[Email log: Dick/Tim] Love never dies a natural death.

[needsarobin]

Summary: Dick succeeds in bringing Tim in from the cold but getting him back to warm takes significantly longer. Dated Dec 14



They were nearly to the treehouse when Tim roused from his stupor with a whimper that turned frantic almost immediately.

The wind had gone and with it the numbness that had made him safe. Heat flooded in. It hurt. Like spikes driving under his skin, needles of fire. There was no scream, just a strangled choke as he twisted, trying to get away from the hurt. He was choking, suffocating, his flesh peeling off. He was going to burn up. He had to cool off.

Tim's body arched, his hands tearing at the suit, shedding layers. Gloves, cape, boots. Anything to make the heat go away. The only thing he wouldn't let go of was Spoiler's uniform. Even in his delirium, he kept that safe.

"Robin. Stop." Nightwing's command voice rings out sharp, cutting across the rush of fear and his own scramble to keep Tim covered without dropping him. Always strong, now Tim's delusional and his arms have gone dead. Sheer will keeps Tim clutched against his body, that and Tim's determination to hold onto Stephanie's uniform. If he forgets that, even for a second, Robins one and three...

Focus. Bat-voice in his head stops the slide to Dick's emotions...keeps him clear-headed and strong. He will not lose another Robin. He slaps Tim's hands down and weighs the risk of stopping to struggle to get his gauntlets back on against the distance. It's not far. A couple hundred yards from here to the base and then the climb. Quick glance at his fingers shows them white and pink - not frostbitten. He shoves the gauntlets in with Stephanie's uniform - sorry, so sorry, puts his head down and bores his way through the cold.

The warmth of the treehouse flooded down them in a wash and Tim moaned, flinching into Dick. It was enough to make him open his eyes though and pull in a slow, shallow breath. He couldn't focus on anything and just got impressions flicking by--the mudroom, first floor, common room. If there was anyone else around, he couldn't have said. He moaned again and closed his eyes.

If there's anyone else in the treehouse, he's not aware of them. His mind fixes on the goal of Tim's room and warmth. There is nothing else. He's only peripherally aware of his own movement as he stalks across the common room, opens the door and lets them in. Prying Stephanie's uniform out of Tim's grip so he can strip him down takes longer than it should, but he zeroes in on that too. Is careful in taking it from him. "It'll be right here," he rasps as he sets it down, then forgets everything else again in peeling off Tim's uniform with Morgan's cloak tangled around his neck.

Boots, then cape - but keep that near, it's insulated. Suit, underwear. Tim's not shivering anymore. Cover him up. Thank god the island gave them more blankets when the temperature changed. He lays one down over Tim to keep off the chill from the cape that goes over him next. Another blanket. Morgan's cloak. Then and only then his own gauntlets and boots. He finds thick socks and pulls them on, sits down beside Tim but doesn't lie down. He doesn't dare. If he stops moving he won't get up, won't get the hot water bottles he needs or start the tea. Tim's cheek is too cold, too chapped against his knuckles. Inside Nightwing's calm, Dick wants to weep but he doesn't dare give into grief, either. He will not lose another Robin. "Tim?"

It had been like undressing a rag doll, if rag dolls had kung fu grip when it came to the thing most precious in the world. Tim barely responded, barely breathed. A tremor went down his spine and he whimpered, trying to curl in. Consciousness filtered back but it was clouded. "Spoiler," was the first thing he said and turned his head away from Dick, trying to locate the suit.

Gripping his chin, Dick turns Tim's face to look at where he's laid her uniform out on a chair, boots on the ground, neatly aligned, cape folded on the chair and cowl resting on top. "Right there." On instinct, he snags the leg of the chair with his foot - and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from sobbing with the pain of it - then drags it close enough for Tim to touch. Ignoring everything, he stands and brings her boots closer too, realigning them. "Stay here. Don't move." Nightwing's voice, but it's the brother who bends to kiss Tim's morgue-chill forehead and whisper, "Please."

Tim nodded vaguely, not really listening and once Dick was gone, pulled his hand slow and clumsy out from under the blankets, reaching out to touch the suit, make sure that it was real. Everything for the last couple of hours seemed to be locked in a haze of dreaming and he couldn't be sure it had really happened. The peculiar feel of nomex and kevlar woven together was like a gift, even if the faint drag of it shot spears of pain up his arm.

