Chapter Text
Beep…beep…beep…
“…-rate is too fast.”
Beep…beep…beep…
“…Need to get him warm.”
“He’s not moving! I need…”
Beep...beep…
“C’mon kiddo, hang in there!”
“Grab me the…”
Beepbeepbeep
“Damian!”
Beepbeepbeepbeep
Beep…
Beep…………beep…
……beep…
………
It’s blessedly warm when Tim opens his eyes. His lungs feel like they’re full of cement, his limbs burn like they’re on fire, even his head aches. He tries to take in a deep breath, but chokes, his lungs refusing to expand, and then he’s choking on air, body struggling to cough and lungs refusing to cooperate.
“Shit!” Dick says from somewhere to the left—how long has he been there? “Hey, hey you’re okay. It’s okay, everything’s alright now. Just relax, Timmy. Can you do that? Relax.”
Tim nods frantically, because he’s fine, he just can’t seem to inhale properly. Dick keeps talking, presumably trying to help somehow. And maybe it does, because his lungs stop seizing after a few seconds, and he can get in some oxygen.
“’m okay.” He wheezes as soon as possible, because Dick’s making that face that says he’s freaked out but doesn’t want Tim to know. “Re—“ he breaks off to cough again. “Really.”
Dick looks skeptical, but doesn’t reply, handing him a cup of water. “Drink?”
Tim takes it gratefully and watches his older brother carefully while he drinks. Dick’s face looks drawn and tired, like he hasn’t slept in days. Frankly, he looks like crap. He normally looks like that when he and Bruce really fight…or when someone dies…
“Where’s Damian?” He demands, panicking. “Did you…you guys got him, right? Dick?”
“Dude, seriously. Relax.” Dick holds his hands up defensively. “He’s…he’ll…” He sighs. “He’ll be fine, okay? I…he’ll be fine.”
He’s lying. Tim frowns slightly, because he can tell when Dick’s lying, he can always tell. But he keeps this to himself.
“Am I in trouble?”
Dick sighs and reaches over to brush the bangs out of Tim’s eyes. “Probably. You scared us, Tim. And you know how Bruce can be. So, yeah, probably.”
Okay, they definitely fought. “’m sorry.”
“You need to remember that you’re still a part of this family, okay? We love you, and when you do things like that…” Dick sighs again. “Just…don’t scare us like that again.”
Tim nods, feeling a little cowed, but still trying to decipher exactly what Dick’s upset about (besides him).
“I’m sick, aren’t I?” He asks, more as a distraction than anything.
“Yeah. Congrats, Tim. You caught pneumonia. Again.”
Tim grins half-heartedly. “That darn missing spleen, huh?”
Dick frowns, because it’s not funny. At that moment, Jason comes wandering into the room. He raises an eyebrow, seeing the relieved look Dick is giving him.
“What’d I miss?”
“My shitty sense of humor.” Tim says deadpan.
“Ah, and he lives.” Jason says with mock cheerfulness.
His older brother shakes his head slightly, then stands up. “You wanna stay here with him for me? I’m gonna go tell Alfred.”
Jason nods, confused. As soon as Dick leaves, he glares at Tim. “What. The. Hell?”
“My missing spleen is not funny, apparently.”
“Yeah…well neither are my ‘dead’ jokes. You totally should have known better.”
Tim shrugs. “Sorry. How’s Damian? Dick won’t tell me.”
Jason groans, because of course he’d be stuck in the middle of that particular mess.
“You can tell me, or I can go find out.” Tim declares, trying to get out of bed. He makes it to the edge before he almost falls over. Jason jerks him back onto the bed, growling “idiot”, under his breath.
“He’s okay. Unconscious, but okay. His body started to shut down from the cold—yours too. But we got him stabilized, so now we’re just waiting for him to wake up. Bruce’s with him now.”
Tim looks skeptical. “He’s really okay?”
“Well…if—when he wakes up, he will be. Ice water baths are not recommended for kids in general, in case you were wondering. You were out for at least a full day.”
Jason hangs around for a good four or five hours, “keeping Tim company”, which really means “keeping Tim in bed”. Finally, he announces that he’s going to go grab dinner and “you should get some sleep, Timbo. You look like crap.”
Tim tries, but he can’t seem to get comfortable. First, every time he starts to fall asleep, he starts to dream that he’s drowning, and then he wakes up gasping and coughing. Eventually, he gives up. He can’t stop worrying about Damian.
So, logically, he decides that he needs to go check on the boy himself. He heaves himself up out of bed and wobbles for a moment. His lungs ache, but he keeps from coughing. Tim pauses to look around, before trekking down the hall.
Damian’s room is still technically a crime-scene, so he’s been settled into a guest room. Bruce wishes idly for a more comfortable chair—his back aches like crazy. Sighing, he leans forward and gently brushes his youngest son’s hair back from his flushed face. Damian doesn’t stir, and Bruce feels that nagging sense of fear in the back of his mind—what if he doesn’t wake up?
He will wake up, Bruce tells himself firmly. He sighs and leans back into his seat. He wonders idly if any of his boys are awake at this hour—probably not.
The sound of someone padding down the hallway immediately contradicts this conclusion. Bruce turns around to see Tim lingering in the doorway, chest heaving from exertion.
“Tim?” Bruce frowns with concern, getting up and walking over. “Are you alright?”
The boy nods, still trying to catch his breath. “Yeah. I just…wanted to see if, um, Damian w-was okay?”
