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Everything hurt.
His bones ached, his head pounded, muscles screaming in agony as his nerves felt like they were on fire, burning him alive.
All he could do was let out a wheezy moan from where Tim lay sprawled across the rooftop, covered in his own blood, and squeezing his eyes tightly shut in a useless attempt to block out the pain.
Fuck.
There was doubt, that the way it was going, Tim would bleed out before the sun rises.
He was a dead man walking- no, laying.
No matter how much he wished otherwise, there was no coming back from the five bullet wounds that had ripped through his left lung and massive internal bleeding.
Lucky shot, eh?
Tim was going to die, alone, on this lonely roof with nothing but regrets piling in his brain, overcrowding his thoughts.
Oh god, he’d never be able to get another hug from Dick, or bicker with Jason about the smallest things, pretending to be annoyed when the man would call him “Replacement” and shoving away the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the familiar nickname.
He’d never get to tell Damian that even though the younger boy and him had a complicated relationship, Tim loved him and would hide the pride and fondness that would well up whenever Damian accomplished something, the corners of his mouth lifting in that small smirking way he always did.
Cass, how much she meant to him, always being there whenever he needed most, but not now, when he was dying all alone, longing for comfort.
Duke, Steph, Alfred, Kon, he could go on, but the thing was that he’d never see them again, not now, not ever, never again.
And Tim- Tim didn’t want to go out like this, alone and afraid.
Death was inevitable, and he thought he’d been prepared for it, after all, being a vigilante did have a very high risk.
But.
Even though there was absolutely no way he could see anyone before he died, it was possible that Tim could potentially hear them through the comms.
He’d turned them off before the fight that had started this mess, and had yet to connect them back up afterwards, because he’d had more pressing problems, such as the fact that he was currently dying, mind you.
Slowly lifting up one of his hands, ignoring the tremors that ran through them, making them shake violently, Tim pressed against the button to connect him to the channel with blood soaked fingers, feeling a shudder at the sudden sensation of coldness that radiated from his chest.
That can’t be good.
Almost immediately, his ears were assaulted with a huge outburst of noise, making Tim let out a small wince as his head pounded with agony even harder.
“-the new drug bust on thirty-first street, who’s got that-”
“-fucking hell, why are there so many-”
“-come on Robin, it’d be fun!-”
“Red Robin, report.”
The gravelly voice of Batman cut through the chatter like a knife, as everyone fell silent, and Tim held back a sigh of relief at the blissful silence.
“Red Robin, do you hear me?” Bruce asked sternly, with a small hint of worry.
Tim’s eyes snapped back open, that’s weird, since when had he closed them?, brain fuzzily acknowledging that he was being asked a question. “Er- just peachy, B!” He giggled, as a sudden wave of euphoria washed over him.
There was quiet on the other end, and he relaxed, head tilting to look upwards at the smog filled sky above him.
“Tim, tell me. Are you hurt? Drugged?” Barked Bruce, concern and the slightest bit of worry lacing his tone.
That was weird.
Why did his Dad sound so concerned?
“Me? Oh, I feel like a million bucks! How about you?” Around Tim, he could see black spots creeping towards him, and he shot a glare at the slowly advancing darkness coming closer.
“I'm tracking him now,” He heard Oracle report, but it sounded distant, like he was hearing it through murky water.
Tim hummed absentmindedly, as he tried to remember why exactly he had turned on his comm again.
“Who are we tracking again?” Tim frowned, brain feeling like it was full of molasses as he tried to pierce together what was happening.
He could hear shouts over the comms, but they sounded muffled for some reason, and his fingers were growing cold.
That's weird. Isn't it summer?
“Uh, guys? I think something's wrong with the comms,” He asked, but the words came out slurred, and another wave of confusion rolled over him.
Seriously, why was it so cold?
It felt like all the warmth had been drained from his body, and Tim felt a heavy weight on his chest, but when he tried to move his arm to take it off of him, he found that he couldn't move the limb.
Dull panic flashed in his mind, and he peered down, trying to figure out what had happened to his arm.
Oh, the weight on his chest was his arm. How did it get there again?
“-TIM!” a voice yelled out, and he blinked slowly, struggling to open his eyes, his eyelids feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds.
The mysterious voice grew louder, until he distantly heard the sound of footsteps landing on the roof he was on, pounding towards him.
He ignored it, squeezing his eyes tight again as an attempt to block out the noise, which obviously didn't help at all, but frankly he was too tired to move anything else.
For a moment; peace, then hands and hands were all over him, pressing and prodding and trying to move him, sending shots of cold and hot pain numbness all over him, and Tim couldn't help but let out a breathless gasp, eyes flying open and darting around frantically.
It took a couple of seconds to blink away the darkness so he could actually focus on whoever or wherever was touching him, and as his vision cleared, Tim couldn’t hold back a frown.
“Br’ce?” He asked, frown deepening in confusion as the words came out slurred, as the familiar yet blurry sight of his father filled his gaze. “What’r you doin’ ‘ere?”
Tim struggled against whatever force was pining his body, trying to lift his torso up to look more formal in front of his dad, but Bruce made a pained noise, one bloody hand slowly pushing him back down.
Wait.
Bloody hand?
Panic spiked in him, and his eyes widened. “Dad!” He cried out, and his father jolted, their gazes meeting, blue against blue. “Are you h’rt? You should get checked out, ’m fine, don’ worry.”
Bruce froze, looking at him with so much emotion that it almost hurt.
Why wasn’t he hurting again?
He was supposed to be hurting, right?
There was no reply, so he repeated his words. “I’m fine,” Tim emphasized, and tried to shoot the older man a smile, but before he could, he felt an itch in his throat, and couldn’t hold back a cough, staring down in confusion at the wetness that now dripped all over his chin.
Above him, Tim heard Bruce let out a kind of choked sound, and he looked back up, noting how his head seemed to weigh a hundred pounds.
So he smiled again, blinking harder to clear the blurry film over his eyes and- oh.
He was crying.
When had he started to cry?
And why?
Everything was growing darker, and around him, the colors were all mixing together, a muffled noise akin to screaming ringing in the background, but he was too tired to care.
Slowly, his dropping eyelids slipped shut, and Tim absentmindedly noted how-