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Tim woke in a rush. Vertigo attacked him as he sat up quickly, gasping for breath as his skull pulsed with fire. He had expected to wake up – well, no. He hadn’t expected to wake up, but if he had, he expected to wake up in pain. He expected blood, Pru by his side, bleeding out on the hotel bed he barely managed to get them to.
He hadn’t expected to wake up in the Batcave.
It took him a moment to put it together – that it was Alfred by his side and Dick worriedly hovering at the doorway to the medical room. Tim blinked wildly, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Dick was already turning on his heel.
“He’s awake!” Dick hollered before turning around, “Tim! Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
Tim’s vision swam as he moved to stand. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and Alfred was quick to place a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving further. There was no pain from his stomach, no blood on his hands or staining his costume. Tim, distantly, realized that the design was different than he remembered it being. He noticed how Dick was dressed in his Nightwing uniform rather than Batman’s suit.
“How…” Tim rasped, winced at the dryness attacking his throat, “How did you find me?”
He had been in another country – and while he hadn’t exactly been the smartest when it came to changing his aliases out every trip – he had kept a very small trail to follow. How had Dick found him in the hotel? Where was Pru? Did she survive? How had Tim survived, and why wasn’t he in any pain?
Dick’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, “What do you mean, Tim?”
Tim stared at him, bewildered. He hadn’t thought that Dick had even been searching for him – they had left off on bad terms, but there had been an understanding between them, he had thought. Tim hadn’t really focused on hiding from them; had focused more on finding Bruce–
Bruce.
Tim scrambled out of Alfred’s grasp, eyes wide and mind moving quickly. Bruce was alive. He had proof now. Dick would have to believe him.
“Dick,” Tim said quickly, and froze when he saw the figure walking towards them.
It’s been almost a year, but Tim will never forget how Bruce moved, the aura he gave off, the way he looked in the cowl and kevlar. Bruce was standing just behind Dick, his expression concerned and eyes worried and alive.
How long had Tim been asleep? Had they found him at that hotel and somehow saved his life, but had he been in a coma? How had they found Bruce without him telling them that he was alive?
“Tim?” Bruce questioned, stepping around Dick to approach him carefully, “Tim, is your head hurting? Here, sit down, we need to check for any damage.”
Tim was directed to sit, and he did so in a daze. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Bruce’s face – there were grey hairs starting to form at his temples, and he looked just a bit older than Tim remembered him to look. But he was alive, and he was in front of Tim, hands on his shoulders to keep him stable as he sat down.
“Is Timmers out of commission?” he heard a familiar voice ask, and turned to look over to the entryway quickly enough that his head swam. Jason was grinning at him sharply, but there was a hint of concern easy to see in his turquoise eyes.
“He’s not very responsive,” Dick said worriedly. “B is checking for head trauma. It could just be a bad concussion.”
“Tt, I could have taken a hit, Drake.” Damian said, appearing by Jason’s side, “There was no need for you to push me out of the way.”
“Damian,” Bruce said with a quirked brow before he turned back to Tim. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? What hurts, Chum?”
Oh.
Tim gets it now. No one had saved him or Pru – they were still bleeding out in that hotel. He was dying – maybe he was already dead – and his consciousness was giving him something nice before he died. Jason looked at him with concern – calling him Timmers instead of Replacement – Damian stared at him with disguised worry instead of smug resentment. Dick hovered over him like a mother hen instead of saying “we can help, Tim” when he had no intention of helping. Bruce was back and alive and Alfred steady by his side, like he had never been gone. It felt like everything that Tim had ever wanted.
That’s why there is no pain in his stomach, why there is no blood staining his skin, and why his family acted like they cared instead of treating him like an outsider, because that’s all he truly was.
(He always had been just a place holder, after all.)
His eyes stung and it took Tim a moment to realize he was crying.
Tim was dying, and Bruce was still out there. Tim was dying, and he was the only one that knew Bruce was alive.
“Oh, God,” Tim rasped, shaking his head wildly and closed his eyes when nausea attacked him. He placed a hand over his mouth, more to steady himself than to do anything about his sickness.
That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. Tim had just found proof – he had just found proof that Bruce was alive, and now he’s dying. He’s not going to save Bruce, everyone else thought he was gone and dead, so no one will go looking for the Bat.
“Tim?” Bruce asked, reaching out to him and Tim bit back a wail.
“I’m sorry,” he said, so softly he wondered if they would even hear him. He curled into himself. He placed a palm against his stomach, where he had just been stabbed. He thought, if he focuses hard enough, he might be able to feel the wound that caused all of this. “I’m sorry, B.”
“What for, Chum?” Bruce asked gently.
Tim bit out a laugh, eyes watering more. His subconscious must hate him, making him admit this out loud to Bruce. Bruce who wasn’t even here.
“I won’t be able to save you,” Tim said, and it hurt to admit that. It felt like his entire life consisted of saving Bruce – from his grief, from himself – and now he wasn’t going to be able to save him. That had been the only thing he had really been good at. “I’m sorry for dying, B.”
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room in an instant. Bruce tensed and Dick was in front of Tim in the blink of an eye. They both looked vaguely horrified.
“What?” Dick asked, voice a breath. His hands were waving around as if he wanted to touch Tim, but didn’t know if he could.
“It’s okay,” Tim didn’t know why he was comforting a hallucination, but it hurt to see Dick so upset, hallucination or not. “It – It doesn’t hurt.”
