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He was cold. That was his only thought. It wasn’t where he was, it wasn’t how much pain he was in, it wasn’t even who he was with.
It was just that he was cold.
His body twitched and trembled. Blood poured from the open wounds, from the gashes across his body.
Rather him than anyone else. Rather him than a citizen. Than Stephanie. Than Cass. Than Damian. Than Bruce.
Bruce’s last message said that he was coming. Tim closed his eyes. That was the only thing he could hold on to.
He was cold, and Bruce was coming.
“Tell the big man I said hello!” Joker sneered. He was further away than he was last time he spoke. There was suddenly the muted bang of a door slamming shut. Then silence.
Tim mentally swore that he would. Because Bruce was coming. Bruce would be here soon, if he wasn’t already waiting for the Joker outside.
He smiled. Joker was in for a world of hurt.
But the seconds stretched on, and Tim’s consciousness wavered. That lone thought of how cold he was returned.
Maybe Bruce is…maybe he’s busy.
His lips quirked lazily upwards.
Maybe Damian will come instead.
More seconds. Moments into minutes. The thought of his father or his brother coming for him faded away once more. He didn’t hear the beeping until there were three rapid-fire, signaling the end of a timer.
His last thought was how cold he was.
~~
It had been a long night. Less victories than he wanted. Damian was just on his way home, when he heard the boom.
He looked up to see the cloud of smoke and fire rise into the atmosphere, and frowned, hitting his communicator.
“Penny-one, was there some sort of activity going on at the warehouses tonight that I wasn’t aware of?”
“Not that I know of.” Alfred’s voice seemed tired, and laced with concern. “But I’m getting a signal from Batman nearby. Perhaps you should check it out.”
“On my way.” Damian turned towards the plume rising into the air, making a mental note to ask Alfred why he seemed worried later.
Swinging to the area didn’t take long. He even passed over some of the firefighters heading that way as well. When he was about two blocks away, he pressed his communicator again.
“Nightwing to Batman, what is your location?”
The line was open, his mask’s diagnostics said as much. And he could even hear his father breathing, though it sounded off. Raspy.
“Batman?” He asked slowly. “Are there casualties? How big is our scope? I’ll go to the east side to start search and rescue.”
No answer. Just the shaky, uneven breathing.
Damian furrowed his brows, landing on a tall roof right next to the burning grounds. “…Father?”
“No…no need for search and rescue, Nightwing.” Bruce finally replied. His voice was wrecked. Defeated. “Head back to the cave. I’ll meet you there soon.”
Damian immediately became suspicious. Both Bruce and Alfred were acting strangely, and he didn’t like it. He pursed his lips, and jumped into the flames.
“Penny-one, give me the GPS signal for Batman.”
“Yes, sir.”
A red dot appeared in his mask’s lenses. Fifty feet to his left.
He didn’t run, or even jog. Just walked quickly, as swiftly as he could. He dodged the heat and flames, hopped over some of the debris sitting around. Hid from a fireman as they finally raided the scene.
He could see his father’s dark form ahead, slumped and shimmering in the humidity.
“Batman!”
Bruce jerked, and spun his neck towards him, white lenses wide.
“Nightwing, go back.”
“Why?” Damian demanded, continuing forward.
“Go back to base right now.” Bruce growled, but it broke halfway through, turning it into an almost beg. “That’s an order.”
Damian continued forward faster. And he saw Bruce shift, saw him try to block what he was crouched over, maybe even try to rise and run. But that was the plus side of Damian’s youth, of the fact that his uniform wasn’t bogged down with heavy armor and a cape.
He darted around Bruce’s shoulders, glaring intently downwards. Almost instantly he recoiled back.
Drake, it was Drake.
How he was able to identify the child so quickly would forever remain a mystery, because it didn’t even look like him. His face was burned and half gone, his uniform singed to an ashy black. Bones stuck out at impossible angles, patches of skin and muscles and limbs were missing, and his head was lolled lifelessly to the side.
Damian felt his eyes widen, his mouth drop, his breaths stop.
Bruce broke then. Silent tears came pouring out of his cowl as Damian slowly lowered himself to his knees.
“Give…” Damian whispered, trembling as he reached out. “Give him to me.”
Bruce shook his head once. “Nightwin-”
Damian shrieked, “Give him to me!”
And Bruce didn’t have a choice, as Damian tenderly leaned down, wrapped his arms around Tim’s body and dragged him into his own embrace. And Bruce watched, heart breaking ever further, as Damian checked Tim’s pulse points, examined the deepness of some of the wounds. Testing, a childish habit Damian never seemed to grow out of. Seeing if he could fix it, like he always tried to fix everything.
“I can…” Damian muttered. And Bruce knew what was about to come out of his mouth. He shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around his son – around both of his sons – and holding them as close as he could. Damian, for once, went with the gesture, staring blankly down at Tim’s empty face as he tipped into the safety of Bruce’s cape. “I can call Mother. She can…she owes me a favor, and she can correct this. We can correct this…”
Bruce sniffed, glancing up as a group of firefighters came silently upon their group. In the light of the flames, Bruce could see the question in their eyes, the trepidation. The knowledge.
He gently shook his head, and the firemen respectfully stepped back. He saw them signal to each other, a message to return once they canvassed the rest of the area.
“We can fix this.” Damian repeated.
“No.” Bruce bowed his head, leaned it against Damian’s hair and closed his eyes. Even that didn’t stop the tears. “We can’t.”