Work Text:
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
It was not supposed to end up like this. Tim was supposed to go home. Take a shower. Eat some of that leftover stew that Alfred had made. The one with the rosemary and potatoes. The building wasn’t supposed to explode.
He wasn’t supposed to die tonight.
But there was no use dwelling on what-ifs and the like. Here he was. Buried underneath mountains of rubble when Dick and Bruce were far away in Blüdhaven.
Angry tears clumped his eyelashes together. Why did it have to explode? Why could no one in Gotham just commit normal, small crimes? Why did everything have to be dramatic and loud and go up in fire with a bang?
He was bleeding out, slowly, but surely. He knew that, because there were a million fucking pieces of shrapnel embedded everywhere in his body. The blood was slick and warm. It made him want to panic, but if he started to panic, then the blood would pump faster, and then he’d die faster.
Maybe he should panic? At least then his suffering would end quicker.
The beam that was pinning him down made it hard to breathe, his leg was hurting enough that Tim was sure it was broken, and one of his arms had gotten stuck between two pieces of stone. From what Tim could make out, they were leaning on each other. He’d tried to dislodge his arm, but the stones had shifted dangerously, and Tim would prefer not to let one of them come crashing down on his head. At least he could still feel his arm. He could wiggle his fingers. Though it wasn’t as easy as he’d like it to be.
It didn’t really matter if he could feel his arm or not, though.
He was going to die. A functioning arm would do him no good in death.
He didn’t have his comm in. Why would he? There was no one but him in town. And the patrol wasn’t supposed to go like this.
At least there were no civilians, he thought.
But where was the police? Why was no one coming to get him?
Why was he dying, all alone out by the docks?
Who was he kidding? This was Gotham. The police weren't going to come running at one puny exploded building.
He was getting dizzy. His thoughts were becoming muddled, and all Tim knew for certain was that he wanted to go home.
He didn’t want to die, and he gasped a pathetic little sob at the thought of it. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to get buried-
Oh, God. Tim didn’t have a will. They were going to bury him next to his parents, weren’t they?
No, no, no, no.
Tim had grown up alone, now he was dying alone. It was only fitting that he got buried alone. Not next to the people who had made his life a living hell every time he’d seen them, however rare the occasions might have been.
But he didn't have a will. No one was going to know what he wanted, and he was going to get dumped in the earth right next to his stupid, stupid parents.
He remembered, somewhere in the fog of it all, that he had his phone in his belt. He shifted around, sobbed through gritted teeth when the shrapnel dug in deeper, and managed to squeeze his arm down to his belt. His fingers felt numb and tingly, like TV static, but somehow he still managed to get his phone out and up to his face. The screen was cracked to hell, but he hoped that it would still work.
It did, and the light was so bright that Tim would have flinched back, if it didn’t mean that he’d be banging his head against ten tons of exploded warehouse.
He dialed the first number that he saw. Not really caring who it was.
As long as he could get his message across.
-
When his phone rang, Jason got a little irritated. He was in the middle of enjoying a late night patrol-snack. Did they have to call now?
He didn’t have his ringer on, obviously, but he could still feel it buzzing in his pocket.
Not a lot of people had his number. And it was very, very late.
He slipped the phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID, taking another bite of his chili-dog. He finished chewing, and pressed the green button.
“This better be a fucking emergency, Replacement.”
“Jason?” Tim Drake said, sounding breathless, wheezy, and surprised. Who did he think was going to answer Jason’s phone?
“What do you want?” Jason took another bite, already regretting answering. He looked out over the skyline. Crime Alley, despite its flaws, was sort of beautiful under the moonlight. A little grimy, a little crumbling, a little rough. But still beautiful.
In the distance, way over by the docks, Jason saw a pillar of smoke. He wrinkled his nose at it. Explosion. The Bats must be having a busy night. So why was Tim calling him?
“Jason!” Tim wheezed out again, sounding absolutely delirious. “Don’t let them bury me with my parents.”
Jason choked on his food.
“What?” He growled, “Are you drunk? What the fuck is this, Replacement?”
“No,” Tim’s breaths were rattling and uneven, “You have to promise me,” He gasped, and Jason’s heart skipped a beat, “Don’t bury me next to my parents. Anywhere else is- is fine,” Tim coughed, and struggled to catch his breath afterwards, and Jason took his chance.