Someone had boiled water. If Dick had a thought to spare, he'd be grateful, but every ounce of focus goes to pouring it into hot water bottles without spilling it and scalding his nerveless fingers. Dimly he's aware that he's too cold, but his hands shake and his jaw aches which mean he's not hypothermic. And if he's close, what he does for Tim will help him too. Just has to get through this to get back to him.

Too many minutes pass while he fills them, then a moan rips from between his teeth when he gathers them against his chest to carry them back. If anyone hears it, they don't come out. He'd tear strips off their hide if they got between him and Tim right now - they must know that. No one stops him, no one asks, and he finds Tim with his fingers locked around Stephanie's suit. He peels back the layers to tuck the bottles in around Tim's core, then folds them over him again without disturbing his grip. "One more time, then I'll be back," he tells Tim, but he knows it's mostly for him.

Tim's lips moved soundlessly in affirmation, closing his eyes again as Dick left. The water bottles hurt like the treehouse warmth did, making him tremble under the assault. It was easier to breathe almost immediately and it was all he could do not to curl up, protect himself. Alone again, he tried to think, to focus on something other than the strange chill inside of him burning against the heat of the water bottles Dick had brought.

He's much faster this time. Two glasses of tea, not cups. The tumblers don't insulate as well and his eyes tear at the scalding heat against his cold-burned hands. His suit's nomex-kevlar weave, so he carries the glasses with his forearm against his abs. It's a good thing to do, warming him a little while he stalks across the common room a last time, opens the door and pulls it closed behind him. Not locked. Contingency: If Tim rouses and he passes out, Tim won't be able to help or get to the door. He needs to be able to yell for someone and they need to be able to get in. His brain's working better, less tunnel-vision more Bat-planning. Warmer now.

"Here, Tim. Drink a little," he's saying and realizes he's fugued outer awareness in favor of inner to get the tea to Tim.

Tim didn't respond immediately, his eyes clenched shut and jaw set, holding back a fresh onslaught of tears that he was just too exhausted to indulge. He scraped together control, the heat pouring in from the water bottles already helping his mind to clear, and blinked up at Dick. At first, he just looked lost, then very slowly his eyes traveled down to focus on the cup. He fished his free hand from under the blankets, and reached out. Before he closed it around the glass he stared at it. White, almost blue at the fingertips, chapped with cold. There were cuts on his hand--when or how he'd gotten them, he didn't know. He made a fist--that hurt--then tried to speak, "I don't think I should try to hold that."

His brain gathers information - fingers white, tips blueish, cuts on his hand from his own gauntlets, Stephanie's, and Dick's when he smacked Tim's hands down from trying to strip, circulation still not good enough to bleed, brain clearing. Unless he fails, Tim will be fine. He won't fail. "No," he answers quietly, throat raw. "I'll help." Strip down and crawl or get tea in Tim first? Efficiency or... Certainty. Tim first. Finding strength from will, Dick slides an arm under Tim and holds him up enough to drink without choking...holds the tea to his lips. "Small sips."

Tim choked anyway, coughing but managing to swallow some of the warm tea and feel it burn all the way down. He shivered again and took another determined sip then another, every tiny drop scalding him and he had no way of knowing if it was really that hot or he was just honestly that cold. He leaned back after a time, gasping for breath and shaking with even the small effort of holding himself up with Dick's help. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Easy, Timmy," Dick pleads, fighting to keep Tim from aspirating tea on top of everything else. Then he's shaking against Dick's arm, gasping, and apologizing, and even for Dick it takes a few minutes to track the logic. Eyes closing, he kisses Tim's forehead and lays him back against the bed, standing to strip off the rest of his uniform before responding. Most of the chill is internal now and that's not going away until Tim's out of the woods, but the heat on his abused skin makes him hiss through clenched teeth. "You have my permission to be sorry for slicing my ear with your gauntlet. The rest, permission denied. Don't be an idiot. It's Stephanie."

It was a curiously detached sensation, feelings all numbed by the chill, physical and soulbound. The sorrow was sharp as ever, the guilt, but everything else stood back, blunted by ice and exhaustion. Dick said her name and it was like being stabbed but without the sweet twist of loving her. He'd have worried but that was muted too. "Not an excuse."

