Something brushes against his fingers again, squeaking angrily when his muscles spasm and his arm jerks. Jason's slashed neck makes it hard to look down, but he's plenty content to strain his eyes and laugh because he's going to die with a rodent in his arms.
The dirty chemical-water of the warehouse is seeping through his pants and up into his skin, mixing with blood and drying into a sweet smelling film of poison on his flesh. He's cold, and curls his toes into his boots, like that will help. The moon shines in through a broken window and makes it look like the drug bust is all from a dream. Jason laughs, because that would be a horribly terrible joke to play on a dead man.
Glass shatters, and he lays limp against the wall as heavy footsteps come closer and the concrete trembles beneath his fingertips.
"Oh, Jason."
Dick's never touched him like this, warm, shaking fingers tracing over the open wound like it's an expensive necklace. The darkness and failing retinas don't do much for facial recognition, but he can tell by the peaked cowl and the heavy smell of spruce that it's Tim.
What's left of Jason's throat is dry and hurts like hell, but he hangs his arm around Tim's neck and pulls him close. He wheezes, almost inaudible. "You...don't have to save me." His lips are cracked, and he feels a bit of warm wetness slide down his chin as his mouth form words. Tim's light touch falters.
"What kind of brother would I be?" There's too much regret for such a young boy.
Jason is carried away by Tim, to another safehouse where he binds Jason's wounds and sits vigil by the bed until his brother is almost asleep.
Tim lays a hand on his arm, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. "I can't lose you again."
He is part of a family once more.