And it didn’t, not anymore. He must have lost too much blood. He smiled mirthlessly as he wrapped his arms around his waist. “It’s not so bad.” He added when Dick just seemed even more upset.
He didn’t say that it almost felt like a relief, didn’t say that he was so, so tired. He didn't say that it had been so tempting to lay there and die in that desert, didn't say that he would have if Pru hadn't been alive or if Bruce hadn't needed Tim to save him.
Instead Tim continued with, “I just – I’m the only one that knows B’s alive.” He blinked wildly, tears leaking from his eyes, “I can’t save him if I’m dead.”
Oh God, what was Dick going to say? When he found out that Tim had died? He would blame himself; Tim knows he would, and no matter how many times he comforts the hallucination of Dick, it would mean nothing to the real one.
“Tim, explain your thought process for us.” Jason said, placing a hand on Tim’s shoulder.
“What?” Tim asked.
“What was your last memory?” Jason questioned, insistent. There was a furrow between his eyebrows, a frown on his lips. He looked more worried than anything else; Tim hated how he knew the real Jason would never look at him that way. Jason would see him as nothing more than a Replacement.
“Tell us, Timothy.” Damian demanded.
Tim didn’t see why he had to explain his last memory to his own mind, but even after everything, he was weak for this family. He supposed it wouldn’t kill him to be honest with them, seeing as he was probably already dead.
“I just got back to the hotel,” Tim said, looking back down to his hands. “I managed to get Pru onto the bed – a-and I was going to contact someone because I knew I wasn’t going to make it...” he couldn’t meet their eyes, looking down at the floor. “I lost too much blood and there was no way he missed one of my organs. So, I knew I was going to die. But I didn’t want to die without Dick knowing, because he would have blamed himself, because I needed to tell him Bruce is alive.”
He remembered how he had stumbled and had fallen onto the bed before he could do any of that. Maybe that’s why he was hallucinating his family, now. Because that had been his last conscious thought: I wish I had seen them one last time. I wish we all could have been a real family, just once.
“Tim,” Dick said, tears in his eyes.
Tim didn’t want to see him cry. Not now, of all times.
“You saved Bruce from the time stream two years ago.” Jason cut in sharply. “You did save him.”
Tim smiled at him mirthlessly. “That’s a new one. I didn’t know my own mind would try to lie to me.”
“Master Tim,” Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, “You are not hallucinating.”
“Of course, I am,” Tim refuted. “The only way I could survive this is if Ra’s decides I’m worth the effort and saves me at the last minute.”
He paused, not noticing how everyone else froze. That was actually a possibility. Ra’s wanted something from him, that much was obvious by the way he’s been so...accommodating, so helpful. And if that event really had been two years ago, paired with the fact that everyone had been worried about his head.
Tim quickly reached up to unzip his costume, pulling at the catches and hidden traps. There were a few that he didn’t remember but undid on autopilot – muscle memory, he mused – anyways. He tugged himself out of the top portion of his suit and stared down at the jagged scar over his stomach, where he remembered being impaled on a sword just hours ago.
“Oh, God,” Dick uttered, horrified.
Tim ran his fingertips against the scar, frowning. The people around him seemed shocked at the scar, meaning that they hadn’t been the ones to save him. Ra’s must have sent ninja after him and Pru.
“I must have amnesia.” Tim deduced. “You guys were worried about my head, right? Did I hit it?”
“Amnesia,” Jason repeated, voice blank.
Bruce frowned at him. “Tim, what do you mean Ra’s.”
Tim stared at him for a moment. “If you don’t know, then there’s a reason I never told you.” he said.
“Son,” Bruce said, leaning down slightly so they were at eye level. “You can tell me anything, you know that?”
Tim stared at him. He looked away when his eyes started to sting and sniffled slightly. “No one believes me, B,” he said, almost desperately. “No one but him.”
Bruce inhaled sharply and Jason muttered a curse. Dick took an aborted step back, his face a mixture of grief and terror and anger, but what surprised Tim the most was how Damian, of all people, placed a hand on his wrist and squeezed to comfort him.
Tim looked down at his hands for a moment. He wondered if Pru survived. He thought of Owen and Z’s deaths. Their deaths were his fault, but Pru – Pru had been alive. He had to have saved her.
“I had just found proof,” Tim told Bruce, his mind distant, “I had found you. And then he just showed up and…”
“You saved me, son,” Bruce assured quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Tim didn’t know if this was just one vast hallucination caused by blood loss and death lingering just around the corner, but he smiled and leaned into the warmth. He might as well accept it.
"I'm so sorry, Tim," Dick said tearfully, arms wrapped around his waist in a mediocre effort to comfort himself. "I'm so sorry."
"I know." Tim replied, smiling.
He'd been so angry with Dick, when he had left. A part of him was still so angry (at Dick, at Jason, at Damian, at everyone). But Bruce was back and Jason and Damian weren't actively trying to kill him, but instead trying to comfort him. Alfred already pulled freshly baked cookies from somewhere. Tim could forget his anger - they could talk about it later - for now.
"Hug me?" Tim asked hesitantly, and Dick threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Tim until he was securely locked in his brother's embrace.
"Okay, fine, just this once," Jason said, "Hug pile."
Dick let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob as they were both enveloped in their family's arms. Tim had never felt anything better.