Chapter Text
“Tim,” Bruce said and sighed while he punched the bridge of his nose.
Tim looked up at him from his laptop and blinked at him, tilting his head to the side as he did so.
“You haven’t said anything all day,” Bruce noted and Tim shrugged, looking back down at his laptop.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to talk- in fact he had plenty of things on his mind. From Damian using the last of the milk before Tim could make his coffee, to the way Dick had ruffled his hair with hands that were way too cold.
Like, seriously too cold.
He had a lot of things on his mind, but neither the energy to say them, nor the desire to irritate his throat even further.
He also didn’t want everyone hovering over him and wondering why he had gotten sick.
Again.
He knew the reason- in fact he was pretty sure it had to do with an organ that he was missing, the lack of which made it easier for him to get any sort of infection.
Especially bacterial ones, like strep throat.
And he knew that Alfred and Bruce knew, but aside from them, he had kept it a secret from everyone else, although he was sure that everyone, especially Dick and Cass, were starting to become more concerned.
So, Tim decided to suffer in silence, literally this time, since he was pretty sure he had come down with strep throat.
Again.
A chill ran down his spine- probably due to the low-grade fever that he had been running since last night, and Tim pulled the hood of his hoodie up over his head with a huff.
The fabric was soft and worn, a washed out red with some kind of black design that had since long faded. It smelled like the same thing that it always did- the fabric softener that Alfred preferred, combined with coffee. There were holes worn into the sleeves from Tim rubbing his thumbs there until they poked through the fabric.
Alfred had insisted that he get a new one after that, and while Tim had agreed, he still kept this one around anyway, wearing it around the manor but not anywhere else.
“… is there something you’re upset about?” Bruce asked and then Tim paused, looking back up at him for a moment before looking back down at his laptop and shaking his head.
Tim knew, without looking up, that Bruce wasn’t satisfied with that answer. But maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t feeling well, or maybe it was the fact that he would rather be paying attention to what was on the laptop screen, he didn’t notice Bruce walk around behind the chair that he was sitting in.
And he especially didn’t notice when Bruce leaned over him, pressing a hand- a pretty cold one, but not as cold as Dick’s, against his forehead.
Tim flinched and the contact, and did his best to move away, opening his mouth and closing it when he decided that the paint wasn’t worth him voicing his discomfort.
“If you aren’t feeling well,” Bruce began as he moved his hand away from Tim’s face and Tim settled back into the chair again, “you should say something.”
Tim looked up at him again, this time unsure of what to say. He didn’t feel that bad, but he also could tell that Bruce was worried- especially since it had only been a month since the last time Tim had been sick with something.
“Sorry,” he rasped out, wincing at both how much it hurt to talk and how his voice sounded.
He didn’t want anyone to worry about him, but if Bruce was worried before, he was definitely worried now after hearing Tim speak.
But instead of saying anything else, Bruce signed and walked out of the room, leaving Tim on his own.
For a little while, anyways.
Tim wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Bruce had left, but he had noticed that he had begun to feel significantly worse since. He had moved from being in an armchair to now laying on a couch, a blanket over most of his body and his hood pulled up. His head was propped up by the armrest of the couch and several pillows, his laptop in his lap as he continued to scroll through pc game reviews.
He wasn’t sure why he was reading them- usually he liked to make up his own mind by playing them, but it was a decent distraction from how he felt.
The blanket on his lap was warm and heavy, and Tim found himself fighting sleep not long after deciding to lay on the couch.
“Master Timothy,” Alfred said as he walked into the room, and Tim looked up to see that Alfred had several things on a tray that he was holding.
“Master Bruce informed me that you weren’t feeling well,” he explained as he set the tray down on the coffee table that was in front of the couch that Tim was laying on.
A cup of tea, a glass of water, fever reducers, and a thermometer were all there, a routine that Tim knew all too well.
He looked up at Alfred’s worried expression, from the creased eyebrows to the soft smile that he had whenever Tim wasn’t feeling well.
First came checking his temperature, and while it wasn’t too high, Tim could tell that Alfred wasn’t happy which meant he was going to tell Bruce.
And then Bruce was going to take him to see Leslie.
Again.
