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He felt like shit. There was literally no other way to describe it. He was lacking the energy to focus, he felt like snapping at anyone who came to close or even tried talking to him and he felt sick despite not eating anything that day.
He was currently at WE in his office, his face buried within his crossed arms on his desk and was trying to ignore everything going on around him. His phone kept beeping, his laptop kept on notifying him of emails coming through, the second hand on the clock was ticking away and driving him insane.
Stressed and tired didn't even cover what Tim was currently feeling. At that particular moment he was supposed to be in a board meeting, but there he was still in his office because he didn't want to move. He couldn't even force himself to move. Anytime he moved it felt like he was going to be sick, any light that hits his eyes irritates him (that's why he had his face buried in his arms, the darkness was a wonderful welcome) and he felt like if anyone tried to talk to him right now he would snap at them and bite their head off for no reason other than they were annoying him just by being there.
Tim lets out a groan when his phone beeps at different tune to what it has been for the last however many minutes and hours. He recognises this tune as Bruce's text tone. Not lifting his head Tim blindly tries to find his phone that was somewhere on his desk with his hand, carelessly patting around until he finds it.
When he does find it he brings it down into his lap and looks at the screen. It's in his lap so he can look straight down at it and not have to move his head much to see it. As the screen lights up he immediately looks away as the harsh light from it hurts his eyes. He does it more slowly the second time so he can adjust to it. It wasn't much better but at least slightly more bearable, he can last long enough to find Bruce's contact and press his name and begin a call. Tim puts it on speaker just so he doesn't have to lift it to his ear.
A couple of rings go by before his adoptive father answers. "Tim."
"Hey Bruce." Tim responds. He winces when he hears his voice. Great, he feels like shit and he even sounds like shit.
"Tim, why aren't you in the board meeting? I've had numerous of messages asking me why you aren't there and how you're not answering your phone."
Tim takes a moment before answering. He has to steady his breathing because he could feel his stomach turning again like he's going to be sick. "I feel like shit." He says after a while. There's no point hiding the truth, Bruce would find out anyway and he really doesn't have the energy to even think about pretending he's alright.
"Son? Tim can you hear me?"
It takes Tim a moment to realise that he blanked out and that Bruce was still on the phone. "I'm here... I feel like crap Bruce. I wanna go home." He didn't even realise he was whining like a kid until he said it. Bruce didn't seem to care though, he sounds concerned when he speaks again.
"Why didn't you say something sooner Tim? I'm going to come and get you. You’re in your office right? I'll be 15 minutes, 20 at the most."
Tim's not entirely sure if he answers Bruce or not but the thought of going home and going straight to his room sounds wonderful. He turns his phone off and buries his face in his arms once again as he tries to fight off the nausea building up inside of him.
He has no concept of time with his face buried in his arms, he wasn’t even bothered to actually check the time anyway. It’s like he didn’t have the energy to care or to even move if he did want to know the time. All he could focus on was trying to not be sick, how tired he felt, how his head had now started to pound on the right side in a really painful throbbing way and most of all how much he wanted to go home and do nothing.
Whatever was wrong with him was really wiping him out.
“Tim?”
Tim shifts in his seat at the call of his name. He doesn’t move his head to acknowledge whoever it was but does grumble into his arms in response to them. A beat passes by before Tim feels a presence standing by his side.
“Tim?”
Tim shifts again and peeks out from his arms, squinting as he looks down at the floor where two shiny and expensive shoes were, shoes that he recognised. “Bruce?”
“Yeah it’s me bud. What’s wrong kiddo?”
From where he was looking he sees Bruce crouch down, the shoes in his sight being replaced by knees covered in tailored trousers.
Bruce’s voice was quiet and soft, it makes Tim almost sob. He feels horrible and wants to go home. He didn’t know what was exactly wrong with him but he wanted nothing more than to go home and rest on his bed.
“I feel like shit.” He says in the end.
He hears Bruce chuckles and soon feels a hand on the top of his head, fingers gently stroking his hair. The attention on his head reminds him of the pounding headache he currently has going on and even the nausea inside his stomach.
“I get that kid, but I need you to be more specific. What’s exactly wrong? Do you need me to take you to the doctor?”
Tim swallows, “No. I just wanna go home.” That’s when Tim decides to bury his face in his arms once again.
“Okay that’s fine, the car’s downstairs, Alfred’s there too.” Bruce tells him, never stopping his motions on Tim’s head. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I have a headache, I can’t be assed to move, light hurts my eyes.” Tim reports to him, as an after thought he adds, “Oh I feel sick too.”
