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“I think he’s going to make it,” Leslie said, glaring at Batman from his seat in her clinic. It was the quickest way to get Red Robin to safety after the bullet to the abdomen that he took from the sniper while also simultaneously fighting killer croc… which was the only reason his armor and suit was even torn up enough to be affected by the bullet. Batman stopped the fight as soon as he could in order to get his partner to safety. Tim’s body falling to the ground only to leap back up and try to finish the fight.
Bruce stared at the bullet that Leslie dug out of his third son. The boy in question was sedated for now, but still looked so pale and cold for Bruce to feel completely comfortable with his recovery. Leslie, on the other hand, has long since passed her worry over Tim and turned to Bruce with anger and blame on her face. The guilt builds in the Bat.
“I haven’t seen this one around in awhile,” Leslie sighed, “I thought he stopped throwing himself in danger for you. Atleast the others seem to have some self preservation when it comes to you taking the hits instead.”
Tim just loved Batman too much not to take the hit.
Bruce’s stomach churned at the thought. He was supposed to be parent, the protector.
“He’s been busy with the Titans and Young Justice,” Bruce frowned.
“Because that’s what we need,” his surrogate mother laughed, “More child soldiers.”
Bruce doesn’t respond to the jab. It shouldn’t even bother him, plenty of people see Batman and the others as a plague on the world… that is until the need them, of course. But something about the way the doctor sets him with that cold stare has him shaking.
“Get him home. That bullet tore up some muscle. I suppose I don’t need to tell you how to take care of this, yes?” She asked. They danced this dance quite a few times already. He picked up his boy as gentle as he possibly could as if Tim is still a little boy.
By the time he gets back to the cave, it’s later than usual with Alfred off in bed and Dick asleep in the cave, waiting for him. Bruce sends his sleeping son off to bed while taking Tim to his room. Alfred just seemed to clean it recently so Bruce doesn’t have to watch for stepping on any gadgets or coffee mugs.
“Bruce,” A gurgley voice let out. Bruce made sure to change him into sweat point but avoided the shirt this time around. He doesn’t like it when cotton rubs up on fresh gun wounds.
“I’m here kiddo,” Bruce breathed out, sitting on the bed instead. The kid’s glazed eyes stared up at his father.
“I know you are,” Tim laughed, “‘s why I said your name.”
Bruce can’t help the small quirk of his lips, “You shoulda let me handle croc when he damaged your gear.”
“Don’t judge me,” Tim faux pouted, “I got shot.”
“I know you did,” Bruce sighed, he didn’t mean to sound judgmental but Tim threw himself into unnecessary danger just to protect his father. He pushed the long greasy hair out of his son’s face, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
Tim laughed, “Bet Jason beats me to it.”
Bruce snorts at that, “You’d think. But you’re the one that keeps thinking it’s okay to get hurt for me. Tim, I don’t understand. I could have handled that atleast until back up showed up or you fixed your gear.”
Tim has a blank look on his face. Bruce isn’t even sure if the drugged up teenager understood what he just said. It was like fighting a losing battle with this one and Bruce is fiercely scared that it is going to end in a body bag. He’s not sure if the family could handle that.
“I’d be okay with dying as long as you’re safe,” Tim squeaked, “You’ve given me everything Bruce. It’s the least I can do.”
“Dying,” Bruce sighed, “Dying for me is the worst thing you could ever do for me kid. This isn’t a debt you have to pay. I’m the dad here. Get that? I do the protecting.”
Tim frowned at that, but didn’t comment further. Bruce doesn’t know if its the drugs or lack of knowing what to say. Bruce wonders if they should call Dinah back in again though he thought that Tim had been doing better. Still, Bruce is a genius, he knows that the depression and lack of self worth TIm carries comes and goes with time and situation. That doesn’t make it any easier, Bruce can’t help but force the hope that things like this were simpler when it comes to his children.
“This is nice,” Tim decided suddenly before laughing, “If this is what it took to get you alone then I should get shot more often.”
Bruce glared at the boy but also felt his guilt heighten. He didn’t mean to ignore his third son… It’s just that Tim often made himself known to not need Bruce as often, too worried about getting in the way. That and all the other children were heathens that Bruce felt the need to constantly watch.
“Sorry,” Tim slurred, “forgotten middle child humor.”
Bruce suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, “You’re not forgotten… and Jason is the middle child chronologically.”
Tim thought for a moment, “Jason’s too much of an attention whore to be a middle child.”
“Tim!”
“It’s true!” Tim giggled, “You know with the guns and the everything.”
He seemed to be laughing to hard that the pain in his abdomen made itself known. He lout out a groan of pain in the midst of making fun of his siblings. Bruce jumped up in seconds, grabbing one of the half filled water bottle from the side of the table. He held it to Tim’s face hoping that the cool water would less the pain a little bit.
“Bullet wounds suck,” Tim pouted like a child.
“Maybe someone should listen to me next time,” Bruce makes sure he doesn’t sound patronizing when he shoves the boy over a little and sits on the bed. Tim sighed but let his head fall onto his father’s shoulder. Bruce continues to run his hand through the boy’s hair. It’s still too long but he will annoy Tim about that later.
“Do you mean it?” Tim asked.
“Mean what?”
“About me… If I died,” Tim slurred, “and being my dad.”
Bruce slid an arm around his boy and pulled him in tighter. He wished he was better at this stuff when one of them wasn’t drugged or hurt. He wished he could let them all know how much they mattered to him during patrol or outside their nightlife.
“I’m your dad. And you’re my kid. This means you and the others are my whole world. Equally- even if it doesn’t seem like it sometimes. We’re gonna do better, kiddo. You’ll see. You and me, kid. We’re gonna do this more often,” Bruce promised. He let a kiss be pressed into the smelly and greasy black hair.
“‘Love you dad,” Tim sleepily muttered into Bruce’s shoulder.
“You too, kiddo.”