Chapter Text
Tim dies much like he lives—alone and unloved.
At least, that’s how it feels in the end.
He used to hope death would be gentle. Quiet. Like closing his eyes after a long day and slipping into sleep, warm and weightless, never having to wake up again.
But like most things in Tim’s life, death hurts.
It hurts.
The bullet tears through him, hot and brutal, dropping him hard onto the filthy concrete. For a second, all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and the wet, horrible sound of his own breathing.
Blood pools beneath him, spreading fast.
His hands shake as he presses trembling fingers to his comm.
“This is RR,” he gasps, choking on the pain. “I need—”
Static crackles.
Then Nightwing’s voice cuts through.
“Can it wait?”
Tim stills.
For a moment, he thinks maybe he heard wrong.
“What?” he manages weakly.
“Robin’s in trouble,” Dick says quickly, distracted, already moving. “He needs us.”
Tim’s vision blurs. Every breath feels sharp now, like glass in his lungs.
“Is it urgent, RR?”
And Tim knows then.
Knows with awful, crystal clarity that he is going to die here.
Alone.
Again.
His laugh almost turns into a sob.
“No,” he whispers. “Not urgent. It’s fine. Go.”
There’s barely a pause before—
“See you soon, babybird.”
Tim closes his eyes.
“Goodbye.”
The comm clicks dead.
And Tim bleeds.
The cold creeps in slowly after that. His fingers numb first, then his legs. The pain fades little by little until all that’s left is exhaustion. He stares up at the night sky above the alley, wondering distantly if this is how it ends for everyone.
Not with something grand.
Just… quietly disappearing.
An hour later, Dick’s voice crackles through the comm again, breathless and relieved.
“Robin’s safe. RR, heading to you now. What’s the issue?”
Silence.
“Red Robin?”
Nothing.
“Red Robin, where are you?”
Dick knows then.
Tim can hear it in the panic that suddenly cracks through his voice.
“Oracle!” Dick screams.
After that, everything becomes noise.
They find him too late.
Always too late.
Dick collapses to his knees beside him, hands desperately trying to stop the bleeding even though there’s too much blood, too much red, too much gone. Bruce is shouting at him to stay awake, his voice breaking in a way Tim has never heard before. Jason grabs his hand so tightly it almost hurts, and Damian—
Damian just stares.
Horrified.
Frozen.
Watching his brother die.
Tim tries to speak.
“I just—”
The words dissolve into wet coughing, blood spilling from his lips.
And for the first time in his life, he has all of them listening.
All of them looking at him.
All of them seeing him.
“I just wanted to be loved,” Tim chokes out.
The world stops.
His family freezes in horror.
Tim’s eyes burn, tears slipping sideways into his hair.
“Was that too much to ask for?”
No one answers.
No one can.
Because those are Tim Drake’s last words.
Then he’s gone.
He fades quietly, the fight leaving his body all at once, unaware of the screams that tear through the alley afterward. Unaware of Bruce begging. Of Dick sobbing so hard he can barely breathe. Of Jason clutching his hand like letting go might kill him too. Of Damian finally breaking apart beside him.
Tim never gets to see their grief.
Never gets to see their love.
Because it comes too late.
Too late to hold him.
Too late to save him.
Too late to tell him he was loved all along.
And maybe that is the cruelest thing of all.