“What’s going on? Where are you?”
“Promise me. You have to promise. It’s not in my will, I don’t even have one, and they’re going to put me there and I don’t want t-”
“Tim!” Jason rose and frantically looked around, not knowing which direction to go, “Where are you?”
All he could hear was Tim’s shallow breaths.
“Answer me. Where the fuck are you? What happened?”
This couldn’t be real, he thought, trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t happening. This had to be a joke. A fucked up and horrible joke, but a joke all the same.
The kid couldn’t be dying, right?
Where the fuck was Bruce?
“Warehouse. Exploded. ‘M bleeding out, heh,” Tim laughed, and Jason’s head whipped towards the pillar of smoke in the distance. There had been a loud, loud explosion earlier, but Jason hadn’t checked it out. It was outside his territory, he’d assumed that the Bats were going to take care of it. They always did.
“By the docks?” He asked, already getting his grapple out, ignoring the way his hands were shaking.
“Mhm,” Tim sounded faint and far away, and Jason put on his helmet and patched the phone call to its comm.
“I’m on my way. Keep talking.”
-
“About what?” Tim mumbled. His head was too heavy to hold up any longer, so he put it down on the ground. It was rough and uneven, and gravel was digging into his skull, but he didn’t really care. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter much.
“Where is Bruce?” Jason asked.
He’d called Jason. Apparently. Whatever. As long as someone knew what he wanted.
Jason had said he was on his way. Why? So he could personally witness Tim kicking the bucket? They had a truce, but mabe Jason had been more reluctant about it than Tim had thought. Titans Tower was ages ago, but maybe Jason still harbored some hate towards him.
It didn’t matter anymore.
“Blüd,” Tim sighed. Everything hurt, but it was starting to feel very far away. The only thing that was clear was the hot pulsing in his arm, in sync with the beat of his heart. Maybe the shrapnel had hit an artery.
“And Dickface is there too, I’m guessing.”
Tim hummed. Closing his eyes. His head was hurting. The light from the phone was awful.
“Jason,” He whispered, voice rough and muddled, “Please, don’t let them bury me next to my parents.”
“You’re not getting buried anywhere, fuckface. There can’t be two dead Robins. You tryna’ copy me or something?”
Tim laughed a little. He was, though. He was getting buried somewhere, because he wasn’t going to last very long. He could feel it. The way things were numbing, the way his thoughts were thinning out, becoming wispy things he couldn’t quite grasp.
The laugh made his chest hurt, and he winced.
“You always were the best one,” He said, shivering, “M’favorite.”
“Tell me more about that. Keep talking.” Jason sounded strained, and Tim could hear his motorcycle roaring through the phone.
“Y’jus want me to stroke your ego. I’m not gonna.”
“What about Dick? He’s the OG, no?”
Tim yawned. That was true. Dick was the original Robin, the one who coined it, defined it, laid out the path for them to walk.
But Jason was the one that Tim grew up with. The one he idolized.
The one that hated him.
“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, “Y’think I replaced you. I didn’t.”
“Jesus Christ,” he heard Jason say, and he would frown, if only he could get his facial muscles to work. If only he wasn’t so tired.
“Sorry,” He managed, and then it was as if all the energy left his body. Everything was fuzzy and dim. Maybe he should take a nap?
-
“Jesus Christ,” Jason said as he reached the smoking mess that, just a little while ago, had been a building. He dismounted his bike and jogged over to the mess.
“Sorry,” Tim slurred over the phone, and Jason didn't waste any time in starting to look around.
“Do you know where you were when the building exploded?”
Everything was just rubble. Tim could be anywhere. He felt the panic closing in. Wondered, distantly and with something akin to horror, if this is what Bruce felt like, all those years ago.
“What does it matter? B’s not gonna come.” The words were barely intelligible, and Jason’s chest seized.
Hadn’t he thought that exact same thing?
And yeah. Bruce wasn’t going to fucking come this time either. But Jason sure as hell was.
“Where, Tim?” Jason almost seethed, and he heard a quiet breath.
“Middle,” He whispered, and Jason started running.
-
Jason was sure that his hands must be torn and bleeding, but finally he saw the electric yellow of Tim’s cape. It was dusty and torn, and stained with blood.
