Chapter Text
It was stupid, really. Tim had died many times before. This wasn't even the first time he was bleeding out.
The first couple of times had been scary, especially that time he had drowned when he was seven. It was slow and painful; his panic had made the whole ordeal so much worse. Bleeding out was almost nice in comparison. The bullet wounds hurt, of course, but in just a few moments, he wouldn't feel a thing anymore.
He stared up at Gotham's smoggy night sky. The cold stone of the rooftop made him shiver. He could hear a dog barking in the alley below. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off. Dick was patrolling today. Maybe he would stop the car theft.
It was somehow comforting to imagine that his brother was close. To imagine he could swoop in and take Tim into his arms. Maybe even hug him and tell him it's going to be okay while they wait for him to lose consciousness.
Realistically, he would try and save him. Dick was just like that. Even though Tim wasn't his actual brother, he still pretended to care for Tim's sake. And sometimes, when he felt selfish, Tim liked to indulge in the feeling of safety and warmth that Dicks hugs gave him.
Maybe it was the lightheadedness from Blood loss, or perhaps it was the exhaustion catching up to him from the past couple of weeks, but he felt like crying.
He wasn't scared of death itself, of course not. But he felt so utterly alone. He had died many times, but not once was someone by his side when it happened.
He knew it was selfish and greedy, but just once, he'd like someone to hold him while it happened. Maybe even pet his hair and tell him everything is going to be okay. Or pick him up and carry him to safety, like he had seen Bruce do when Damian had gotten stabbed.
Maybe he could be selfish, just this once and just a little bit. If he called someone and didn't actually tell them what was happening, it would be okay, right?
He was debating opening a private comm line, but the chance of Oracle listening in and making a fuss by telling Bruce would be too high.
He mentally went through his options. He couldn't call Dick or Bruce. They were patrolling today, and he couldn't bring himself to distract them with his selfish need for comfort.
Damian also wasn't an Option. The kid hated his guts and would probably not even answer the phone.
Cass and Steph were on Vacation, and Connor, Cassie, and Bart were off-world. He only had to sit this mission out cause Connor noticed his broken wrist and sprained ankle and had snitched to the Bats. Alfred put his foot down and told him he wouldn't be allowed to participate in any nightly activities until those injuries healed. He had only been cleared to patrol two days ago.
Tim could feel something wet in his throat and coughed it up. Probably blood. Distantly, he wondered if one of the bullets had somehow injured his lungs. That would suck. He hated the burning feeling of not getting enough air.
The red liquid pooling around him oddly reminded him of Jason's helmet. Their relationship was still strained, and he hadn't apologized for what he had done in the Titans Tower. But he also hadn't tried to kill him again after that and recently even joined him on patrol on occasion. Tim considered that progress.
Tim hesitated for only a moment before dialing Jason's number and pressing on call. He might hang up if he thought about it too much, and he was running out of time quickly.
There were only two beeps before a gruff voice barked into the phone.
"What do you want?"
Tim didn't know what to say. He obviously couldn't tell the Crime Lord that he was actively bleeding out on a rooftop near Crime Alley, but he also never called Jason just to talk to him.
"Replacement? You deaf or something?"
"Oh- no. Sorry, this is stupid. I shouldn't have- I just needed someone to-" Tim rushed to explain. "I'm sorry. I'll just hang up."
"What's going on? You sound like shit."
Time hesitated. "... could you just talk to me for a bit? About anything?"
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Tim almost believed that the Vigilante had hung up on him.
"Where are you right now?" Jason's voice sounded strangely worried. Tim assumed it was the blood loss that was making him hear things.
"I'm okay! You don't have to come! It's just-" Tim panicked. He had called Jason cause he assumed the older wouldn't care much about how rough Tim's voice was. Or how weak he sounded. He didn't expect the Vigilante to wanna show up in person!
Maybe he was mad, Tim's brain supplied. He probably wanted to beat him up for annoying him for no reason. Tim really didn't want to be in more pain. His body was cold and aching, and he just wanted to slip into sweet unconsciousness.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called." Tim apologised. He could hear shuffling and quick, heavy footsteps on the other end of the line.
