Young Justice (1998) #20

Bernard’s not stupid, okay? He knows something’s up with his boyfriend—Boyfriend! He still can’t get over that. Feels unreal every time he thinks about it. But anyways. The point is, he’s known something was off about Tim since the first few weeks of their friendship. Like, sure, Tim looks like a total nerd, but he’s way too fit for someone who supposedly spends all his time gaming. Bernard would know—he got a peek at Tim’s abs in the locker room once and had to physically stop himself from passing out. And the guy keeps the weirdest hours. And he always blames it on homework or video games, but somehow, he’s either running on fumes during the day or completely wired on an ungodly amount of caffeine and sugar. Then there’s the bruises. Tim showed up to school with new ones all the time. At first, Bernard was worried they came from his dad—especially since the bruises dissapeared for a while after what seemed like a really bad fight between them. But then Tim’s dad died, and the bruises came back. That left his uncle, but when Bernard finally met the guy, it took, like, two minutes to know—yeah, no. That man would rather throw himself into traffic than lay a hand on Tim. And then there was the shooting last year. Bernard vividly remembers how he had been frozen in the courtyard, watching in complete disbelief as Tim vaulted over a car and took down six armed gunmen like it was nothing. No hesitation. No fear. Just straight-up terrifying efficiency. So yeah. It all points to one very obvious, very alarming conclusion: Tim is in a gang.

Dick woke up with his heart in his throat and Bruce’s name on his lips. He struggled upright, even that small action seeming impossible, not believing that he’d let himself fall unconscious when Bruce still needed him. If anything had happened - if Bruce had died -

But before he could follow that horrible thought through to completion, there was a hand on his chest, carefully applying pressure to ease him back onto the - the gurney. He was on a gurney, in the cordoned off observation room in the Cave. He was on a gurney, not the cold, unforgiving floor where he last remembered collapsing. He was - he was home, and if he’d made it home, then - then -

“I’m right here, chum,” came Bruce’s voice, from somewhere above him. Rough, scratchy, but miraculously his; just the sound of it punched all the air out of Dick’s lungs. “Just take it easy.” 

Dick reached out blindly for Bruce’s wrist, managing to snag his forearm instead. He walked his fingers all the way down to Bruce’s pulse point, curling them tight around it until he could count the smooth, steady beats pulsing beneath his skin. The feel of it - of Bruce’s heart, still plodding on as steadily as ever, so different from the erratic and faint thrumming when he’d finally found him in the snow - made him melt back into the thin mattress in relieved disbelief.

Alive.

Bruce was alive.

Dick hadn’t failed him. 

He was alive. 

Bruce shifted above him; and then a hand was gently carding through his hair, brushing it back away from his face. He must have been sweaty, because the chill of the Cave immediately swept in, clinging to the now-exposed moisture, but Dick didn’t care - he leaned into Bruce’s touch, giddy with relief and barely holding on to his composure enough not to burst into tears. God. He’d been so - he’d been so afraid that Bruce -

“It’s all right, Dickie. You saved me,” Bruce said, low and soft, the words full of wonder. “I’m right here. You got us out.”

Bernard’s not stupid, okay? He knows something’s up with his boyfriend—Boyfriend! He still can’t get over that. Feels unreal every time he thinks about it. But anyways. The point is, he’s known something was off about Tim since the first few weeks of their friendship. Like, sure, Tim looks like a total nerd, but he’s way too fit for someone who supposedly spends all his time gaming. Bernard would know—he got a peek at Tim’s abs in the locker room once and had to physically stop himself from passing out. And the guy keeps the weirdest hours. And he always blames it on homework or video games, but somehow, he’s either running on fumes during the day or completely wired on an ungodly amount of caffeine and sugar. Then there’s the bruises. Tim showed up to school with new ones all the time. At first, Bernard was worried they came from his dad—especially since the bruises dissapeared for a while after what seemed like a really bad fight between them. But then Tim’s dad died, and the bruises came back. That left his uncle, but when Bernard finally met the guy, it took, like, two minutes to know—yeah, no. That man would rather throw himself into traffic than lay a hand on Tim. And then there was the shooting last year. Bernard vividly remembers how he had been frozen in the courtyard, watching in complete disbelief as Tim vaulted over a car and took down six armed gunmen like it was nothing. No hesitation. No fear. Just straight-up terrifying efficiency. So yeah. It all points to one very obvious, very alarming conclusion: Tim is in a gang.

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