A/N: This is a crosspost from AO3, where I post under the same name. This is part 3 of my now-complete Whumptober 2021 series.

...Let's pretend it's still 2021 for a moment.

So, funnily enough, I started this in September '21, and I'd been planning this a lot longer than that. Anyway, turns out working full-time and also having other responsibilities means my writing drive goes right down, but I've wanted to finish this one for a long while! Part two coming soon (hopefully).

Title from Kill Me with Your Love by Jaguar Jonze.

No. 17 - FIELD CARE 101

"Please don't move!" haemorrhage dread

Jason supposed that for anyone who didn't know him well that his love of literature would come as a surprise. It had been a pleasant surprise for Alfred, in particular, and he'd greatly enjoyed the opportunity to take his youngest charge book shopping. Bruce had always been more into the nonfiction side of things, but he'd always happily waved Alfred and Jason off on their trips.

Jason came to a stop before the swinging sign and eyed the old shop front. The sheltered passageway hadn't changed since Jason last visited in his teens, tucked away from the bustle of the street, and the untouched façade loosened something in Jason's chest.

The doorbell chimed as Jason stepped into the basement book store, and the smell of old books and well-thumbed vinyl left Jason awash in nostalgia. The tiny store was empty minus the old attendant, and Jason gave him a slight nod as he made a beeline for the antique book shelf and selected a volume, the puff of almost-vanilla as familiar to Jason as breathing.

Jason was consumed by the words immediately, and let time pass over him as he paged through chapter after chapter.

He wasn't sure how long it'd been when the back of his neck began to prickle. He lifted his eyes from the page, questing side to side from beneath the white streak of his bangs, and froze when he spotted a familiar figure.

It was Tim, almost the last person he expected to see in a place like this, shuffling between the aisle of milk crates laden with comics. He looked focused, and Jason grimaced, hoping Tim wouldn't notice him lingering on the other side of the room. Jason made to shuffle further into the dimly lit shelves when Tim glanced up and caught sight of him. Jason cursed under his breath.

Tim hadn't been on Jason's shit list for a while, and he was downright near friendly with some of the other bats these days, but that didn't mean he wanted to be socialising with them out of the masks.

Of course, instead of just leaving him alone, Tim rounded the milk crates and joined Jason by the books, exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid.

"So," started Tim awkwardly, "What brings you out here?"

Jason prayed to whatever god may hear him to remove him from this situation.

"Same thing as you, I imagine," he said, raising an eyebrow pointedly at the book in his hand.

Tim coughed into his fist. "Right. You know, you could go along with it and let me try to start a conversation for once," he said, voice tinged with annoyance.

Tough luck. Jason wasn't feeling too charitable. He'd come here for a break, and he really didn't have the patience for dealing with Tim on his day off.

Letting out a harsh sigh, Jason said, "And you could be leaving me alone, but we don't all get what we want, do we?"

Tim's brows pinched, but before he could speak things moved in the blink of an eye.

Jason saw Tim register the change in the air at the same time he did, but Jason was a split second faster. He threw himself onto Tim, forcing the other boy to the ground and covering him when the building above blew, a massive concussive blast muffled by the ceiling that sent tremors to rock the foundations and had books and plaster falling to the ground. There was a second of silence, Tim hardly breathing where Jason pressed him to the ground, before the building lost all structural integrity.

The walls began to collapse, cracks spiderwebbing and groaning as they failed to hold the weight of the building above, and a second blast rumbled through the foundations, larger than the first, that smashed into Jason and Tim. There was a cacophony, the screeching and grinding of metal supports and the almost-impossibly loud thundering of concrete as the roof caved in. The room went dark as they were forced apart, Jason tossed wildly until he slammed into something hard and the room went black.

Jason groaned as he came to. He couldn't tell how much time had passed, and the dust still choking the air meant he couldn't see more than a foot in front of him. He was on his back, head throbbing and feeling bruised all over. He closed his eyes and pulled his collar up over his nose, trying to filter the concrete and plaster dust eddying through the air.

He opened his eyes a few minutes later, and thankfully most of the dust had settled, but it meant there was nothing preventing him from seeing the new reaches of the room.

"Oh no," breathed Jason, "No, no, no." He slammed his hand on the rock above him, and coughed when a cascade of dust puffed onto his face.

"No," he groaned, and he was about five seconds away from screaming when he remembered that he hadn't been alone. There were tiny muffled whuffs of breath coming from his right.

Jason threw his head to the side, heart skipping three beats when he saw the mop of black hair and a small, bloody fist.

"Shit," he groaned, "Tim."

