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Tim wakes to ringing in his ears, and a sense that an unknown amount of time has passed since he was previously conscious. He was on a mission, Tim thinks – that much is clear given the pressure of his Red Robin uniform against his skin. He can’t remember which team he was with though, or what he was fighting. He definitely doesn’t remember losing consciousness – never a good sign, given that he could very well still be in danger.
Tim hopes his team – whichever it is – has bailed him out. No one’s actively wailing on him, sure, which points to someone helping him or at least losing consciousness far away from the action – but he should really check for himself.
So, groaning, Tim tries to open his eyes, tries to sit up.
But sitting up is impossible – what's with the elephant on his chest? – and even the briefest glimpse to the world around him sends a dizzying blast through his skull. Light is the enemy, Tim decides. Meaning he’ll have to use his other senses to figure out what’s wrong with him, where he is, and what he needs to do to get home.
Fortunately, as soon as he started to move, he hears something break through the ringing.
“Rob?” someone asks. “Rob, can you hear me?”
The voice is too muffled to make out. A guy, Tim thinks. Probably.
“Mngh,” Tim says eloquently.
The guy chuckles. That, above all, tells Tim who it is. Tim knows that laugh better than anything.
“Kon,” he manages, his friend’s name like a sigh. “Did we win?”
Kon hesitates for a minute. Then, reluctantly, “Not sure yet. Cassie’s handling it.”
“Then what’re you doing here?” Tim tries to get up again, but the elephant remains on his chest. That’s when he realizes the rest of his limbs can’t move, either. For a second, he’s terrified – but then he realizes Kon just has him in a full-body TTK lock. “Let me up.”
“No can do,” Kon says. He sounds like he’s in intense concentration mode, which Tim grudgingly appreciates. He’d hate it if Kon’s TTK accidentally immobilized his heart or lungs – but seeing as all that could just be avoided if Kon just let him go…
Tim fights against him again, tries to pull himself free.
“I’m serious, Tim,” Kon says, voice low and warning. “Don’t move, you’re still hurt.”
That, more than anything, tells Tim what he needs to know. He goes stock still. “How bad is it?” he asks, because ‘How long do I have left?’ sounds dramatic.
“You’ll be a lot more okay a lot faster if you let me concentrate.”
Tim clamps his mouth shut.
That’s when he recognizes the tang of iron in his mouth – oh. He has internal bleeding, he realizes. Kon probably knows about it already. Tim decides not to point it out, given Kon sounds awfully strained.
As Tim lies there for a while longer, he slowly checks in with himself. Tries to see which body parts are in danger. Internal bleeding causing blood in his mouth means something happened to his lungs – or maybe his digestive system. A knife to his stomach, maybe? Punctured lungs?
Yet, to Tim’s surprise, he can’t feel much of anything. Little to no pain. With serious injuries, that’s clearly a bad thing – it usually means he has minutes left, if that.
Yet somehow, there’s a nagging suspicion that wounds to his torso are the least of his worries.
Tim almost risks opening his eyes again – but the blinding light make him think there’s a head injury, and if he only has a few minutes left, he’d rather not spend it in blinding pain. It’s enough to know that Kon’s here. It’s enough that his last moments won’t be alone.
The ringing in his ears has waned though, and Tim slowly listens for anything else around him. Anything to tell him where he is.
He realizes, far too long after starting, that he can hear wind, far away, but absolutely roaring outside. That’s about it.
“I’ve been studying field medicine,” Kon tells him, breaking the silence. Tim feels something strange in his lungs. “When I’ve got time, I just… I sit in the sun and crack open a medical book, cozy up with Krypto if he’s in a lazy mood. Then I learn all I can about how people’s insides are supposed to work.”
Tim makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. He’d suspected, after noticing several medical books appear on the credit card he’d given Kon a few years ago. The one he swears he doesn’t track.
“Yeah?” Tim manages, still tasting blood in his throat. “How are mine?”
Kon breathes through pursed lips. Winces, audibly, at the words he isn't saying; Tim feels a sudden flicker of pain in his right lung as Kon breaks concentration even for an instant. “They’ve been better.”
“Can- you tell me what it was?”
“You were thrown into a building,” Kon says. “Like, really hard.”
It should be embarrassing, Tim thinks. He’s survived a lot worse. But instead of shame or regret, all he feels is numb. He doesn't want to know what comes next.
“You’re going to be okay,” Kon insists. Leans down, even, to kiss his forehead. Tim feels floaty; he still doesn’t know how Kon’s managing to keep the worst of the hurt at bay, but he appreciates it. For now, he chalks it up to forehead kisses. “I’ve got you. I’m just here to make sure you can still breathe until an actual surgeon can take care of you. And- and making sure your brain doesn’t leak out – always said your brain was too big for your head.”
Tim wheezes a laugh. It breaks through the numb again; it hurts.
“Sorry – forgot to mention no laughing.”
Tim squeezes his eyes shut tighter, and hopes that if this is their last moment, that Kon knows Tim doesn’t blame him.
“How far away is help?” Tim asks, voice feeling far away.
“Don’t pass out,” Kon says urgently. “Five more minutes, give or take. A magic user with healing powers. Raven, I think. Someone. Once they get here, you’ll be okay.”