Bruce hums in the way that tells them he’s clearly thinking about something. A moment later the hand on Tim’s head disappears and Bruce was talking once again but this time not to Tim. “Yes I’m with him now Alfred. No he appears physically fine. He just wants to go home. Yes, uh no. I think he has a migraine Alfred, at least a start of one from what he’s told me and with the way he currently is. Yes, okay. I’m coming down with him now.”
Bruce’s hand appears back on his head and Tim shifts into the touch.
“Okay kid, I think that you have a migraine coming on. We’re going to get you home and you’re going to rest for the rest of the day and even tomorrow.”
Tim frowns at that. A migraine? Is that what this bullshit is? Okay whatever, he’s too tired to even think about it and all of the details. If Bruce says that’s what it is then that’s what it is. It hurts his head if he starts thinking too much.
He hears Bruce sigh, “Okay how do you want to do this Tim? Do you think you can walk? Or is it too painful for you too move right now?”
Tim considers it a moment. He swallows thickly and starts trying to straighten up in his seat. He doesn’t move more than a few inches off his desk before he’s giving up and burying his face in his arms again. It’s just to hard too move and even that tiny bit of movement he had done hurt his head and almost made him sick.
“I can’t.” Tim says sullenly, he hates how weak he sounds, “I can’t move Bruce.”
His adoptive father makes a humming sound like he already knew that anyway. “That’s fine Tim, don’t worry about it. I’m going to carry you then okay? It’s going to hurt a bit but I’ll be as careful as I can and get you down to the car as quick as I can alright.”
“Okay.” Tim agrees after some time.
He feels the chair he’s sat on be slightly spun around before feeling Bruce press up against him. He lets out a whine as Bruce starts moving him away from the desk. “I know Timmy I know. What I want you to do is press your face against my neck, it’ll keep the light out of your eyes and I’m able to hold you close against me.”
Tim feels Bruce’s head rest against him and then in slow movements Tim removes his arms and turns his head so his face is against Bruce’s. The older man takes over after that, he carefully guides Tim’s face to his neck and manipulates his body until he’s able to pick him up off the chair and carry him in his arms.
Despite how careful the movements were it still jolts Tim and causes his head to throb and his stomach to turn. With what energy he has he clings onto Bruce, allowing the older man carry him through the building and down to the car where he’ll be thankfully going home.
He must have blanked out again because the next time he’s aware of anything is when Bruce is climbing into the car. As the man moves around Tim unintentionally gets jolted which causes pain to flare up inside of him. He lets out a whine as his head pounds.
“Sorry Timmy, just getting into the car now. We’ll be home before you know it.”
Even inside the car Bruce doesn’t let him go. His adoptive father keeps hold of him in his lap as he requests Alfred to drive quickly but carefully back to the Manor.
Tim feels Bruce run a hand over his head, he leans into it and presses his face even further into the man’s neck. “How you feeling son?”
“Like crap.”
Bruce makes something like a sympathetic humming noise before speaking back softly. “We’re going to get you home and get some medicine in you before putting you in your room where you rest okay. Hopefully some rest and sleep will help this pass.”
Tim doesn’t respond. He simply stays there in Bruce’s lap, clutching the man like a lifeline because he can’t really do anything else.
Bruce frowns when Tim doesn’t respond to him but chooses not to say anything else. It’s clear that Tim is in immense pain with this headache and certainly isn’t in the right frame of mind. He’s clutching to him like his life depended on it and his face is buried into his neck so tightly like he’s trying to merge with the skin there.
He continues to run his fingers through his son’s hair as he watches the world go by as they drive back home. He wonders how this migraine Tim is suffering with came about. He hasn’t had much chance to talk to Tim recently but he didn’t realise how bad his son was suffering until he called.
It makes Bruce feel terrible, it makes him feel like he’s failing as a father because he can’t even look after his own goddamn children. It doesn’t help that Tim is a very stubborn 18 year old who clings onto that need of independence. Bruce is proud of how independent he is, is proud of the man Tim is becoming, but it’s moments like this when it’s clear that Tim needs someone to be with him that makes him feel bad because it’s like Tim doesn’t trust him anymore.
Soon enough they reach the Manor. Alfred pulls to a gentle stop and climbs out the car to come to Bruce’s door, his own father figure holds open the door as Bruce carefully scoots out of the car. He’s trying to be as careful as he can and feels great guilt when Tim whimpers in pain when he accidently jolts him.
After getting out of the car it was a slow and gradual climb up to the stairs to the front door of their home. Alfred takes the lead and opens it up for him before letting him go inside first. They enter and Bruce immediately heads for the staircase so he could make his way to Tim’s room. He glances at Alfred over his shoulder and opens his mouth to speak but before he could even ask his question Alfred beats him to the punch.
