Disclaimer: I don't own Batman~
"Don't touch me!"
A hand, fingers, smoothing through his hair.
He flinches, tries to wriggle away, but it's no use.
"Stop…" His voice is not strong.
A voice murmurs to him, telling him to be quiet, and he chokes on a sob. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
His body feels weightless, but there are several points that feel like they're being weighted down.
His thigh.
His neck.
His wrists.
..
..
..
Move.
Move
Move!
He shoves, he kicks, he bites.
Anything to get away.
Someone punches him in the gut.
Another pulls on his hair.
He elbows a stomach in return.
Someone grunts in pain from above, and the weight loosens from around his neck.
His body moves of its own volition.
..
..
..
The next thing he remembers is running.
His legs, somehow, someway, are working.
The teen staggers. Trips, rips the skin of his knees and palms.
He's certain he is missing a contact. One eye green, one blue.
He reaches to touch his face, tender, swollen, but there is no blood.
It's probably broken…
The rest of his body isn't doing any better, but he has no time to catalogue every injury.
He needs to get into contact with someone.
Hysteria bubbles.
But who?
He can hear the thunderous footsteps of his captors.
..
..
..
He's running again.
What else can he do?
Let them win?
No.
No.
He's rather die.
He had no right to say that. No right to wish for death.
Because despite the way he feels right now, his loneliness, his pain. He did have precious people. Precious people who were worth living for.
Dying was easy.
Living. Living was so very hard, but they are worth it.
He tries to get through again, but the line is dead, blocked by something.
Please, please, please, please let someone notice.
Right now.
Right now he needs.
He needs to be saved.
Pride will not save him.
Pride will get him killed.
His breath hitches.
The teen's ribs scream for him when his voice can't.
..
..
..
They're closing in.
He can feel it.
He knows.
It's a feeling he's sure many animals that were being preyed on felt.
It was a disgusting feeling.
A disgustingly visceral feeling…
He tries to get up.
His arms and legs protest violently.
The teen whines like a wounded animal.
He tries to get up again. The rest of him joins his arms and legs, becoming utterly overcome by agony.
It's no use.
..
..
..
His eyes close as he hears the crunching of gravel only a few feet away.
"Trying to get away, eh?" the voice asks, but he does not have the power to respond.
Everything hurts too much.
There is no crunching of gravel, but the quiet whisper as another presence appears.
It's a familiar noise to Tim.
The men surrounding him do not hear it.
They are none the wiser.
Good.
The next noise he hears is the familiar sound of knuckles meeting someone's cheek bone.
A second presence appears and before long all that can be heard are the whimpers and groans of badly beaten men.
..
..
..
Despite himself he finches when a hand touches his shoulder.
A familiar gauntlet covered hand.
"Tim?" a familiar voice.
He cracks open his eye that is blue and there is a sharp intake of breath from above, slightly to the left.
"Oh shit, Timmy," he closes his eyes and relaxes completely then. Nightwing…
He wants to say something. Apologize maybe?
But he can't.
His voice won't work.
He feels a needle entering his skin, and then he is gone.
..
..
..
He hears beeping.
It is a welcome noise.
He's alive.
Most importantly he is safe.
The familiar feeling of wrappings around his head, torso, and leg are also a welcome feeling.
There is a light pressure on his cheek, a cool sensation emitting from the pressure.
He sighs.
There is the creaking of a chair.
A warm hand on his.
"Tim?" someone questions, and it does not take him long to realize who.
"Dick…" he mumbles; it is not a question. He would know that voice anywhere.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like…crap," he murmurs, opening his eyes to look at his brother.
Dick's hand squeezes his.
He looks around. Taking in the familiar and safe feeling of the Cave.
His eyes land on another familiar figure.
Bruce, he can see just next to the Bat Computer, hesitant, unsure, and half clad in his Batman guise, looking like he has failed.
Tim wants to tell him that is the furthest thing from the truth. That both Dick and him saved him.
Dick catches his attention again with a shuttering breath. There are tears in the older man's eyes, threatening to fall.
"Timmy," he murmurs, and Tim squeezes his older brother's hand back. "I'm…I'm…we…we…"
"I know," he whispers, and continues to squeeze his hand. He catches both his brother and father's eyes. "I know."
And he did.
End
Author's Note:I wanted to try something different when writing this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.