips. It takes a moment in time for his brain to process his commands for his arms and legs to move, and he knows that that is a bad sign, but his thoughts are also running slowly, so it's hard for him to process that concern.
Sluggishly, Tim glances around to take in his surroundings, confused by what he sees. He has no idea where he is- none of it is familiar to him. It looks like he's in an upper apartment complex, and beside that complex’s pool, but he doesn't know this complex at all. He wracks his brain, trying to recall what he'd been doing prior to this, for a possible explanation of why he'd woken up beside a random pool.
Nothing comes up. His system is still booting up after being shut down, apparently. Normally it doesn't take this long. There must be some sort of malware contaminating his system, then.
For now, while his systems run a diagnostic, Tim stumbles to his feet, nearly face planting onto the rocky ground. He looks around again, and spots something in the pool- or, no, some one.
It's hard to make it to the poolside, but eventually, he manages, standing on the edge of its shape. Oh, yeah, that's definitely a person floating in the water. Face first, too. That's bad, isn't it? Yeah, it is, because they can't breathe. He thinks.
Their black hair floats in the form of a crown around their head, the cape attached to their suit sunken into the water beside them. They're completely still, aside from the occasionally jarring from the water pushing at them with small waves.
Tim’s pretty sure that's not good.
Are they dead? Tim knows that that isn't good. He needs to check on them.
His brain computes all of this at a snail’s pace, trailing along as if there's no rush in the world. Luckily, the person is right in front of them by the edge, so after he gets on both of his knees, he reaches out and grabs one of their shoulders. He flips them over with some difficulty, and falls backwards at what he sees.
That- that's his own face. He can tell, his systems going into overdrive at the sight. Even with the mask over his eyes, Tim knows that that's his face.
His face isn't moving. His body isn't moving. What the hell?
Why is he in the pool? He's right here? Out of the pool?
His brain can't compute this information. That migraine from before returns with a passion, thumping vigorously behind his eyes, forming a pink crescent in one of his eyes. He tries to blink it away. It doesn't go away. He continues staring at his face, floating in the water.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? There's a copy of him, dead, in the water. Is it a clone? A fake? Is he the clone or fake, and he just thinks he's the original? Fuck. He couldn't live with himself if he was a clone or a fake.
Slowly, fearfully, Tim reaches out with a weighted arm towards the face that looks like his face floating in the pool water. His fingers touch it. It feels like a real face, soaked and slightly pruned, but a face nonetheless. Is this real? Is this fake? He reaches up with his other hand to touch his face.
His face doesn't feel real. It's too smooth, too cold.
He doesn't feel his heart beating in his chest. He's not breathing. He doesn't feel his blood pumping through his veins.
Panic swallows him whole, and he pushes away from the body that looks like his, suddenly terrified.
He doesn't know what to do.
He's fake. That body in the pool is the real one.
He claws at the pebble covered ground. And just stares, watching his/not his body bobbing in the water lazily.
That's when he hears hurried footsteps rushing in his direction. He sluggishly looks up, and his eyes widen when they land upon his boyfriend.
Bernard looks panicked, even more so than how Tim feels at the moment. Because everything feels so distant and fuzzy for Tim. As if he's feeling them through a mile of a cotton wall.
He raises a hand, waving it to the best of his ability. “Bernard-!” he says, the name slurring out of his numb mouth. It doesn't sound right. He doesn't sound right. He's not right.
But Bernard doesn't even look in his direction. Instead, he's staring at his not body, before calling out desperately, “Tim!” The sound of his voice is a comfort, but it also tears at his heart with the desperation and fear in it. “Tim- oh god Tim!”
Without a moment of hesitation, Bernard jumps into the pool. Tim watches him struggle to pull his not body out of the water and to dryish ground, rolling it onto its back. He watches Bernard lay his ear against its chest, listening for a pulse, before his eyes widen with pure horror. Tim figured it didn't have a pulse.
Tim weakly makes his way towards Bernard and his not body, his body suddenly feeling even heavier than before. He didn't know that that was possible. His mouth feels dry but drowned with water at the same time. He feels like he's about to choke in a liquid lodged in the back of his throat while at the same time it feels empty of anything, even air.
Bernard is just prying Tim’s not mouth upon when he finally gets to his side, and he watches as Bernard bends over and connects their lips. If he hadn't felt so disconnected, Tim would have blushed. They haven't kissed yet officially. Yet here Bernard is making out with his not body.
Oh. Bernard is starting CPR. That makes sense now. Tim watches as his boyfriend puffs air forcefully down his not throat before he begins to punch his not chest. Tim thinks he hears a bone snap under his not skin. That's a bad thing, right? Or was it good…? Tim can't remember. Everything is getting so hazy now…
“Tim!” Bernard shouts. Tim blinks, the world around him becoming clearer again. There are tears running down Bernard’s cheeks, and Tim knows that that is not a good thing. Why is he crying? Bernard shouldn't cry. “Don't you dare you piece of shit. You're not allowed to!”