“Master Bruce if you would be willing to, take Master Tim to his bedroom and get him settled in bed, change his clothes and make sure his room is dark and quiet. As you do that I will go and get the required medicine for the situation at hand.”
Bruce smiles appreciatively before continuing up the stairs. “Thanks Alfred.”
Bruce slowly makes his way to Tim’s room, taking on a slow and steady pace to reach his son’s room so he doesn’t disturb him much. He could feel the teen’s breath against his neck and the way he clings onto the back of his shirt with all of the energy he has left.
He eventually gets to the right room and opens the door to walk inside. To his surprise Tim’s room was a mess. There were a few piles of clothes chucked hazardously on the floor in the corners, Tim’s desk was covered in a variety of papers and some technical gadgets he must have been working on recently, books were everywhere and there were a few wrappers and drink cans over the place too.
He decides that he’ll deal with all that later on, for now getting Tim on his (made) bed and settled was his priority. He strides over to the bed and before doing anything he lets Tim know what’s happening. He gives the teen a moment to prepare himself for it before proceeding to place him down on the mattress. He tries to be as gentle as possible while doing so but his son still makes a painful whining sound as it happens.
Before letting Tim fully settle down Bruce starts undressing him. It’s best to do it now before the teen gets too comfortable. He takes off Tim’s buttoned shirt, removes his shoes and socks before undoing Tim’s belt and takes off his trousers. The entire time Tim just allows Bruce to manhandle him around without complaint but does make a few whining noises in pain. Bruce tries and soothes him as he redresses Tim in some soft cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt which he thinks once belonged to Dick.
After that was all done Bruce finally allows Tim to settle down on his bed which Tim does gratefully so. As Tim gets comfy at his own pace Bruce stands up and goes over to the curtains, he draws them closed and instantly the room plunges into darkness. He hears Tim let out a sigh in relief, whether that was because of the darkness or because he’s now comfy he’s not entirely sure.
“How you feeling now buddy?” He asks quietly, walking back over to the bed and sitting down on the edge. “This any better for you?”
Tim doesn’t respond for a long time but when he eventually does it’s quiet and grumpy. “Still like shit. Better now I’m lying down but still shit.”
Bruce reaches forward and runs his fingers through Tim’s hair softly. “Well Alfred’s on his way up with medicine, if you think you can keep it down it’ll help with the headache.”
Tim makes a humming noise before going silent again. Bruce doesn’t stop his motions though, it seems to make the teen relax while he lies on the bed. They stay like that together for a few minutes until Alfred appears in the doorway carrying a bucket in one hand and a box of tablets in the other.
Bruce watches as Alfred goes about the room, he sets the bucket down by his feet by the bed and places the tablets on Tim’s bedside table before lifting a water bottle from the bucket and holds it in his hands. Alfred stands up straight and gives Bruce a pointed look.
Understanding what the look was about Bruce turns back to Tim. “Hey Timmy, Alfred’s here with your medicine. Think you can sit up and take some for us son?”
After a moment Tim groans but begins to shift on the mattress as if making a move to get up. Bruce helps him out by placing one hand on the back of his neck and the other underneath his upper body to help him sit up and keep his head still.
When Tim straightens up they notice he still has his eyes closed. Removing the hand from his upper body Bruce uses it to wipe the hair out of Tim’s face. He then looks at Alfred who was watching him intently with a small smile.
“Master Tim if you can swallow these it’ll help ease the pressure inside of your head as well as help sooth your nausea. Think you can keep these down sir?”
Tim makes a humming noise again and simply opens his mouth up instead of talking, like he’s got no energy to respond at all. Bruce shares an amused look with Alfred before reaching for the box of tablets on the bedside table. Popping one open he places it in Tim’s mouth before grabbing the bottle off Alfred and tips a bit into the teens mouth. He allows Tim to swallow before doing it again a second time.
Once that was all done Bruce helps Tim to lie back down and helps him to get comfortable again. Tim hums appreciatively and settles down pretty quickly. Seconds later Alfred appears at his side and drapes the blanket Tim had at the end of his bed over the teen and tucks it around him before backing off. Bruce gets off the bed and before leaving he bends over Tim to place a soft kiss to the kids head.
“If you need us just yell or signal us okay, we’ll be around. If not we’ll come and check on you in a few hours.”
Bruce doesn’t expect a reply, that’s probably why he’s as shocked as he was when Tim quietly mutters a “thanks dad, love you,” before he fully pulls away. Bruce stays there staring at the side of Tim’s head for a few moments before a smile makes it’s way onto his face.
“Love you too kid.”