Kon says it like he really, truly believes it. Five more minutes of limbo, five more minutes of Kon keeping his organs where they’re supposed to be, keeping his blood flowing instead of spilling out. Five more minutes of traumatizing his best friend with what has to be one of the scariest moments in his life, literally holding Tim’s life in his hands.
Tim distantly realizes that if Tim does die here, Kon will see it as his own failure.
That, more than anything, keeps him alert. “You’re doing all you can,” Tim says. A clumsier attempt at comfort than usual. “Thank you for trying.”
“Don’t say that like you’re saying goodbye,” Kon warns. “I swear to god, Tim, if you let yourself slip away right now-”
“Jus’ in case,” Tim manages. His words taste even stronger of iron now. “Don’t want you feeling guilty. I know you’re trying.”
“You’re going to be fine, damn it." Kon’s voice sounds sharp, and thick. Worried, holding back tears. “If I have to keep your heart beating myself, I’ll do it. You hear me?”
Tim does, but Kon’s voice is growing fainter and fainter. The ringing in his ears is back again, and getting louder, and louder.
Tim’s last regret is not being able to open his eyes and see his friend’s face one last time.
But with his eyes already closed, and his body so numb when the shards of bone aren’t actively puncturing his lungs, Tim can’t help it.
He slips away – and it feels like a freefall.
///
Tim is surprised when he wakes up. But he does.
He can even open his eyes this time, even though the world is still a bit too bright, he can at least make out the room he’s in. It’s the Titans Tower. He’s a little surprised – somehow, he was expecting to wake up in Wayne Manor with Leslie, or the Watchtower.
He supposes that the Tower is better, though. Raven has healing powers, and Cyborg is further in biomechanical advancements than any other human on Earth, except for possibly his dad.
Tim’s in good hands, he decides. But he remembers the hands he was in before, and he frowns as the gravity of his injuries hits him. He really should have died.
He doesn’t know how much later now is, compared to when he was hurt. It could be hours later, or even days. He shouldn’t expect Kon to still be here; Tim isn’t even sure he can remember those final moments properly, considering he never opened his eyes, and still doesn’t remember the actual point of impact. But he does remember Kon holding him together. Kon’s TTK being the only thing between Tim and bleeding out, or worse. (Probably worse.)
He no longer feels that pressure of that TTK field. Whatever it did, it’s long gone.
Its owner, however, is much closer. Tim realizes too late that he can hear snoring, a distinctive hnkkkk-sss that could only come from one super. (Tim still doesn’t believe Kon, that a heartbeat can sound distinct enough to track. But he will always be able to recognize Kon by his snoring.)
It takes a while for Tim to sit up enough to turn, but when he does, the movement startles Kon awake.
“Hey,” Tim says.
His mouth doesn’t taste like blood anymore.
Kon stares at him, bloodshot eyes wide and hopeful. Tim didn’t even know he could get bloodshot eyes. It takes him a long, long time to remember to speak. When he does, it sounds rusty from disuse. “Hey yourself.”
It doesn’t escape Tim’s notice that Kon’s sitting in the windowsill. He must have needed an awful lot of sun to regain energy.
He doesn’t seem to care about recharging now, though. Tim blinks, and Kon’s on the edge of his bed, sitting on him without actually putting any pressure on him. Tim can’t tell if it’s TTK or true flight, but it’s nice.
“You passed out even though I totally told you not to,” Kon says, faux-sternly. “Guess you can dish out field orders, but you can’t take them.”
A laugh bubbles out of Tim’s throat. This time, he realizes, it doesn’t hurt.
Tim didn’t realize at first, that there was a haunted look on Kon’s face. Shadows to match his bloodshot eyes; not blinking enough, never tearing his gaze away from Tim. Whatever Kon had to do to keep Tim alive, it must have stuck with him. But when Tim laughs, it passes, if just for a moment.
“It’s good to see you awake,” he says quietly. “Cyborg and Raven weren’t sure you were gonna make it, but I wouldn’t let them give up on you.”
“Yeah?” Tim wonders just how close he got to dying. Wonders, briefly, about just how far TTK can go to keep a body alive after it stops keeping itself alive. Remembers what Kon said about his heart. A chill runs up his spine as he realizes that technically, Kon might have been telling the truth. A heartbeat wouldn’t be that difficult to replicate artificially. It's not much different than CPR. Probably more effective.
Given the look on Kon’s face, Tim had better not ask.
“Well, you kept your promise,” Tim says, and reaches for Kon’s hands. He squeezes, and it seems to be the right move. Some of the tension bleeds out of Kon’s shoulders. “I’m fine. You can stop worrying now.”
“Never,” Kon says, but there’s a smile on his face, and he looks a thousand pounds lighter.
It's not exactly what Tim wants. There's still shadows behind his eyes. Tim know it's going to take Kon a long time to really feel okay, after having to keep Tim alive. But Tim has been here before, with loved ones coming back from the dead, or the brink between. He keeps Kon's hand in his, and lets him feel the spark of life beneath it. The pulse, the warmth; a thousand tiny indications that he's okay. He'll do what he wishes his loved ones would have let him do, back then. Back when everything was fresh and it was hard to believe they wouldn't disappear just as soon as he took his eyes off them.
Tim decides he'll let Kon hold his hand for a long time. Kon doesn't seem in any rush to let go, either.