“Hang on, kid,” He grunted, shoving more rubble off him, slowly but surely digging him out of the wrecked building.
“Jason?” He heard, both from the phone call and from the kid. He disconnected the call and kept digging. There was a wooden beam, lying diagonally over him. His left arm seemed to be stuck between two rocks.
“Yeah, Tim. I’m here, don’t worry,” Jason said, not knowing if he was talking to the kid or to himself.
There was a lot of blood. Too much.
Tim was facing Jason, but he wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were shut. There was a gash on his head, and the blood made his hair slick and shiny.
“Really?” Tim breathed, a small smile on his face, “Think you might be too late.”
Nope. Jason wasn’t having any of that. He braced his leg against one of the stones trapping Tim’s arm, and pushed the other, bigger one away from them. The weight from the stone he was bracing against threatened to tip him over when the bigger one fell away and stopped supporting it. But Jason was nothing if not strong. He let out a frustrated sound and tipped away that one as well.
Tim’s fingers curled.
“Shut up,” Jason grumbled, squatting down and grabbing the beam. The last thing that was pinning Tim down, “What did you eat for dinner?”
He had to keep the kid talking. If he fell asleep, Jason wasn’t too sure that he would be waking up again.
Tim wasn’t answering, and Jason lifted the beam. He wished someone else was there to drag Tim away, but he’d just have to manage.
Tim was still not answering.
“Come on, Tim. What did you have for dinner? Not a very hard question,” He gritted out, carrying the beam away from him, and letting it fall down with a heavy thud just inches away from his feet.
“Sandwich,” Tim sighed. He was breathing deeply. And Jason almost collapsed from the relief. But it wasn’t over yet.
Tim needed blood. And Jason didn’t have any at any of his safe houses. Fucking Batcave it was. He crouched down and gingerly flipped Tim over. He winced when he saw the shards of glass and wood that were sticking out of him. There was one in his arm that had hit the brachial artery, judging by the amount of blood. He grabbed gauze from his belt and tied it as tightly as he could around the wound.
Not very neat, but at least it might slow the bloodflow.
Once that was done, he picked Tim up, arms under knees and shoulders, and carried him over to his bike.
“Sandwich? That’s not very filling.”
“Stew later,” Tim mumbled, head lolled back. And Jason thanked every God in the universe that he’d let Bruce modify his bike.
At the press of a button, and the entering of a six digit code, a tall backrest unfolded in the back. It had a belt, and would probably keep Tim in place for the time it took them to get to the cave.
“Keep talking to me, kid. I’m getting you to the cave. It’ll all be fine.” He strapped Tim in and got on. The bike roared to life beneath him, and almost drowned out Tim’s words.
“Too late,” The kid murmured, “Don’ bury me with m’parents. You hafta promise.”
“I promise you this, Tim: You ain’t gettin’ buried anytime soon.”
Jason took off, breakneck speed towards the cave, praying that Tim wasn’t right.
-
Tim knew he’d been on a motorcycle.
He knew Jason had, very loudly and very closely to Tim’s head, called after Alfred.
Then, he wasn’t too sure what had happened.
He sat up in the bed he was laying in. Judging by the thin mattress, it was not his own bed. Opening his eyes felt like the most tedious chore in the entire world, but he managed to pry them open at last, and was immediately blinded by the harsh lights of the Batcave’s medical wing.
He looked around once his eyes had adjusted, and saw Jason in a chair next to the bed, sleeping. His head was hanging down, chin against his chest, and he looked absolutely wrecked.
He was dusty all over, and he was still in his Red Hood gear, helmet missing.
Tim was so thirsty he might die.
Hah. Right. He’d almost died.
He cleared his throat, and Jason shot up, looking startled. His eyes settled on Tim, and he relaxed.
“Thank fuck,” He muttered, rubbing his eyes, “Here.” He reached down and grabbed a water bottle from a bag. Tim moved to accept it, but when he moved his arms, pain shot down like a bolt of lightning, and they fell to his sides again.
Jason, seemingly able to read his mind, found a straw and held out the bottle to him.
Tim drank like he’d never seen water before, draining half the bottle before deeming himself satisfied.