Bruce can’t help but smile slightly at the way his son shifts embarrassedly when he’s done talking. He places his hand against the boy’s forehead, before sighing in relief.
“The fever’s gone down some.”
“Antibiotics are pretty awesome.” Tim grins for a moment.
The man can’t keep from rolling his eyes at that statement. “Uh-huh. Okay then, champ, I take it you’re not going back to bed without a fight?”
Tim nods sheepishly.
“Okay then. Come on.” He puts an arm around the boy’s skinny shoulders. “We’ll have to share the armchair.”
They get settled into the chair, Tim somehow managing to squeeze in between Bruce and the arm of the chair. He leans against Bruce, staring over at the bed with some concern. He’s so still and quiet that Bruce thinks he might have fallen asleep.
“Hey, B?”
Bruce almost jumps. “Yes?”
Tim sighs and tilts his head up slightly to look directly at Bruce. “I’m sorry for scaring everyone. But I’m not sorry for what I did.”
It’s almost exactly what Bruce would have said himself, and it’s hard to come up with an appropriate response. Finally, he settles on “I know, Tim.”
He feels the boy nod and then relax again. After a few minutes, Tim is asleep. Bruce smiles fondly, shifting so that Tim’s no longer falling off over the side of the chair. He looks over to check on Damian, pleased to note that the boy looks much more relaxed and less flushed. He sighs and rests his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes. He listens to the heart monitor’s steady beeping, feeling Tim’s labored breathing next to him, finally able to relax knowing that his children are all safe.
Damian wakes with a jolt, mind reeling from the dream he’d been lost in. He breathes in and out for a moment, trying to sort out what was real and what was a remnant of his imagination. Turning his head, he can make out his father, sleeping in the armchair. He’s surprised to see Drake there too, resting against Father, pale and bandaged and definitely alive. Damian is surprised to be relieved by that, but he chalks it up to stress and the dream he’d been having. Sighing, he lays his head back on the pillow, relaxing his sore body. He listens to the sound of his family members’ breathing and slowly drifts back off into a dreamless slumber.
It’s several days before Damian is allowed downstairs, and even then, it’s only after much begging and threatening. Finally, he convinces Jason of all people to help him get out of bed and down to the dining room. The rest of the family is there, eating breakfast when they arrive.
Jason gives Bruce a cheerful smile in response to the disapproving frown.
“I coerced him into assisting me, Father.” Damian says, hoping to prevent an argument.
“Fine.” Bruce says dejectedly. “Just…sit down, please, Damian.”
The boy does as commanded, taking the closest empty chair, which happens to be next to Tim. The older boy eyes him for a second, then returns to jabbing at his oatmeal half-heartedly. Alfred sets a bowl of oatmeal in front of Damian without comment, although he does give the boy a small smile.
Damian digs into the meal with some relish—it’s been days since he had solid food to eat. After a few mouthfuls, he slows, paying more attention to the atmosphere of the room. Father and Grayson are sitting as far from each other as they can without being noticeable, avoiding eye contact determinedly. Todd is trying to lighten the mood, cheerfully commenting on the food, the weather, and anything else he can think of. Drake seems to be avoiding attention, probably because he’s not eating and doesn’t want a lecture.
Finally, he has enough and slams his hands on the table. Everyone jumps and stares at him.
“Whatever you’re fighting over, I highly doubt it’s worth it at this point!” He says, glaring pointedly at Grayson and then at Father. “Just stop it!”
He pauses, sees that Father is about to argue, and decides to play the trauma card. “Please. I just want to be with my family after all this!”
Both men mutter sheepish apologies, and the mood relaxes tangibly. Damian is pleased that they didn’t notice how out of character that statement had been, although Todd is staring at him, mouth slightly agape. Drake is snickering quietly into his oatmeal, clearly well aware of what he did.
The rest of breakfast is relaxed, pleasant almost. Afterward, Grayson suggests a movie, and everyone else agrees, albeit reluctantly. Even Father agrees, although he brings along some paperwork. Drake is still poking at his cereal when everyone else has left for the living room. Damian pauses in the doorway, scrutinizing the older boy for a minute.
“Drake?”
The boy sighs and cocks his head. “Yeah?”
“You are coming, right?”
“Yes.” He shrugs, pushing the bowl away a few inches. “I figured if I waited ‘til they left, I could dump this without a lecture.”
Damian frowns. “You should eat more.”
Drake smirks. “Thanks for the advice. The antibiotics make me nauseous. Besides, I eat plenty.”
“No, you don’t.”
“And this matters…why?”
“Because,” Damian says as though talking to a particularly slow child. “It’s only fair that I be concerned for your well-being, considering you did attempt to help me.”
“Um…excuse me?” The older boy glares at him incredulously. “’Attempt’? I freaking saved your life!”
“Perhaps.” Damian shrugs. “But no matter. What is important is the fact that we make quite the formidable theme. Even Father has a difficult time dissuading us. And since this alliance is quite beneficial, I am therefore interested in keeping it intact.”
Tim grins. “Well, if you put it that way.” He gets up and walks towards the living room, gently bumping Damian’s shoulder on the way. “Come on. We can probably get them to not put on another one of those stupid cartoons!”
They exit the kitchen together, trying to strategize the best way of convincing their brothers that it is in their best interest to not force the two into watching another Disney movie. Although they’re unaware, both Dick and Jason will be more than willing to let them have their way, if not just because they’re happy the boys are safe, then definitely because it’s a wonderful thing for them to see—Tim and Damian getting along for a reason that isn’t work related. They’ve already won the battle.