Not an excuse leads to failed him and don't deserve the suit and from there to Bat-recriminations, arguments, and sidekick flashbacks. He's been down this road with Tim before, at home. "Not having this conversation." He crawls under the covers instead, not pulling Tim to him yet. Not until his skin and muscles warm. But he does roll onto his side, putting one of the water bottles between them to speed it up. Ignoring the ache in his fingers, he strokes the hair away from Tim's forehead. "Not having this conversation. Forgiveness granted for any and everything."

Tim closed his eyes, "Don't say that." Some forgiveness couldn't be given blindly.

Needs his face washed and moisturized, lips too. Next time he gets up, he'll bring something. "Too late. We can haggle the details when you're not half-dead. But you are forgiven." It doesn't matter what Tim did. Tim forgave him for letting Blockbuster be killed. So did Bruce. He can forgive Tim anything...except dying.

That tone meant Dick was going to be stubborn and Tim was too tired to fight it. Dick was warmer than he was, and more familiar than the hot water bottles. Tim reluctantly released the Spoiler suit and rolled to leech heat from Dick, his skin still strange and cold even after all the water bottles. His hands stayed in fists but his arms circled around Dick's waist to cling.

In silence, Dick swallows around the relief of Tim coming to him. He can't let go, not with Tim. Tim needs his strength or he'll wall up again, not deal, and it'll be worse than ever. He pulls Tim against him, tucking his head between chin and collarbone and ignoring the rubbery chill of Tim's skin beneath the palm that rubs his back.

Eventually Tim dozed and Dick left. Tim had stopped shivering by now, though he still felt cold, even under the blankets. There was warmth yet left in the water bottles and he woke up enough to draw them in. Half-sleep brought half-dreams, memories long denied surfaces through the open tears in his heart. In the silence, he wept for her, for his father, for himself. Dick came in again, brushed a kiss to his forehead. Tim said the right things then, while Dick sat nearby, and only let himself exhale when Dick had gone away again.

He thought he might have dreamt the next time Dick came back, looking less worn, less hurt but he was awake the third time when Dick returned with more tea, more hot water bottles, more comfort to give. Tim had to look away, ashamed of all that he was taking.

Roy's warmth and Cassie's brightness - both good Robin traits - soothe the raw edges of his grief and fear of loss. He can look at Tim without the desperate urge to hold on and never let go again. And Roy's strength gives him back his own - he's always been that, the rock on which he perches when he needs to come to ground. His mind's clear enough that when he strips down again, he folds his clothes back into Tim's bureau, even though he'll need them in the morning. It's important Tim know he's not alone, that Dick won't leave him, even if he's too Bat-bound to ask him to stay.

Slipping into bed again, he settles around Tim, sitting up against the wall with Tim against him so he can drink without having to hold himself up and without getting chilled. Tim's doing Tim things again, being awkward about needing him, and it's enough to make Dick smile just a little against the back of his head.

Tim wrapped his hands around the tea, letting the heat leech into his hands that had only just started to regain their color. At his back, Dick was warm and comforting, protective in a way that was all about lending strength back. Despite their lack of clothes, Tim got the feeling that right now, this had nothing to do with sex. "You okay?"

Dick slings an arm low around Tim's waist, hand curving up to rub his chest over the space of his R. He smiles for the question, too, because of course his Robin would ask. "Better, now that you're coherent." Dropping a kiss to Tim's shoulder, he rests his cheek there a minute. "I know you're not. You don't have to pretend you are."

Tim shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with cold. "I...God, Dick. I didn't even..." He swallowed hard. "It was like finding out all over again. Like I'd just lost her.'

"For me, too," he says quietly, hoping Tim will understand he doesn't mean to compare the losses. Just to let him know that her death had been a blow to him, too. "You never grieved for her. There wasn't time. What you feel is perfectly normal." A little extreme, but Tim's suffered a lot of deaths.

"Normal for who?" Tim asked but he turned to look at the suit again, couldn't stop himself. Two years. He'd been okay for two years. Had thought he was handling it. Then one little thing and he'd completely fallen apart.

"For anyone who isn't a robot." His tone's a little dryer and sharper than he means it to be, but this argument between them has gotten old with Dick and tired. Tim's not okay. He broke Jill's ribs. He did something to Bart, and he sent his teacher away.