Next came the fever reducers, and the fact that Tim had to drink all of the water because “we don’t want you to become dehydrated, Master Timothy.”
And finally, the tea that was left for him, since Alfred usually didn’t let him drink coffee when he wasn’t feeling well.
Even when Tim tried to argue that the coffee would make him feel better.
Alfred left shortly afterwards with the tray, and Tim shifted, putting his laptop on the coffee table so that he could grab the cup of tea and hold it up to his chest, taking a slow sip.
It hurt to swallow, but the honey and lemon did help to soothe his throat.
And the warmth of the cup helped with the chills.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing that Tim remembered was someone shaking him awake.
He opened his eyes slowly, trying to ignore the fact that he felt worse now than he did earlier, and instead blinked several times.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Dick said with a smile and Tim frowned.
“Bruce is waiting for you in the car to take you to the clinic,” he explained and Tim sat up slowly, clearing his throat.
“Not very talkative today?“ Dick asked as Tim stood up the blanket falling off of him as he did so.
“Bruce told us that you sounded pretty bad.”
Tim shrugged.
“You aren’t saying anything, so I’m gonna assume that he’s right.”
“Hurts to talk,” Tim rasped as he crossed his arms over his chest and Dick’s expression quickly changed into one of concern.
“Whoa, you do sound really bad,” Dick muttered as the two of them began to walk down the hallway towards a staircase.
Tim glared at him, but didn’t have the energy or the desire to do anything else so he just sighed and kept walking.
“Honestly Tim, I’m impressed,” Leslie said as she had him tilt his head back so that she could look at his tonsils.
“How many times have you gotten strep this year? Four?” She asked, and Tim held up all five fingers in response.
“Five,” she said and sighed.
“I don’t think antibiotics alone are going to be the solution to this problem,” she said and then looked over at Bruce whose frown had only been steadily growing since they had walked into the examination room.
“Let’s talk outside for a minute, Bruce,” she said, and gave Tim one last quick smile before the two of them headed out of the room.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, opting to play a game on his phone, doing his best to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was probably wrong.
Probably.
But he was deciding to ignore it for now.
“Tim,” Bruce said as they both walked back into the room and Tim looked up from his phone at the two of them.
And he knew, almost immediately after seeing their faces that there was something that was wrong, and he frowned, looking first at Bruce and then at Leslie.
“Tim,” Leslie began as she walked towards him and Tim looked back at Bruce for a moment before looking at her.
“You’ve gotten strep throat five times already this year, and I don’t think the problem has to do with the antibiotics- not the ones you take anyway, or the ones that are usually prescribed for strep.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter even though it was uncomfortable.
“I think the best course of action would be for us to remove your tonsils. They’re seriously inflamed, and it’s only getting worse with each time you get strep.”
“But-” Tim began, but his voice cracked harshly instead and he winced.
“You’ll feel better once it’s done,” Bruce said with a shrug and Tim glared.
“It also means you’re staying home for the next two weeks,” Leslie pointed out and Tim’s eyes widened as he looked at Bruce.
“No exceptions.” Leslie said, her voice firm.
Tim sighed and his shoulders slumped, knowing that the look that Bruce was giving him meant that there was no arguing to be had. Even if he wanted to, because then Alfred would get involved and that would only make Tim feel even worse.
“When’s the surgery,” he mumbled as he looked at the white tiles of the exam room floor.
“In two days,” Bruce replied and Tim looked back up at him.
“At least you won’t have to go to school for the next few weeks, that can’t be all bad, right?” Leslie suggested and Tim huffed.
“Believe it or not- Tim likes going to school, even if he falls asleep in class,” Bruce pointed out and then Leslie chuckled while Tim glared at both of them.
“Well you can, and should, sleep as much as possible over the next two weeks,” Leslie replied and Tim crossed his arms over his chest with a pout.
“But for now I’ve prescribed some pain killers to help with your throat before the operation, and you’ll get more afterwards,” she continued and Tim looked at her and nodded.
“Then, it looks like I’ll see you two in two weeks,” Leslie finished as she grabbed her clipboard off of a counter.
“Thank you,” Bruce said and she nodded.
“Anytime,” she replied with a hint of a smile as she walked out of the room but then stopped and looked at Tim.
“Take care of yourself- I mean it.”