“What happened?” He gulped out, a little out of breath. Jason sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Well, you called me-”
“Not that,” Tim felt the tips of his ears burning. He’d rather not think about the call, or about what he vaguely remembered telling Jason, “With me. What’s the damage?”
“You don’t want to know,” Jason sighed, and judging by the amount of bandages Tim could feel wrapped around his body, maybe Jason was right.
-
Shortly after Tim had woken up, the Batmobile had roared into the cave, and Jason had steeled himself for the whirlwind that was a Worried Dick Grayson, and the brick wall that was a Worried Bruce Wayne.
He’d gotten through it, though, and had gotten a crushing hug from Dick, who was probably using him as a substitute for Tim, since the kid was in too battered of a state to receive any hugs.
Jason didn’t stay for very long. But, at Tim’s request, he did visit the Manor more frequently than he’d ever done since he came back from the dead. He found it to be… not as bad as he thought it would be.
They watched a lot of movies. It was an activity that didn’t require much moving, because although Tim was healing, he was still injured.
This particular visit was a few weeks after the whole Thing, and Jason found himself a little early at the Manor. He wasn’t supposed to arrive for another 40 minutes, but it didn’t matter much. He gave Alfred a quick hello, and started up the stairs. Maybe they could start watching the movie earlier?
He knocked on Tim’s door, and opened it. The kid was hunched over his desk, head in one hand, pencil in the other. His crutches were leaning against the desk.
“Whatcha doin’ there, Timmers? Homework?” Jason leaned against the doorframe.
Tim scoffed, but didn’t look at him.
“I dropped out a year ago, Jason.” He got quiet for a little bit, “This is my will,” He filled in at last, and Jason thought he might choke.
“What?”
“My will. The incident last month made me realize that I need to clarify certain things to avoid my wishes not being fulfilled after I die.”
Jason thought his head might combust. This kid, this literal child, was writing his will? On a normal Friday?
All to ensure he wouldn’t be buried next to his parents. Jason didn’t want to know what they had done to Tim to make him go to these lengths to avoid being reunited with them even in death.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” He managed, still reeling, and Tim turned around in the chair.
“I do,” He said weakly, “What if I die and they don’t- They would put me next to my parents. I don’t want that to happen. I can’t-”
Tim’s eyes were filling up with tears, and Jason had had enough. He strode over, and carefully hoisted Tim out of the chair, wrapping his arms around him. Tim’s feet were barely touching the ground, Jason supporting most of his weight. He squeezed as tightly as he could, while still being mindful of Tim’s injuries, and at first nothing happened.
But then he felt Tim’s arms come up around him, and he heard a badly suppressed sob escape through his lips. Jason tightened his grip around him. Let his chin rest on top of Tim’s head.
“I can’t let that happen,” Tim stuttered into his chest, and Jason shut his eyes.
“Not that you have to worry about it, but if I know Bruce right, you’re getting buried in the Wayne family plot. You’re a fool if you think that he- if you think that any of us would let you go back to your parents. You’re part of their family now, whether you like it or not.”
He felt his shirt get damp. He didn’t mind. As long as the message stuck.
-
Two hours later they were on a couch, watching a chick-flick from the nineties. Dick’s choice.
Tim was leaning into Jason’s side, and Jason was squished up against Dick on his other side. Dick was asleep, having conked out within the first five minutes of the movie.
“You are too, you know,” Tim said, so quietly that Jason almost didn’t hear it.
“What am I?”
“Part of this family.”
Oh. Jason’s brain glitched a little. He didn’t answer.
“You are,” Tim said, probably sensing Jason’s doubt, “I wouldn’t call just anyone with my last request, now would I?”
“Tim, my guy, you had absolutely no idea that it was me you were calling,” Jason laughed, “You were delirious.”
“Still,” Tim grumbled, “You are.”
And maybe.. Maybe Jason was. Otherwise, why was he here, squished between two brothers, watching the worst movie of his life, and still having a great time?
“Thank you,” He said, quietly. And then he added, not so quietly, “And if I ever see you writing your will again before you hit 50, then I’ll kill you myself.”
“Oh, please,” Tim snorted, “You like me too much.”
Jason stuck out his tongue at Tim, who let out a laugh loud enough to startle Dick awake. His hair was standing in all directions, and he looked so lost that both of them burst out laughing.
Yeah, Jason thought, smiling to himself. Maybe they were family.