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Tim was going to die.
He was pushed against the wall in some shitty back alley, against Killer Croc no less. Maybe on another night, he'd be able to fight him. Maybe on another night, he'd be able to leave that fight alive, or scramble away from it - if not heroically then at least still breathing.
As things stood right now, he was tired, bleeding and about to pass out.
Arkham outbreaks were never fun and almost always guaranteed that someone from the family would get hurt. Tonight has been, probably, the worst one they've had to deal with in years. It was so bad Batman has asked for all hands on deck, including his siblings that had moved to different cities.
Last he'd heard of any of his family, Red Hood had been on the other side of Gotham, Spoiler had been busy dealing with Poison Ivy and Nightwing had been down. Currently his comm was nowhere to be seen, probably laying broken somewhere from a lucky blow to the head.
Tim was sporting what seemed like the beginnings of a concussion, a bullet wound in his calf that really didn't help him with staying upright, and more cuts and bruises than he could count. Granted, he had managed to pull together a make-shift bandage for the hole in his leg but that didn't change the fact it hurt everytime he as much as breathed wrong.
And then there was this giant monster that was about to eat him alive, quite literally.
Killer Crock reached for him, claws glinting menacingly in the low light. Tim ducked, his instincts taking over before his mind could even process what was going on. The lower half of his right arm flared up and so did his shoulder. Tim cried out, white-hot pain causing his vision to go blank.
He tried to get away, twisting his body and kicking blindly. His leg collided with something soft and the metahuman retrieved his hand, if only for a moment. Tim dragged himself as far away as he could, which wasn't too far, and leaned on a wall. He was panting for air, as he was desperately trying to blink away the remaining dark spots in his vision. When he looked over at his arm, he gagged. His forearm had a puncture wound from one of the villain's claws. When he tried to move it, nothing happened - dislocated shoulder, his mind supplied.
Far too soon, Croc was running towards him, mouth wide-open, and Tim closed his eyes, letting out a terrified whimper.
He was about to die. He was about to die, bloody, broken and alone and there was nothing he could do. Tim couldn't move and he was going to die and Tim would give anything to go home, to see his siblings again, to kiss his boyfriend again, to live.
Tim wanted to live.
The bite never came.
Instead, he heard a shriek of pain that reached his very soul and Tim opened his eyes just in time to see a body getting thrown through the air like a ragdoll, blood dripping from the monster's jawl.
Tim let out a shaken breath, his eyes darting from Croc to his saviour. When he saw a tuff of blonde hair and the familiar figure of his lover, the vigilante's blood ran cold. Tim moved before he could think and next thing he knew, he was scooping Bernard up with his working arm and moving him away from Killer Croc's next attack. He ran into a wall, slamming his shoulder back into place. It hurt, god it hurt, but he couldn't hope to get them out of there with one hand occupied and the other - not working. When the mass of green scales approached them once more, Tim did the one thing he could think of and threw his cape in his eyes, darting out of the way.
He panicked, desperately searching in his utility belt for something, anything, that could help. By now it was mostly empty and as precious seconds ticked by, Tim's movement's became more frantic. And then he gripped something.
A flashlight.
Tim lit it up, throwing light in Croc's eyes. He growled in pain, stumbling backwards with his eyes shut. Tim threw a rock at the direction of the alley's exit and watched as the meta blindly followed the sound. He repeated that until him and the boy in his arms were alone. Safe. Or, as safe as could be.
Tim, still on shaking legs, laid Bernard down as gently as he was able to, before his knees gave out and he crashed on the ground next to him.
He wanted to scream.
Bernard's right side was torn open. Chunks of the flesh were missing and blood was pooling out quickly.
Bernie was slightly curled up into himself, eyes shut tightly and his eyelids fluttering as pain cursed through his body. His face was scrunched up in a grimace and a few stray tears ran down his bloodied face.
Tim picked his cape up from the ground, trying desperately to wrap it around the open wound with shaking arms.
"Why would you do this?" He choked on a sob "Why would you do t-this, you-"
"T-tim?" Bernie asked, as if he hadn't realized Tim was there, that he was holding him, that he was praying and begging this wasn't the end. As if he didn't know Tim was right there, watching his world end.
