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Fire raced through his veins as he panted over the toilet. Vomit burned at the back of his throat and tears stung at the corners of his eyes. He thought about sobbing or calling for his parents but…
They wouldn’t hear him anyways.
They were in Arizona, which was closer than they usually were, but they might have well been on another planet. They wouldn’t pick up Tim’s calls. They wouldn’t hear him sobbing. Even on the off-chance they answered their phone for once, they wouldn’t care enough to come back to him.
His stomach cramped, pain raced up his body and he dry-heaved into the toilet.
He had stopped throwing anything up an hour ago and now he was caught in the endless circuit of panting and heaving.
Tim sunk to the floor, a boneless heap of exhaustion.
What would Jack Drake say if he saw his son?
That Tim was pathetic? That Tim deserved to be alone because of how much of a disappointment he was? That Tim was asking to be abandoned because of how fucking needy he was.
His fist tightened, nails biting against his palm, and if he had the energy, he would have slammed it into the toilet in front of him.
Stupid Tim Drake.
Stupid Body.
Stupid—
Oh fuck, he was going to vomit.
He lunged for the toilet bowl as his body contracted and tried to force whatever was left inside him up. But it was as futile as the heaving from the hour before and Tim rode it out until his body let him collapse again.
When he finally caught his breath, Tim forced himself into sitting.
Get up, Timothy , said a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s. You’re a waste of space just sitting on the floor.
He stumbled to his legs, nearly tipping over. At the last minute, he saved himself from falling and cracking his head against the edge of the sink.
What a mess that would have been?
Blearily, he stepped out of the bathroom and made his way into the hall.
The wallpaper swirled, the floral design becoming all whirly around him. Petals twisted and turned and Tim felt like head was being sucked down a sink. He stopped, suddenly unable to take another step. His skull was heavy on his neck and he pitched, catching himself heavily on a wall.
His legs shook under him, suddenly unable to hold his weight and he just crumpled, panting, praying for someone to—
“Tim!”
His name.
He looked up and someone was rushing towards him.
Dad?
“Oh sweetheart,” Hands were on his face. They wiped his tears and gingerly pressed on his forehead. “What’s wrong? Feeling sick?”
The words were dripping like molasses into his mind. He was still trying to figure out the face in front of him and trying to think about the words too was just too much.
All he knew was that his dad was here. Which was impossible because his father was in Brazil. He thinks? It didn’t sound quite right, but he couldn’t think of it more.
Different countries. Different flights. Different missed holidays all swirled in his mind.
“You have a fever. Not a concerning one, but I bet it doesn’t feel nice.”
One of the hands moved and it was petting through his hair. Every stroke took away a little bit of the fire that was racing inside his veins. He tipped his head forward into a warm shoulder and prayed that it never went away.
And then it started pulling away.
The warmth was leaving. His dad was leaving.
He was going back to Morocco and away from Tim.
Tim whimpered. Honest to god, whimpered and tried to clutch on to his dad’s sleep shirt as much as his fragile fingers would allow him to.
“No,” he rasped. “Please don’t leave. I’ll be good. I’ll be better, but please don’t leave.”
The arms came back and Tim nearly cried. He tucked his head into the crook of his dad’s shoulder and fell into his familiar scent. Cologne. Coffee from late night cases. The dampness of the Cave.
It settled the anxiety rising up in the back of his throat and made him cling more.
“Please don’t fly away again,” he begged. He knew it was pathetic. The words felt pathetic in his mouth. “Please stay.”
The man under him made a sound like he had been punched. His fingers tightened into Tim, holding him like he was something precious.
He had never remembered his father holding him like that.
“Shh, sweetheart,” his Dad said into the side of Tim’s head. “I’m not leaving you. I would never, but we need to get you some medicine.”
The arms shifted under Tim, steadying him.
“Do you trust me, Tim?” A voice whispered into his ear.
Yes, he trusted his dad who was not his father. He trusted the dad that was always there.
Tim nodded because words were too hard and was lifted. Strong arms under him. Holding him close. He cried because of the sheer relief at being held and not shoved away.
Tim rocked with the man’s gait and blearily registered that he was being taken into a room and…
Put on a bed?
He whined, sounding like an animal and wishing to be back in the arms again. It had been so brief and felt so much like a hug. He wanted it to last forever or at least for than a few minutes.
“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” his Dad said, petting Tim’s limp hair away from his eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone. Trust me, remember?”
He tried to remember but remembering was as slippery as a snake.
“No, no,” he gasped, tears and nausea coming back. “No. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave again. Take me with you. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be—”
“B?” A voice grumbled, rough and rolling. Jay’s Crime Alley accent got thicker when he was sleepy and all most of the syllables slurred together. Most Gothamites would be warrier around someone with such an accent, but Tim could only find comfort in the tone. “What’s wrong?
“Hey, Jay,” his Dad’s voice was speaking over him again. “Don’t panic, but Tim needs someone to stay with him.”
The bed under him shifted and Jay’s voice came out sharper and urgent. “What’s wrong with Tim? Is he hurt? Did something happen?”
There were new hands now lifting his face. He blinked and saw Jason’s concerned green eyes scrutinising him. HIs brother’s face was all wrinkled and he smiled a bit at how funny it looked.
“Tim’s just feeling a bit under the weather,” Dad said gently, drawing the blankets around Tim. “I need to get him some medicine, but he doesn’t want to be alone. He’s been alone too much.”
There was something heavy and sad in the way that Bruce said that, and Tim couldn’t quite figure it out.
Jason murmured something and drew Tim close. His brother was big and that was good. Tim used to be scared of the bigness of him, but now it just meant better hugs. Big arms. Big hugs. Warm that could surround him entirely and chase away cold loneliness that crept into his heart.
He sighed into Jason’s shoulder and tucked his head into the crook of his brother’s neck. If he was quiet, he could hear Jay’s steady heartbeat.
“That’s right, baby bird,” a voice chuckled over him. “I got ya’”
Tim smiled and let his anxiety go.
He knew his family would be staying.