The boy didn't respond, and Jason cursed again and tried to drag himself closer. A sharp pain in his leg brought him to a gasping stop, and he looked down to see a large chunk of concrete trapping his lower leg.

Jason slumped where he lay, cataloguing the possibly broken leg, an arm he noticed was now caked in blood and dust, and a small cut on his face that had already dried into a tacky streak.

"Tim," he tried again, "Tim."

Still no response.

Jason was about to call out louder when he heard a wheezing cough, and a small sound of pain. He let out a shuddering breath of air. Thank fuck the kid was alive, because Jason didn't think he could be bothered dealing with Batman's judgement if he wasn't.

"Tim," repeated Jason. "Are you hurt?"

Tim let out another groan, but his eyes fluttered open to meet Jason's in the dimly lit space.

"Jason," he croaked. "What—" He coughed again.

"Seems like some dumbass blew the building," answered Jason. "You didn't answer me. Are you hurt?"

Tim shifted minutely, and even in the dark it was obvious when his skin went an ashen grey at the movement.

"T-there's something wrong," he stuttered out, breath hitching.

That wasn't good.

Jason's panic at the close quarters had eased when he'd noticed Tim, and was subsumed into a different fear at Tim's response; Jason was far enough away he'd need to pull himself free to even get close.

The concrete overhead shifted with a loud groan, sending Jason's heartrate up sixfold. They needed to get out of here.

"Tim, can you tell me what's wrong?" Jason tried again, doing his best to keep the urgency out of his voice. There was a current of air shifting dust, so they weren't in danger of suffocation, but the groaning weight of the debris above them was an ever-present weight on Jason's mind.

Tim let out a wet sniff. "I think— I can't move, something's keeping me stuck and it hurts too bad and— I don't—"

There was a sound of shifting fabric, then Tim let out a bitten-back whine.

Jason cursed. That really didn't sound good. If an injury had Tim crying out, he would need to act fast and get him stabilised, stat.

Managing that when Jason was trapped and injured himself was another thing entirely.

Jason wiggled his leg, gritting his teeth through the sharp pain lancing down his femur. "Tim, just stay still, alright? Where's the pain? I can't see you and I can't get close. Can you tell what it is?"

Tim audibly swallowed. "There's, um. I think it's my stomach. I dunno, it all hurts too bad, I can't…" He trailed off into a hiccoughing little sob, his voice sounding painfully young.

Jason pulled his leg, hard, and when the blinding white faded from his eyes and the static subsumed from his ears, his leg was a thrum of burning pain. Electricity lanced up his nerves like he'd wrenched something worse.

Tim's breathing was loud in their tiny pocket, echoes muffled by the concrete walls. It had grown harsh while Jason was dragging himself back to lucidity. "Jason?" asked Tim, voice small and unsure.

"Still here," Jason rasped as the pins and needles faded slightly. His leg was still stuck.

The wet click of Tim's throat as he swallowed and let out a trembling breath dulled the panic raising within Jason.

"Can—" Jason grimaced as his voice croaked, "can you tell what's hurting you? You said it was your stomach, right? Can you feel it? I know you said it hurts, but you need to tell me what it is."

Tim shifted, letting out another harsh exhale at the movement. His arm scraped against dusty concrete, disappearing into the dark shadow of the concrete pressing above him.

Tim started to talk. "I think there's, there's something like, metal? I don't know, my arms are shaking, and I can't—"

"Hey, it's okay," Jason cut through Tim's panicked voice. "It's okay. Don't rush. Take your time and tell me what you can feel."

Jason's heart was thumping. They'd been here too long, and Jason didn't know how long he'd blacked out for before woke up. He didn't even know if Tim was bleeding.

"Tim? You said there was metal. Is it trapping you?"

"It's not— I don't think it's—"

He paused again, still shifting, the slow drag of fabric on fabric the only indication Tim hadn't fallen unconscious.

A quick intake of breath. A long enough moment passed Jason began to fear for the worst.

"Oh. It's in me," Tim said bleakly.

Jason's heart stopped.

His eyes hadn't yet adjusted, the tiny space barely lit by a gap far above, and the inky blankness surrounding Tim left only his head and arm exposed. They were in the basement of a large building, an old one with solid iron rebar as almost thick as Jason's arm, and Tim wasn't a big kid.

In the absence of light, blood looked black.

Tim let out a faint whimper. "J—Jason, it's in me, it's, um, I can't move, I— Jason, it h—hurts," he stuttered.

Adrenaline spurred Jason into action. "Tim, Tim," he said urgently, "calm down. Calm down. Slow your heart rate. We're going to get out of this, but you need to calm down."