"Yes, I am here. I am here Berns, it's ok, I've got you- I've got you" his voice immediately switched to something softer, gentler. With a note of fear. But not accusatory this time.He scooped him up closer, putting a hand on Bernard's cheek "I need you to open your pretty eyes for me, ok sweetie?" He gently brushed Bernie's tears away with his thumb. Tim tried not to whimper at the sight of smeared blood.
Bernie, slowly, excruciatingly hard, opened his eyes "Hey" he said with a small voice.
"Hey" Tim answered, his voice catching on something between a sob and an ugly, shocked laughter of disbelief. "You- why" he heaved "Why did you- how did you even find me? Why did you j-jump in-"
"I was scared." Bernie cut him off. As if it was simple as that - he got scared so he decided to throw himself between Tim and the jaws of death. "I s-saw on the news what was going on a-and I followed y-your last location a-and I sssearched f-for you. And then- you w-were going to die" his voice was shivering, like the rest of him, but Tim had never seen such determined look on his boyfriend's freckled face.
Tim shook his head "We are going to talk about this tomorrow- Let me just-" He readjusted Bernard on his lap, trying to tighten the make-shift bandage, his cape soaked through.
And practically useless.
"Tim-" Bernard said, gently. "Please. Thiss is it-t. It's not your f-fault. It'sss no-t. I l-love-"
"No! Don't even- don't even dare think about it! You will live through this and I am going to kill you once you heal up again for being an idiot and-"
"Tim!" Bernard snapped, sending himself into a coughing fit, more red painting his lips.
"Shhhh, don't talk" Tim cooed. "I know. I know. I just need you to keep breathing for me, yeah?" He tried thinking of a plan, his thoughts just a little bit out of reach. Too far out of reach.
He tried to push the panic down. Ok, he needed to call for help. Didn't have a comm, didn't have a beacon, couldn't call- call. A phone. He needed a phone.
Tim scrambled to find Bernie's phone. He never went anywhere without it.
The device was fully covered in blood and cracked. He put in the password he knew by heart and dialed 911.
"Tim" Bernard rasped.
"Shhh! You'll be ok. You'll be ok, I promise- yes, I am in an alleyway with my boyfriend, he is- I need an ambulance right now. Please. I will send you the coordinates-"
The rest of the conversation felt like a blur. So did pushing on the bloody wound, trying to get the blood to slow down.
Tim prayed to every diety he knew, he pleaded and screamed and cried.
"Just hold on a little longer, my star, please, just a little longer, the ambulance is coming soon" he rocked Bernard back and forth, holding him as close to his chest as humanly possible with one hand and ever-so-gently petting his hair with the other.
His lover was trying desperately to catch his breath, quiet whimpers and moans of pain escaping him with every rise and fall of his chest.
A few tears fell in his dirty blonde hair as Tim realised he was right. There wasn't going to be a tomorrow, not for them, not for him. Least he could do was hold him, try to soothe him in his last moments.
"It's ok-.... it's ok, I love you. I love you so much, you are my entire world. It's going to be ok" he kissed the top of his head. "Shhh, it won't hurt anymore, I promise."
Bernie raised his hand, using the last of his strength to reach for Tim's arm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three taps. I love you.
His arm fell. The shaky, albeit still there, raise and fall of his chest against Tim's ceised. He felt the last of Bernie's breath against his skin, his heartbeat stilling under his fingertips.
He clutched the body closer, as it grew colder, and Tim broke down, the last of his resolve dying with his heart in his arms.
He looked at the dark Gotham sky, smoke and pollution hiding the stars that were supposed to be there. It only felt fitting, as his own star had gone dark. "You can't take him away from me" he pleaded to no-one in particular "Y-you can't. P-please! Take me instead, just-" he lowered his head again, sobbing. Tightening his grip around the other as if he'd be able to protect him against the cruel world, as if he'd be able to warm him up.
It was cold. It was so, so cold tonight and Bernie must be freezing. So Tim draped his bloodied cape around his shoulders like a blanket. "Please-"
His heart didn't start again, nor did his lungs and as his skin grew paler, Tim finally lost all hope.
When, seemingly an eternity later, Tim heard sirens, new and heavy sobs rocked his entire being.
Tim Drake died that night, in a dark alley, next to Bernard Dowd.
Red Robin looked over Gotham City, carrying a few scars more. One of which, the deepest one, invisible for anyone but himself.