"Timmy," Dick says weakly, grinning. There's blood on his teeth, although that's nothing compared to the blood that's... everywhere else. The hoarse quality to his voice makes Tim want to vomit.

At the sound of Dick's voice, Damian lifts his head from where it's been pressed against Dick's side. Even the customary glare he offers Tim is weak and barely there, sad and pitiful. For the first time, Tim recognizes that Damian really is a child, small and scared and hurt. The sight makes his blood boil; he suddenly wishes he'd hit those guys a little bit harder on the way in. Anyone who hurts a little kid like this deserves more than just a little bump on the head.

They're both covered in blood, and both of Dick's legs are twisted at horrifying angles. There is absolutely no way he's walking out of here.

Tim hadn't expected it to be this bad. His intel had been off.

"I can't carry you both," Tim says, guilt coloring his words as he crouches down. The stench of blood is overwhelming, making his stomach churn.

Dick nods, like this was completely expected. "Take Dami."

Damian makes a noise of protest, but Dick is already worming his arms under his small body to try and hand him off to Tim.

Dick shushes him gently. "It's okay now, baby bat. Tim's gonna take you back to Alfie and get you all patched up. If you ask nicely, they'll probably even give you the good drugs."

Together, Tim and Dick get Damian to hook a single arm around Tim's neck—his other one is broken and swollen and held protectively against his middle. Tim scoops him up, and although he's never really carried Damian before, he doesn't think he's supposed to be this light.

Without Damian half sprawled across his lap, Dick somehow looks even worse. Besides the bruises and broken bones, there's a large splotch of blood staining the whole left side of his torso that's very, very worrying. No less worrying, though, than the blood trailing from the corner of Damian's mouth. Internal bleeding is never, ever a good sign, and Damian already seems barely aware of what's happening, although he does keep whining and reaching weakly for Dick with his good hand.

Dick takes his hand for just a moment, squeezing it firmly but gently, and something passes between them. Something silent and intimate that Tim feels almost like an intruder witnessing it.

He hates it. He hates this. He's been searching tirelessly for Nightwing and Robin for the past two weeks, only for all his hard work to come to a screeching halt because he can only carry one of them. He wants to scream and sob, and he kind of really, really wants Dick to fix this for him because he doesn't know how.

Dick made the decision for him, but it's an unacceptable decision. Tim feels trapped, and for a moment all he can do is stand there, shifting back and forth slightly as a frustrated and desperate whine threatens to tear its way up his throat.

"I'll be back for you in a minute, Dick," he says. He has to go now. No more delaying the inevitable. The longer he waits, time continues to tick away. "Just hold on a little longer."

Dick nods, smiling weakly. It's a bit gruesome looking with the blood on his lips and the bruises on his face, but it's such a trademark reassuring Dick Grayson smile nonetheless. It almost makes Tim feel better. Almost. If he were still Robin, if he hadn't seen all the things he's seen in this life, he might be able to believe him.

But Tim knows better now. "I promise," he insists again.

"I know, Timmy. Don't worry about me. Just get Dami to safety."

Tim wants to blurt out how much he loves his brother, but he's too scared to say it. It feels too much like goodbye, and Tim isn't even remotely ready for goodbye.

Tim nods, swallowing around the painfully massive lump in his throat. "Come on, Damian," he whispers thickly. "Let's get you out of here."

The last thing he sees before he turns to leave is Dick's head falling back against the wall, a single cough splattering his lips with blood.

"Drake," Damian mumbles against his neck as they run. "Go back. You have to go back. Grayson—"

"I will, promise. Just as soon as I get you to safety."

"No," Damian insists, starting to sound frantic. He wiggles weakly in Tim's arms, straining against his hold with the little bit of strength he has left. "No, Grayson is far worse off than he let on. We cannot leave him, Drake, he..." Damian cuts himself off, burying his face back in Tim's shoulder.

Tim keeps running forward, doesn't allow his steps to falter, although he wants to. He really wants to. Every step feels like betrayal as he travels farther and farther away from his big brother. Tears blur his vision, and no matter how rapidly he blinks he can't quite get rid of the fog they cause.

"I know," he whispers. He knew as soon as he laid eyes on them back in that cell. But Damian needs just as much help as Dick. "But Dick... He made his choice, okay? He wanted me to save you."

"No, no, no. Please, Drake. Go—go back. You have to save him. You have to save him! Drake!"

Tim bites his lip, hard, and holds Damian tighter. "I told you, Damian. I'll go back for him."

"You will be too late, Drake, and you know it. You are leaving him to die. His blood will be on your hands."

I know. I'm so sorry, Dick.

Damian sobs and rages and screams, and the only thing Tim can do is hold him tighter, determined to save one brother tonight.