He yanked on his leg, but the concrete was holding strong. His pulse was speeding, and the blackness was closing in.

"I'm tired, Jason," said Tim quietly.

Jason tugged at his leg harder, but there was still no give. "You gotta stay awake, kid," he said frantically. "You hear me?"

His leg burned from the shin down, but shock would carry him through if he could get it out. Tim couldn't be more than six feet away, and he weighed considerably less than Jason. There was only so much blood he could lose, and if he was tired their time was running out.

Jason was pulling at his leg again when a deep, creaking groaning sounded overhead. The air shifted, and he froze, sweat prickling at his back. The building had almost finished settling when metal creaked and Tim cried out.

The tiny gap above widened, a slim beam of light snaking down, and it came up red.

Jason stopped thinking. This time, when he pulled, something came loose.

Jason hauled himself closer to Tim. He heard and felt skin tear as he pulled himself out from beneath the concrete keeping him pinned, the copper scent of blood thick in his throat. The sharp scrape of his gouged shin barely registered as he dragged himself to Tim's side on his elbows.

Even in the dark, Tim looked pale. His skin, usually a golden tan, was frighteningly pale and wan, the butterfly-soft flutter of his heart barely a tick in his throat. His tee-shirt was stained red.

"Hey, hey, shh, it's okay," soothed Jason, running a hand down Tim's torso and trying to feel for whatever was stuck inside.

When Jason's hand struck the rebar sticking out of Tim's side, slick with warm blood, Tim let out a high-pitched wail and broke down into shuddering tears.

There was too much blood. Jason tore off his shirt, banging up his arms on the walls of rubble surrounding them, and pressed the material down around the metal spike. Tim screamed.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," urged Jason. "It's okay, I got you, I'm stopping the bleeding okay? I'm sorry, it's okay."

Tim continued to sob, the minuscule hint of light glinting off the tears streaking his cheeks, hitching breaths surely jarring the metal pole sticking out from his torso. One hand pressing the shirt already soaked through with blood harder onto Tim, Jason propped himself up on his elbow and threaded his hands into Tim's hair, cupping his head in his palm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Jason quietly, and carded his hands through the damp strands until Tim quietened, though whether he'd exhausted himself with the crying or the blood loss, Jason couldn't tell.

He had a bad feeling it was the latter.

It was too dark in the enclosed space, the sole beam of light barely illuminating a foot in front of him. Jason felt the panic suffusing his lungs, climbing up his limbs. His hands begun to shake where they were pressed against the wet heat of Tim's gouged stomach and tangled in his hair.

"You're okay. You're okay," he whispered.

Tim was panting, his own shaking hands moving to weakly grip Jason's wrists. His head fell to the side, his glazed eyes finding Jason's in the dark. "Jason," he said, his grip slackening, a shiver overtaking his body.

"I've got you. I've got you. I'm here," chanted Jason, moving his hand to rub his thumb against Tim's cheek.

His breaths were growing smaller, and when Jason pressed the shirt harder against his middle he didn't even twitch.

"'M glad y'r with me, Jay," slurred Tim. "Di'n wann' die alone."

"You're not gonna die," pleaded Jason. "C'mon, stay with me."

"Least I'm gonna… see Kon, again," Tim sighed, head dropping heavily into Jason's hand.

"Kid, no, please stay with me, stay with me," said Jason, frantically patting the boy's cheek.

Jason's heart was thundering in his ears at a rapid tattoo, and he pressed the fabric impossibly harder where Tim's body met the invasive metal. The blood dribbled over his hand, fully saturated.

Tim's eyes fluttered shut and he went still.

"No," gasped Jason, "No."

One hand still pressing the shirt into Tim's stomach, he fumbled for Tim's pulse with the other, pressing his fingers to the too-slim wrists. "C'mon," he urged, and shook Tim, but he stayed limp.

A spark of panic flew through Jason's system, and he hauled himself up, dragging himself onto his knees to compress Tim's chest. "C'mon, kid, c'mon, you can't— you gotta come back, come on."

At the seventeenth compression, the rubble shifted. Jason felt like screaming, but he couldn't stop, Tim had stopped breathing, and—

The light above widened, and a strange sensation filled the air. In a blink, the rubble was forced outward, and the feeling of hardened air came between Jason's hand's and Tim. In the next, the shorn ends of the rebar were glowing red, and Tim was lifted from the ground.

"No, no—" wheezed Jason, his hands still dripping blood. He whirled, vision blurring at the bright light, but Tim was gone.

"Jason," said a solemn voice, and he looked away and up into the eyes of Superman. "Kon-El has Tim. We need to go."