Tim's breaths came out in hot, shaky puffs. His eyesight kept blacking out, and he was dizzy. He was soaked in sweat and rain and his arm was on fire.
He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, but he estimated that it had to have been at least a day. The sun had risen and was now setting again, the air growing cold.
He couldn't tell if he'd even made any noise.
He'd gotten into a fight with that freak. He should have expected that the clown wouldn't fight fair, but he had been flat on his back before he'd been able to think.
Joker had then pulled out a comically large gun and grabbed his hand, sending several roofing nails through his palm and into the wall.
And then, laughing the whole time, Joker had left him.
Tim had tried radioing for help, but there was no response.
A fever had begun to settle after a few hours of exposure to the elements and nails in open wounds.
There had been no shelter from the freezing, constant rain.
He wasn't even able to dry off.
He was so lightheaded and dizzy he wasn't even sure anymore why he was trying to stay awake.
He was burning up, but freezing at the same time.
Tim winced at the voice, knowing that if it was a goon, or any crook really, he had no way to defend himself.
"I found him. Send… send help. Quick. It's bad."
He twitched away, but jostled his hand and whimpered, blurry vision blacking out again.
"You okay, buddy. You're going to be okay. I'm here now. Shit. Keep your eyes open. Red Hood, hurry. He's burning up."
"Wh-who..?" He whispered.
Cold hands cupped his face, brushing his hair back and cooling his cheeks. "It's Nightwing, buddy. You're going to be okay. Just hold on."
"I know. Your hand is seriously infected. But you're going to be okay. Do you hear me?"
Nightwing's hands kept brushing his face, helping keep him grounded.
Nightwing would… keep him safe.
"No. No. Hey! Keep your eyes open!"
"Focus on me. You can do it. Help will be here soon."
Tim heard stretching tires.
He heard running footsteps.
He heard frantic voices and felt hands.
Someone touched his injured hand and he screamed in agony.
His vision whited out and sounds faded, growing more muted.
Someone touched his face, talking in soft, frantic tones.
"... trying… in bad shape…"
Another wave of dizziness and he was only able to hear snippets of their conversation.
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