"Stay alive..."
The words struck through Tim’s mind at the exact moment the gunshot exploded against his neck. The impact hit him hard—burning, tearing, stealing his breath in a single brutal heartbeat. The voice echoed again, distant now, hollow, bouncing around the fading corners of his consciousness.
"Stay alive..."
His vision blurred, lights smearing into dark shapes, and the only thing he could still make out was Bruce leaning over him—hands frantic, movements sharp—changing his torn uniform into civilian clothes before anyone could notice who he really was. He couldn’t let Robin be carried into a hospital. Not like this. Not when the wound was too close. Everything else collapsed into darkness.
Doctors and nurses rushed in instantly, surrounding Tim with urgent hands and quick, clipped voices. They lifted him, stabilized him, pressed down on the bleeding while the wheels of the stretcher squealed against the floor. It all sounded far away, muffled, like Tim was underwater… yet he still heard one voice tear through the hallway.
"Where is my son?!"
Bruce barreled after the medical team, trying to follow, trying to catch one more glimpse before Tim disappeared behind the double doors. A doctor stopped him, explaining that Tim was losing too much blood—that they needed to operate immediately, that Mr. Wayne had to breathe and be patient.
A useless request. Bruce Wayne was not a man built for patience.
Time became a vague, shapeless thing until consciousness slowly returned. Tim blinked against the harsh white lights, his throat burning, his neck throbbing beneath the bandages. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, only for a large, steady hand to press gently against his shoulder.
Bruce was beside him, leaning close, looking exhausted—eyes shadowed, jaw tight—wearing the expression he reserved only for moments when he almost lost one of his children.
“Shh… I know, I know. Save your strength and stay alive—”
But his words were cut short as the door swung open.
Someone rushed inside, breath unsteady, worry written all over their face. Tim lifted his gaze, slow and heavy, just enough to catch sight of you hurrying toward him.
— , "{{user}}.."
Your name left him in a fragile whisper—soft, strained, but filled with such profound relief it nearly broke him. His eyes glistened faintly at the sight of you, as if your presence alone pulled him back into the world he’d almost slipped away from.