"Yeah," he said softly, to quiet for tone to come through. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against Dick's shoulder. "I hurt Jill."

"And Bart. And Xander before this." It's matter-of-fact. He'll deal with Tim's violence when Tim's up and around. For now, he tilts his head down to kiss Tim's forehead and holds him closer. "Anything else happen before I got there I need to know about?"

"Bart again. Not just last night but...last year. Almost a year exactly, actually. We fought and I...shoved him. He broke his wrist." What else did Dick need to know about Tim's life before now? Too much. Dick's mouth was warm on his skin and that finally feels good instead of hurting. "It's a pattern. I know."

"Yeah, it is. A bad one." He'd meant before he showed up in the clearing, but Tim probably doesn't remember anything much at all. Tim's sliding into skin and warmth, and Dick doesn't want to discourage him. They can't be too vigorous about it, but Tim needs love most of all right now. But he can't justify ignoring this. So he lets his hands do the loving, stroking over his skin while he talks. "Taking your aggression out on your team and civilians is a bad path, Tim. From now on, you come to me and we work it out." The first time they spar after Tim's well, Dick is going to hand him his ass. He needs to remember how it feels to be facing the fury of someone you can't beat.

Tim frowned, shifting against Dick defensively, "I'm aware of the pattern and the need to break it." He wasn't sure that he agreed with the order to come to Dick. There usually wasn't that much thought beforehand. And if there was, he wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place.

"Then break it," Dick says, and that's that. He's done talking about it because he can't let Tim get agitated. He reinforces being done with his lips skating over Tim's throat, making it about the two of them. "If Morgan hadn't come for me, you'd be dead. I can't lose you."

His breath choked in his throat, nearly a sob, the love Dick was pouring in him just reminded him of what he'd lost. Of the fact that this wasn't a relationship, it was comfort. It wasn't love like he'd had with Stephanie. It wasn't family the way he'd lost with his father. Dick loved--Tim knew that, didn't doubt that--but not the way Tim was mourning. It was selfish, so selfish, to want more when Dick was already giving him so much. Tim turned to catch Dick's mouth, hoping he wouldn't know the kiss was an apology.

For the second time today, Dick's chest goes so tight it's hard to breathe. The first, when Tim asked him to help with his Stephanie's uniform. Now, because he's not Stephanie, but he's allowed to give comfort, to love. Roy's warning-plea, I just don't want to see you get hurt, Shortpants is loud, but not loud enough to drown out Tim reaching for him and needing him. In a day or two, he'll talk to Tim about the suit and Jason and the blood-typing, but first he has to help Tim heal enough that he can live through the blow when it's not her. His fingers slide in Tim's hair, turning a kiss that's soft and sweet into something deeper, still gentle, but fixing them both in the here and now.

Tim turned around in Dick's arms, moving slowly, stiffly, but never broke the kiss. He knew the treatment for hypothermia called for rest, no physical exertion. But there were too many places inside him that had frozen and that no amount of hot water will reach. Dick was kissing him and, like always, he thought that this might help him to heal when he couldn't on his own. It couldn't replace the people he'd lost but...it was something.

This shouldn't happen. Tim needs rest, not exertion. But he almost lost Tim today and it's beyond him to stop kissing Tim...to stop running his hand over Tim's still-cool back and warm it while he reassures himself that Tim's right here. He's not the wreck he was when he went to Roy. Mostly this is about Tim's mouth, slow and searching on his, needing everything Dick is. "Love you," he tells him, and thumbs along his cheekbone.

It helped, being with him, being loved. For the last few hours, Tim had been afraid that he was going to fly apart. It didn't help knowing what had happened to his real world counterpart, the one that Dick had seen descend to madness and dragged back out again. Dick would hold him together. That was the promise of this embrace.

Taking care with him, Dick lowers Tim back to the bed and puts him on his side with Dick behind him. Tim likes to be kissed at the best of times and Dick would but Tim shouldn't be beneath him and if he's on top he has to do too much work. "It's safer," he soothes the protest he's anticipating and kisses along Tim's shoulder while reaching for the condoms and coconut oil. It's safer, and lets him cover Tim and hold him at once.

