The night was supposed to end with victory. Instead, it ended in blood.

The warehouse was quiet now—too quiet. Smoke still hung in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Dick was on his knees on the cracked concrete floor, his gloves slick and shaking as he tried to press down on the wound in Tim’s stomach.

“Tim, hey, hey—stay with me, okay? Look at me, buddy,” Dick’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through even though he was trying so hard to keep it steady.

Tim’s lips were pale, his eyes fluttering. When he tried to speak, a horrible wet sound came out—choking on his own blood. Dick shushed him immediately, voice trembling. “Don’t talk. Just—don’t, okay? We’re getting you out of here. You’re gonna be fine.”

Bruce was there too, crouched beside them, one hand hovering near Tim’s pulse, the other gripping Dick’s shoulder. His jaw was tight, the kind of tightness that meant he was seconds away from breaking. “Nightwing. Apply more pressure.”

“I am!” Dick’s voice cracked again. His hands were covered in blood now—Tim’s blood—and he could feel the faint, uneven rhythm of Tim’s heartbeat beneath his palms.

A few feet away, Damian stood frozen. His sword was still in his hand, his cape torn. His eyes—wide and wet—were locked on Tim. He hadn’t moved since it happened. Since Tim had shoved him out of the way. Since that knife had sunk into him instead.

“He—he took the hit for me,” Damian whispered, his voice trembling for the first time in a long time. His blade clattered to the floor.

Stephanie was kneeling nearby, her mask pushed up, tears streaking her cheeks as she held out bandages from her utility belt. “C’mon, we need to stop the bleeding—why isn’t he—?”

“Steph,” Barbara’s voice cut through softly but firmly from the comms, “ambulance ETA—two minutes. Just hold on.”

Two minutes felt like forever.

Dick leaned down, brushing the blood-streaked hair from Tim’s forehead with shaking fingers. “You hear that, Timmy? Two minutes. Just hang in there for me, okay? You’re not allowed to check out early, you hear me?”

Tim’s gaze flickered up at him, barely focusing, blood on his lips when he tried to smile. His hand weakly gripped Dick’s wrist, the faintest pressure before falling slack.

“No—no, no, no, no, no—” Dick’s voice broke, shaking him lightly, desperately. “Tim! Come on!”

Bruce was already on comms, voice clipped and trembling with the effort to stay calm. “We need medics now.”

Damian stepped forward slowly, his small, blood-smeared hands trembling. He sank to his knees beside them, whispering so quietly only Dick could hear— “I didn’t ask him to save me.”

Dick didn’t answer. He just held Tim tighter, heart pounding, refusing to let go.