Not allowed to what? Another bone snaps from his not body as Bernard slams his fists down on his not chest. His not body arches upwards from the action. Water droplets fly from his not mouth.
Bernard pauses in his desperate menstrations to cup both of Tim’s not cheeks, a sob escaping his lips as he stares at Tim’s unresponsive not face. “Timmy…” he sobs, his voice as wet as his cheeks. A bit of snot begins to slide from one of his nostrils, and Tim wants to wipe it away with a tissue. He's still the most beautiful person Tim has ever seen, even with the red face and gushing eyes and nose. “Please. You can't do this. Please come back to me.”
That makes Tim jolt. It's as if those words had a pair of hands each and grabbed him by the throat, tugging him forward. His eyes are wide, and his body doesn't feel as heavy. He feels a bit more connected as he grows nearer to his not body, but he can't rip his eyes from Bernard’s grieving face.
It makes sense now. That is Tim’s body. He is Tim.
He's dying.
People always say your life flashes before your eyes before you die in a split second. Apparently they're wrong.
Bernard curls over Tim’s body, pulling his limp face towards his chest. Tim can feel his heart, dead and still in his chest. He glares at it, seeing it through the skin and flesh of his disconnected body. It shudders under his narrowed eyes before jolting, sluggishly beginning to pump again.
He reaches out towards his body, and then his world goes black. He can't see anything. He can hardly feel anything. His fingers feel like fat sausages, and his body feels like a heavy, pruny raisin.
There's something in his lungs. It's wet and heavy. He chokes on it, and it floods his throat. He feels his raisin of a body jump as he coughs it up. Hands that he only now notices that had been holding him are gone from his body, and he's twisted, facing the rough ground under him. He coughs and sputters, his body trembling as he coughs up more and more water.
Where the hell had all of that come from?
He feels like crying, yet his eyes feel dry. Oh yeah, his eyes. He forces them to peel open, his world a blur of colors before they slowly focus, revealing a pebbled ground right in front of his face. He curls his swollen fingers inwards, feels them getting scraped by the sharp stones.
Something is patting his back incessantly. Another has its fingers cupping his forehead, holding his head up enough so that he doesn't cut off any air that actually sneaks in past the waterfall exploding from his mouth. He finally clears his lungs and throat of the disgusting, chlorine flavored water, and sags, falling face first onto the ground.
The hands from before find both of his shoulders and hauls him up, cradling him against someone’s chest. He blinks owlishly, attempting to refocus his gaze once more.
Ah, Bernard. His pretty face is above his own, gray eyes staring down at him with heavy concern. Tim doesn't like seeing that on his boyfriend’s face, so he attempts a shaky smile up at him. Bernard huffs on what sounds like a halfhearted attempt at a laugh, before bending his head down to kiss Tim. On the lips.
Any thoughts Tim might have been having beforehand are suddenly gone, cut off by Bernard’s soft, plump lips on his own. His eyes go wide, and he lets out a noise of surprise as his boyfriend cups one of his cheeks, holding his head up to keep their mouths connected. Some air flows into Tim’s mouth from Bernard’s, but Tim sees that Bernard’s eyes are closed, so he assumes it's not completely for a technical reason like feeding him air that he's doing this.
Tim feels himself relaxing in Bernard’s careful cradle, slumping into his boyfriend’s strong arms. He hardly even notices the agonizing thumps of pain in his, probably due to a few broken ribs.
When Bernard finally pulls apart, Tim whines in protest. But Bernard shakes his head, smiling with a mixture of worry and amusement in his eyes. “You little shit,” Bernard says, his voice shaky. Tim thinks he'd been crying at some point. The thought makes him sad. He wants Bernard to kiss him again. Bernard leans forward again, and Tim hopes it's for another kiss. But instead, Bernard simply rests his forehead on Tim’s, eyes lightly shut. Bernard gently squeezes Tim closer. “Don't tell me you did all of that for a kiss.” Bernard grins weakly. Tim isn't entirely sure what his boyfriend is talking about, but if Bernard finds it amusing, he should play along with it.
“W- well of course,” he says in between wheezing breaths. Bernard shakes his head, and presses a small kiss to Tim’s nose. “How else w-would I have gotten you to kiss- kiss me?”
“By asking!” Bernard says with exasperation. He starts to move, sliding one arm beneath Tim’s legs, and the other behind his shoulders. Then, he stands, taking Tim up with him. Tim doesn't protest being held by his boyfriend, instead leaning his head against his chest. “Or even engaging it, you little coward.”
Tim giggles as Bernard begins to walk away from the pool. Had he been in that when Bernard found him? If so, how had he ended up there? He can't recall anything before opening his eyes and throwing water up.
But he supposes that that doesn't matter right now. Because right now, all he has to do is let Bernard carry him to safety.