"Don't you dare hang up, Replacement. I got your location from your tracker. I'm almost there." Jason sounded furious, almost frantic. "Keep talking to me, Baby bird."
Tim frowned. The world was spinning around him, and it was so so cold. He wondered if he would go into shock.
"I'm not a baby. I'm almost 18."
"Doesn't matter. You're still Dick's Baby brother. That doesn't change with time, believe me."
If he could, Tim would blush in embarrassment at this misunderstanding. "No, I'm not. Damian and you are his brothers," Tim suppressed another cough, wheezing in air. "I was just a placeholder when you were gone. They just let me stay around after you came back."
He could hear muffled cursing, and suddenly, there was a thud on the rooftop. The line clicked as Jason hung up, but Tim could vaguely make out heavy footsteps rushing towards him.
"¡Mierda!" Jason cursed, dropping down next to Tim and ripping open his uniform where the bullet wounds were still oozing blood.
Tim winced when he applied pressure on the wounds. This wasn't at all going to plan.
"¡Tu puta madre!" Jason hissed, "Why didn't you press your distress signal?!"
"I'm sorry-" Tim coughed. "I didn't want to make a fuss."
"Make a fuss?! You got three fucking bullet holes in your stomach, god damn it!" Jason sounded panicked, and Tim's guilt was eating at him. He didn't mean to make the other Vigilante worry.
"It's okay. I'll be fine, I promise-" Another cough cut him off. Tim's vision was starting to darken at the corners and he frowned. He needed to make sure Jason understood that his death would be temporary.
"¡Tonto del culo! Just shut up and stay awake." Jason pressed his distress signal. Bruce basically forced it on him, and Jason had taken it after much arguing back and forth. Tim didn't understand why Jason refused Bruce's affection. He wished Bruce would care about him like he cared for one of his sons. But that was a selfish want and an insult to his late parents.
He knew he was a selfish child. His parents made sure to remind him of his greediness, back when he was still too small to be left alone for long and forcing them to stay in Gotham. The guilt of burdening his parents never really went away. This was also the reason he never told them about his deaths. They would be ashamed of him. He was, after all, a Freak, not worthy of carrying the Drake Legacy.
He fixed his faults, of course, or at least did his damn best to hide them. He stopped fidgeting. He became self-sufficient so his parents could travel. He learned how to talk to the elite and charm them by observing and copying Bruce and his parents' mannerisms at Galas. He forced himself to become the best version of himself.
It had never been enough for his parents, of course. Still, occasionally, after a business associate would compliment his parents on their "bright child," his father would look at him approvingly. Once, he even squeezed his shoulder.
And that was enough for him.
But sometimes, he still fucked up.
Like now, for example. He shouldn't have allowed those thugs to shoot him, but it was either him or the couple they were robbing. And he shouldn't have called Jason, making him, and probably by now, also the rest of the Wayne Family worry.
A greedy part deep inside of him relished in the hope that someone would care if he was hurt or dying. He knew how horrible it was for him to feel like that, but he couldn't help it.
He had already fucked up big time, so maybe...
"Can you hold my hand?" Tim whispered, not daring to voice his selfish want any louder.
"What?" Jason, who was still applying pressure to his wound, gaped down at him.
Tim's eyes glossed over, and he could feel a tear roll down his face. "I'm sorry- but I just need-" he trailed off, not knowing how to explain.
Jason almost gently moved Tim's head on his lap, petting his hair with his free hand.
"You're going to be okay, Baby bird," he shushed. "B is on his way. He's going to fix it-" Jason's voice was strangely choked up, and something wet was dripping on Tim's face.
He didn't want Jason to be sad.
"Don't cry," Tim said, his fingers twitching towards Jason's face, but his body didn't have the energy to move.
That made Jason let out a full-on sob, which made Tim feel even more guilty.
Jason kept mumbling reassuring words to him, and Tim thought it was nice.
Just this once, he was allowing himself to be held while he died. He greedily sucked in every word of comfort he was so readily offered.
He really wanted to thank Jason, but his throat hurt, his eyes were heavy, and he felt so cold.
Distantly, he could feel hands shaking him and two panicked voices calling his name, but he was so so tired.
So he slept.