Tim reached back, his hand finding Dick's hip, stopping him in his task. His chest already felt cold again, though he couldn't be sure if that was emotional or physical. "Are you doing this because you think I need it or because you do? It's safer, but not perfectly safe."

Lips grazing his shoulder, Dick runs his hand up Tim's chest and rests it over his heart. He wants to make love to him, warm him up inside where it's dark and aching and cold. "Because I want you. But if you don't want...whatever you need, Tim, I've got you."

Which wasn't either of the options that Tim had presented. It was better in some ways, worrying in others. Dick wanted him--that warmed him inside, soothed some of the aching places within. Dick would give him anything that he wanted--that was terrifying. Tim had no idea what he wanted. He leaned back against Dick, covered Dick's hand with his own. "I know you do. I... Am I using you? I fall apart, and you have to pick up all the pieces."

"It's what we do for the people we love. Be what they need." Tim knows this. He's good at it. The good soldier. Batman's Robin. Nightwing's Robin. He trails kisses along Tim's throat and over his jaw to find the corner of his mouth to kiss that too, then molds himself to Tim's back, protective. "I love you. You need me. And you'll be here if I need you, too. You always are."

What had he done before Dick was here? How would he have made it through this without his brother? "I've missed you. Have I told you that? There were so many things that I wasn't letting myself miss. Not just Stephanie and my dad."

He said their names. He said their names.

Carefully, gently, Dick rolls Tim toward him, then adjusts the blankets around his shoulders and wraps him up in his arms. "I'm here now, little brother." I've got you.

He was already crying before Dick had started speaking. He could have tried to stop himself, maybe should have, considering everything that had happened today, but he found when he tried that it was as impossible as stopping the hurt. He curled into Dick instead and let himself weep quietly, needing this most of all, the miracle of having someone who loved him who was strong enough to let Tim be weak. Recriminations and self-blame would come in the morning. Tonight, he let go.

With someone else, there would've been words, soft meaningless sounds of reassurance. With Tim, Dick almost doesn't breathe. One hand curls around the back of Tim's neck. The other splays against his lower back. He hooks a thigh over Tim to keep him close and tucks Tim's head into his shoulder, then holds himself strong and still. Nothing to call attention to Tim's tears. Nothing to lessen or slow them. Tim's been keeping this in and holding himself together for two years. He needs to let the poison out and Dick's only need is to make that safe for him.

Tim pressed his face into Dick's shoulder as his whole body trembled. His heart bled but it didn't hurt so much, salved by the protection that Dick offered. These kinds of thoughts were dangerous. Confessions and apologies bubbled up inside but he said nothing. He could only allow himself so much and words would take him past that point. He focused on the feeling of Dick, the heat of him, the strength. His voice wobbled and broke when he finally decided on a statement, "Wish I could stay like this."

Once Tim speaks, Dick can move again, enough to give comfort by the curving stroke of his hand over the back of Tim's head and the back and forth of his cheekbone against Tim's, so tender it's almost maternal. "You can." Under his other hand, Tim's ribcage still jumps and heaves, erratic and his back still isn't warm enough. "I'm not going anywhere." Leaving Tim again before he's strong enough to argue and tell him to stop being overprotective just isn't going to happen.

"Ever?" Tim wasn't recovered enough to make it as wry as his pride would like to. It came out a little plaintive, a little scared. He swallowed, his heart speeding up under Dick's hand and he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. He knew the risks. Too much cold brought into his core and he was risking a heart attack in addition to the hypothermia and the extremely likely bout of pneumonia. "At some point, we have to get out of bed." This time he sounded a little less broken.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Dick answers Tim's fear with certainty, as much as he can give. As long as the choice is his to make, he's not going anywhere. The urge to crush Tim against him and swear to keep the world away from him until he's healed almost overwhelms him with its vehemence. He swallows it back, knowing it will make Tim defensive and instead fusses with the blankets and cloak and cape, tucking them in around Tim's back even though Dick has warmed enough to radiate heat again. "Definitely not until morning."

Tim shivered again and curled smaller, "Morning...is good. I can do that." In the morning, he'd think logically again. In the morning, he'd put his team back in order. In the morning, he wouldn't feel like he was bleeding inside, torn up on every surface. Dick would be able to stop playing human shield against Tim and the rest of the world. In the morning, Tim would be strong enough to do this on his own. He'd make sure of it.