just assume that was sarcastic

7.3k || ao3

Tim’s spleen wasn't the only thing he had lost in the desert that night. The Widower left him with an injury that had forever altered his life, but Tim had adjusted. He was fine, great even. His only worry was how his family would react when he eventually found Bruce and went back to Gotham. But to his surprise (and relief), they never even mentioned it. They carried on as if everything was normal, and that's what Tim had wanted. At least, he thought it was. Until an incident in the field reveals a secret Tim didn't even know was a secret, and now he is forced to deal with all the emotional blowback he thought he had avoided. Or, Tim loses a leg in the desert. He really thought his family had noticed. ("Hidden Injury" for Whumptober)

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There was blood leaking down his front at an alarming rate, and, somehow, that wasn't even close to his biggest issue. 

Tim would have let out a laugh at the irony of it all if he thought he had the energy to spare. He was in the desert, two of his friends were dead, and the other was bleeding from her neck. That and the stab wound would have been more than bad enough on their own, but Tim Drake was never one to do things by half-measures. So it made sense that his left foot was absolutely not facing the correct way, and there was almost certainly a bone poking out of the skin. 

Because of course there was. 

His body was screaming at him to stop, to lie down and let the pain take him. But he knew that if he did that, he would never get up again. And he had a mission to finish. And he wasn't the only one who needed help. Pru didn't deserve to die here any more than he did, and he would be getting them out of here if it were the last thing he did. (He tried not to dwell on the fact that it very well might be.)

It was slow going, each of them leaning equally on the other, but eventually he and Pru made it to their vehicle. Apparently, their attacker hadn't thought it was worth his time to disable or destroy it; he probably assumed none of them would be getting up off the blood-soaked sand again. Thankfully, he had only been half right. Tim helped Pru climb into the passenger seat before using the hood of the car to pull himself around to the driver's side, giving a silent thanks to the universe that his right leg was usable. He could do this; he would get them out of here. 

He pulled himself into the driver's seat, a small whimper of pain escaping despite his best efforts. His body felt like it was on fire, and he could feel his strength slipping away with every breath. But he wouldn't die here; he couldn't. And he wouldn't sentence Pru to die here either. So much of his existence since leaving Gotham had been painted in shades of gray as he was forced to make choices and accept alliances he never would have before. But at his core, he was still a hero, and in this moment, he wasn't going to compromise anything. He was going to save someone today, even if that person wasn't himself.