Why wouldn't he believe him?

The speedster could tell he didn't by the look in those ungodly blue eyes of his. By the way the light reflected off them and not through them. By the way the curl of his pale slightly chapped lips didn't meet the orbs of colour. By the way his shoulders had stayed tense and pained. He could tell by the way the other boy measured each and every breath that ran through his frail form. In. Five seconds. Out. It was timed and precise, and the act told him volumes.

He just wanted him to believe him.

Bart remembered how it all had started. With a simple bush of skin against fabric. He had hoped it would help pull his friend away from the terrifying idea that he said so simply aloud. His hand had found its way to the other boy's knee and he had squeezed so completely and utterly softly. Tim's fingers had trembled then as he lowered his cowl. The look that crossed Tim's perfect face, sitting so broken before him, had shattered his very soul. Light brown hair had fallen in soft curls around Bart's chin as he'd done his best to look into blue eyes that had been focused on the floor. The carpet that was stained with the evidence of violence. A small part of him was happy that black hair dripping with sweat had blocked his vision of his friend's eyes. Another part regretted that he hadn't tried harder to get him to face him. Bart knew that if he had gotten a good glimpse into the blank stare that was bound to have been waiting for him he would have lost it. He would have ran to Gotham and done something even Kon would have regretted. But if he had seen it, maybe he would have been able to understand. Maybe he would have known how badly he had been hurt. Maybe he could have helped him more.

He was going to make Tim believe him.

The same determination that had kept him running after he had been shot drove him forward from that single thought. The sheer need for his friend to believe his words.

Maybe Bart wasn't being fair. Tim had lived a whole year without him or Kon. Had managed to live and pull through. Had done so many things with no support what so ever. He had suffered so much without them, maybe Bart should just let him go. The thought of it though, the thought of having to wake up every morning with the knowledge that he wouldn't see the soft porcelain flesh hidden behind Kevlar was enough to send a quiver down his spine. The thought that he would never hear the softest tone of playfulness edging it's way into his commands was enough to cause his heart to pound faster. Bart wasn't that strong.

The harsh gasps that bounced off the walls of the rec room in the tower spurred him on. He could feel the tremors as they ran through Tim's abdomen, his fingers ghosting acrossed the scarred flesh. He could feel Tim's fingers grip almost painfully against his shoulder blades. A grip that would bruise for maybe a few seconds. Bart's lips brushed Tim jaw before taking a chance and running his tongue quickly acrossed the scarred flesh just below. Bart couldn't help but smile as he nudged Tim's jaw with his nose for two reason. Mainly the fact that the noise that came from the back of Tim's throat as he tilted his head back could be described as mewing. Also for the fact that he had just tasted his best friend, and he had tasted good. The strong flavour of sweat was almost over powering, but the speedster managed to revel in the minor aftertaste of vanilla and rain water. Something that he had to assume was simply Tim.

The joy of those small facts died as soon as they occurred as Bart's fingers danced lower. He let his tongue slip out again in an attempt to distract his friend from the fresh wound that sat so jagged on Tim's left thigh. Or maybe it was an attempt to distract himself from the fact that the blood that was drying on his right was for a separate reason. Bart could feel strong muscles beneath the other boy's flesh jump at the faint brush. The grip on his shoulders grew stronger and the speedster bit down on the pale shoulder before him. A breathy moan left Tim's parted lips and he seemed to relax. It was weird how the action soothed his wounded friend. It was weird how easy everything seemed. How Tim's body would arch up to meet every one of the loving touches Bart placed on it. It was weird how Tim's hips would grind against any purchase the could get when Bart licked or bit at any damaged flesh

It sickened him somewhat, how many gashes and bruises he had found littered acrossed the silk like body that was so unsteady beneath him. Honey coloured eyes were horrified to see just how far the older scars went. How deep and debilitating they looked. It scared him. It confused him. It worried him. It pushed him to the point of rage. The thought of what had been done and by whom.

Bart's hand gripped onto one of the few areas unmarred by visible marks and squeezed gently. Tim moaned, a sound that Bart would have thought he would only be able to dream about, and hooked a leg around his hips. Bart's whole body vibrated at the sound as he pushed his own hips against Tim's. His body felt over heated as he concentrated his body's efforts into his hand and watched as Tim threw his head back with a cry.

Everything ended faster then he would have wanted and the thought would have made him smile if not for the situation. Bart ran his hands one last time down Tim's injured thighs now sticky to the touch. The lazy smile that curled Tim's chapped lips up hurt to see. It looked broken and used. The ungodly blue eyes that the young speedster had fallen madly in love with didn't reflect the same light that he had grown so used to.

Please god, Bart knew Tim was tired, but let him believe him.

Bart let his head drop down. His forehead bumped against Tim's and he slipped his eyes shut. He could feel tears burn behind his eyelids. His chest ached at the painful swelling of his heart breaking. His breath let out in a sudden sob when Tim's calloused fingers slipped into his hair. Bart tangled his legs in Tim's and all but threw his arms around the other boy's neck. It took all of his strength not to break down then. With all the thoughts running twenty miles a second through his head, the confession that had slipped so fluidly from Tim taunting him. He could feel his body slowly start to vibrate again.

The speedster could tell he didn't believe him by the look in those ungodly blue eyes. By the way the curl of his pale slightly chapped lips didn't meet the orbs of colour. By the way his shoulders had stayed tense and pained. He could tell by the way the other boy measured each and every breath that ran through his frail form. In. Five seconds. Out. It was timed and precise, and the act told him volumes.

"A good day, is any day that you're alive Tim."