Chapter Text
Tim’s grand return to the conscious world comes in the form of a splitting headache and the worst kind of nausea one can imagine. Feeling the bile slowly crawling up his throat, Tim ends up gagging.
Someone offers him a plastic bag which he gladly accepts. Just in time, for moments later Tim ends up throwing up the ham and cheese sandwich he made earlier this morning—in a poor attempt at making his mom’s breakfast.
“Uh… I’ll fetch Doctor Leslie,” an unsure voice says, catching Tim’s attention. As he opens his mouth to ask who’s speaking, the voice pipes up, “Can someone watch over him? I think he’s going to throw up again.”
Tim can’t hear whoever replies. He makes a baffled sound because excuse me? he can’t help but think, somewhat offended. What do they think he is? An ailing Victorian child? Heck no! He recently turned twelve years old, thank you very much. And he’s got perfectly working ears!
Just as Tim turns his head in the voice’s direction, ready to give him a piece of his mind, he meets his ultimate opponent: the ceiling's bright lights. Blinded by the lights, Tim lets out a pained whimper.
Too bright, passes through his mind as he closes his eyes tightly, wishing he’d never looked in that direction. Goddamn it, it hurts. In fact, it’s even worse than the time Tim accidentally tripped while he was following Batman and Robin, and blacked out for a couple of hours—which in case anyone’s wondering, Tim definitely does not recommend ever trying. Chasing vigilantes isn’t worth it, if it means waking up hours later with no sense of what has happened.
Tim blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the sheer brightness. When his head doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode, Tim decides to look around.
He’s not expecting to be looking at sterile white walls. Neither is he expecting his nose to be greeted by a strong chemical smell. Confusion settles in as Tim props himself up from the hospital bed, only to be stopped short by what he realizes are straps around one of his wrists, immobilizing him.
The heck? goes through Tim’s head. He tugs at the straps, but to no avail.
Just as Tim is about to throw himself against the wall, in an effort to get the heck out of here, a warm hand stops him.
“Tim,” a familiar voice says. That voice makes Tim abort his mission and glance up. There, in front of him, is none other than his neighbor: Mr. Wayne. He looks… physically exhausted, as if he went through a night without sleep.
The corners of Bruce’s lips curl up in an amicable smile. He places a hand over Tim’s and squeezes. “You’re finally awake.”
Tim’s brows scrunch up in confusion.
What the heck is his neighbor, of all people, doing here?
“How are you feeling?” Mr. Wayne continues. “Do you feel like talking?”
I am so confused, is the first thing that pops into Tim’s head, along with is this some type of joke?. He looks for the secret camera in case this is one of those prank television programs his dad likes to watch.
Much to his disappointment, there isn’t one to find.
“What happened?” Tim manages to croak out, his throat feeling parched. He tilts his head, confused as to why his neighbor, of all freaking people, is here in the first place. What’s more, is he’s not the only person in the room.
Apart from him is a female doctor, in her mid forties, scribbling some notes on what Tim supposes is his medical chart, and a couple of nurses looking at him like he just made the medical history.
Feeling their intrigued gazes on him, Tim starts fiddling with his fingers. An unconscious habit of his, one that his dad hasn’t found the time to curb yet. Discomforted by the feeling of being watched, it seems only natural for Tim to ask, “Why am I here?”
That’s enough to stop the doctor from writing and glance up. Doctor Leslie, says the credential.
“I was hoping you could help us with that, Tim,” she says softly, passing the medical chart to the nearby nurse. She smiles at him, but it’s not enough to soothe the mix of worry and confusion settling over Tim’s mind. “Do you remember what happened?”
In response, Tim lets out a very confused noise.