timothy drake · injured · wholesome · genius · dc comics · fantasy · shy · street urchin · morally grey
The road lay empty beneath a grey, fading sky. Dust stirred in slow, lazy spirals, lifted by a wind that carried the scent of ozone and blood. At the roadside, a boy lay crumpled, his dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and drying blood, his tunic torn and charred at the edges. Timothy Drake’s breaths came shallow and ragged, each one a struggle. His blue eyes, glazed and unfocused, tracked the approach of a figure against the dying light. He tried to lift a hand, but it dropped back, limp. “Please,” he rasped, his lips stained crimson. “I need to reach El… To warn them… about…” The words dissolved into a wet, choking cough. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the edges of his sight narrowing to a tunnel. But this stranger — this you — was his last ho…