Chapter Text
It’s August 21, 2026 and Tim has never felt so terrified in his entire fucking life - and he once got stabbed through his spleen in a foreign country. But right now it feels like someone stripped all his clothes off and dunked him into a freezing cold lake in the middle of winter. He can hardly breathe, every inhale and exhale takes an insane amount of effort, and he’s shaking badly.
Tim just got back from patrol, more than ready to fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms, but Bernard is not in Tim’s apartment, even though he said he would be here, waiting for Tim to get home. But he can’t find his partner anywhere. What he does find, however, is a note on the table, right next to his spare key.
Dear Tim,
I know this is going to be hard for you, and I am immensely regretful of that fact - but I am doing what needs to be done. You can’t see it now, Tim, but this is what has to happen - it’s better for the both of us.
By the time you read this I will already be dead.
Tim drops the note onto the ground so quickly you’d think it burnt him. No, no, no - this cannot be happening, it has to be some fucked up bad joke. Bernard is fine, he has to be. There is no way that he’s killed himself, there just isn’t. His boyfriend has been doing so much better lately, or at least it seemed like he was. Bernard has been happier as of late, all smiles and loud laughs. They even had lunch earlier today, and he was completely fine - in fact, he seemed beyond overjoyed, like the weight of all of his burdens has finally lifted.
Tim should have known, he should have known that something was wrong. This is all his fault.
Please don’t feel too bad, and don’t blame yourself. You have helped me immensely, gotten me through the hardest time of my life. You have always been here for me, when I got sucked into the cult, when my coke use got out of control, when my parents were being especially shitty, when my self harm began again, and you never once judged me for any of it. You were the perfect boyfriend and I never deserved you, not now - not ever.
But everything is so exhausting and I can’t take it anymore. I got farther in llfe than I ever thought I would, but Tim, I am so very tired. I’ve spent all of my 22 years in an endless cycle of wanting, wanting, and wanting. I’m sick of wanting. Wanting coke, wanting to hurt myself, wanting to fucking die - to end it, once and for all. I can’t want anymore, I just can’t.
This is the choice I’ve made and I ask that you please respect it, that you respect me for wanting this. I’m sorry for hurting you in this way, Tim - but I need you to try and move on, if not for yourself, than for me.
Move on, his ass. Tim will not be doing any such thing, he’s going to find Bernard and he has to do it as soon as possible - before something irreparable happens. He wracks his brain for a place where his boyfriend could possibly be and comes to the conclusion that checking his parents’ house is probably the best place to start.
Tim puts his shoes back on, grabbing his motorcycle keys - not bothering with his helmet, he does not have time for that. Tim surpasses every speed limit he sees, managing to make the fifteen minute trip to Bernard’s house in five minutes tops.
Please be okay. Please, please, please be alive.
His parents are home, because of course they are, so Tim climbs in through his boyfriend’s window as quietly as possible. What he sees when he steps into the room will stay with Tim for the rest of his life; it will haunt him for eternity, maybe even beyond that.
Bernard’s limp body is hanging from the ceiling, a noose wrapped around his neck - which is quickly turning a bruised blue-ish purple. His eyes are bulging out a bit and there’s a knocked over chair underneath him. His stomach drops and Tim throws up for what feels like forever. He rushes towards his boyfriend, picking the chair back up so he can stand on it and remove the rope wrapped tightly around his throat. It’s hard to get his boyfriend down and even harder to loosen the noose, but Tim manages.
He drops Bernard’s heavy body on his bed, checking for a pulse but finding nothing; no sign of life at all. He bursts into tears, intense sobs wracking his body as he kneels next to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around him as he cries into Bernard’s blonde hair - peppering kisses on his forehead. Bernard is cold, too cold. Tim’s heart is hammering in his throat as he tries and fails to breathe. Tim breaks down, screaming, sobbing, tears streaming down his face and onto his boyfriend’s body.
He doesn’t notice when his best friend Kon comes in through the open window. Tim’s completely oblivious to his presence, at least until Kon steps in front of him. He must’ve heard Tim screaming and flew here to help him. Kon probably didn’t expect to see Tim’s boyfriend’s dead body on the bed.
“Tim. Tim.” Kon says, snapping his fingers in front of his best friend’s face, trying to get his attention. Tim has no clue how long Kon has been standing there, though judging by his concerned facial expression, it must have been a bit too long.
“Tim, I need you to take a deep breath. I’ll do it with you,”
“Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. Four, five, six.” Tim tries, he really does, but it feels like his lungs are full of water and every breath hurts him.
“That’s good Tim. Let’s do it again.” Kon says, repeating his exaggerated breaths until Tim can finally breathe again.
“Kon.” he says, desperately, still sobbing.
“I know.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.
“He killed himself. I was too late.” Tim admits, heartbroken.
“You did your best Tim.” Bullshit.
“It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop him.”
“You can’t blame yourself.” Kon says, but the only thing Tim can do right now is blame himself.
“I can. I do.” he says honestly.
“I’m gonna call an ambulance and then I’m taking you to the manor.” All Tim can do is nod.
Kon flies him to the manor after the cops arrive, and the second he gets there he bursts into another bout of heaving sobs.
He was too late. It’s too late. There’s nothing Tim can do except call 911 and hold his boyfriend’s corpse in his arms, crying harder than he’s ever cried in his life. It doesn’t feel real. Bernard was fine at lunch, he was fine yesterday. Now he’s not. Now he’s dead and Tim can’t do a damn thing about it. He’s never felt so useless, so completely helpless.
There’s nothing he can do.