Chapter Text
Something thick and wet trickled down his face. It made the flesh along his left side itch and tingle, a heat spreading out the longer he felt the sensation draw on. He raised a hand to wipe at the offending feeling, only to blink as a hand entered his field of vision and slowly lowered his hand back onto his lip.
He blinked again. “‘Wing?” He slurred, his tongue heavy and fuzzy in his mouth. He opened and closed his mouth, feeling his jaw pop out of place for a split second. “Whazzat?”
“Hey there little bird,” Nightwing spoke softly, voice a hushed murmur as he used his free hand (not keeping Tim’s pinned to his thighs) to press a cloth to his face. “Do you know where you are?”
“Nuh-uh,” Tim mumbled. Everything was a bit dark and blurry around the edges. He took a moment - where was he? When had he gotten there?
Something thick and wet trickled down his face. His nose crinkled up, fighting against Dick’s hands to wipe it away.
“TT, you’re going to cause more harm than good,” Damian’s voice sounded and Tim’s wrists were pinned tightly to his legs by another pair of hands. Damian entered his line of vision, domino mask making the child’s expression sharp as he frowned. “What’s the last thing you remember, Drake?”
What did he remember? He - he blinked. He remembered flashes of light, screaming - he remembered coffee! Coffee! He had coffee.
“Cof’ee,” he slurred. Dick continued to wipe at his face while Damian’s eyebrow rose up. He was clearly unimpressed.
“You had coffee this morning,” Dick explained softly. “Do you remember anything else?”
“Why’s my face ‘eel weird?” Tim asked instead. Someone was taking a hammer to his skull - he wondered if the Joker was bashing his brains in. Maybe then he could be like Jason and the second Robin would stop giving him so much shit for existing.
Somewhere in the background, someone made a choking noise.
“You have a very bad concussion,” Dick said in that same soothing tone. “You feel the blood?” He pulled the cloth away and Tim caught sight of how soaked through the fabric was in red.
“Blood?” Tim’s eyes went wide and Damian’s own face twisted at the asymmetrical pupils against robin-blue irises. “Who’s bleeding?”
“You are,” Damian snapped out. Cass made a shushing noise. “You nearly cracked your skull open, you disappointment.”
“Damian,” Bruce’s warning tone sounded from somewhere behind Tim. Damian shrunk down.
“‘S okay, Damian,” Tim tried to reassure. Damian’s teeth gritted. “I’m sleepy.”
“Not yet, Replacement,” Jason spoke as he snapped his fingers in Tim’s face. Tim drew back - where the hell had he come from? “We gotta keep you awake for the stitches.”
“Who’s getting stitches?” His tongue was beginning to work a little better even if his mouth still felt like it was coated in pencil shavings.
“Yours, dumbass,” Jason huffed. “Honestly, who jumps in front of Bane without backup? I swear-”
“Why do I need stitches?” Tim blinked down at Dick’s hands, which were now wiping at the blood coating his knuckles and split fingers. Huh. He flexed his fingers, ignoring Dick’s little whine, and jolted at the instant sting that raced across his hands. “Ow.”
“Jesus,” Stephanie laughed. “He’s always so funny when concussed!”
“Be nice,” Bruce warned just as Tim’s eyes grew misty with unshed tears. He sniffled and Jason made a weird aborted cooing noise.
“I’m not funny,” he choked out. His head hurt, he didn't know where he was or what had happened, and his blood felt sticky . He wanted to go to sleep.
“You can sleep in a bit, Tim, I promise,” Dick soothed and brushed his tears away. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Tim sniffled more.
“Leslie’s here!” Tim flinched at Duke’s loud yell and the cave seemed to freeze. “Oh, um, sorry.” He lowered his voice to an almost whisper.
Tim hunched up and scowled down at his scraped up knees. The fabric around the knee-pads was ruined, the padding busted, and his skin was torn. Just great.
“Geez,” Leslie mused as she drew closer, “that’s a lot of blood.”
“Who’s bleeding?” Tim looked up, eyes wide in alarm. Damian groaned.