Work Text:
Tim
“You’ve said some Batshit crazy things, before but this is next level,” Jason yells.
Nightwing tries to defend himself, “If something fits the definition of a thing, it can be called that thing.”
“A hotdog is not a sandwich!” Jason shouts.
“The definition of a sandwich is a food that consists of meat, cheese, and or vegetables, sandwiched between slices of bread.”
“You can’t use the word sandwich in the definition of sandwich, Dickhead.”
I add my two cents to the conversation. “Technically Nightwing used sandwiched as a verb, so it’s generally acceptable.”
“You’re on his side?!” Jason practically screams.
I take a deep breath, “If it helps, I agree with you. I don’t think a hotdog is a sandwich. If meat between bread makes something a sandwich, then a taco is a sandwich. And maybe a hamburger too.”
“Well…” Dick starts.
“No. NO! I will literally shoot you in the face—.”
“Quiet.”
Batman’s voice echoes through the comms silencing everyone.
“We are in the middle of patrol,” he growls. “What part of stopping a drug shipment involves a debate about a sandwich?”
“He started it,” Jason mumbles.
“And I’m ending it,” Batman says with a finality that causes the comms to stay silent for the next two hours.
It’s only when I ask Batman a question about our target, and it goes unanswered for five minutes, that I realize he actually cut off our comms.
I’m familiar with every tech device that we use—backwards and forwards—so I know about the master override, but I never actually thought Batman would use it.
The silence starts off nice. It reminds me of the coffee filled all-nighters that I pull when working on a particularly complicated cold case. I never take for granted that I’m the only Robin that Bruce gives his cold cases to. It’s probably because I’m attracted to paperwork like a moth to a flame, and the other Robins would rather take on Two-Face blindfolded than write anything more their mandatory Mission Report Briefs.
I researched the mission we’re on and I know there’s a zero percent chance of the drug deal going down tonight, but Bruce insists it will, and he’s the boss.
I’m back-up to Nightwing’s back-up, so I really don’t need to pay attention. I don’t feel guilty about opening up my laptop and checking my work emails while I wait for a guy that isn’t gonna show.
So, like the nerd I am, I proceed to do my homework at the stakeout.
After two hours, I’m four paragraphs in, writing last week’s Mission Report for Jason. He promised me food if I do it, and Jason’s cooking is almost as good as Alfred’s, so it’s kind of a of no-brainer.
My fingers hover over the keys. I’m trying to convey Jason’s voice through the report, but I’m not sure if I should describe the perpetrator as a fat fuck. Jason called him that during patrol, but would he write it in a mission report?
It takes me another second to shrug. Yeah, he would.
There’s a click on the comms.
It means that Batman opened the communication channel again, but I’m not planning on being the first person to say anything. To be honest, I don’t even know if Dick or Jason realize we’re unmuted.
I continue typing, but out of nowhere, I sneeze. And it’s not a soft gentle sneeze, it’s a sneeze that feels like it’s ripped from my soul.
“Jesus, Tim,” Jason snaps, “A little warning before you blow out the audio in my helmet next time.”
I try to apologize, “I’m sor— Ah-kshoo!!”
It’s not as loud as the first sneeze, but still has Jason grumbling, “For fuck’s sake!”
I try to mute my comm—because for some reason Batman isn’t—but three rapid fire sneezes prevent me from doing anything other than continuing to blow out my teammates’ eardrums, and quickly draining my sinuses.
Dick’s voice travels over the sneezes, “I’m coming, little buddy.”
“Don’t—huh-tshoo—need—huh-tshoo—rescuing—hih’TCHOOO!!”
Nightwing skids to a stop on my left and Jason appears on my right. Being flanked by two superheroes over a few sneezes is a little overkill.
Batman lands from overhead.
“Red Robin,” he says, “Were you hit with one of Scarecrow’s gases? Was it a new toxin?”
I shake my head and try to speak between wheezes. “Not… Scarecrow… I’m… fine.”
I punctuate that sentence with another sneeze. My hand hovers over the pouch on my utility belt that has my tissues, but I hesitate to get them. If I want to avoid Batman scolding me for going on patrol when I’m sick, blowing my nose isn’t the best way to do that.
“Red Robin,” Batman says a little gentler, “You’ve become too compromised for the mission.”
“You think?” Jason says with a snort, “World Greatest Detective skills hard at work, Batdad.”
I rub my nose with the back of my hand as Batman glares at Jason. When the white eyes under Batman’s cowl settle back on me, he looks at me apprehensively.
“You should go back home, but you shouldn’t go alone.”
I sneeze again before Jason says, “I’ll take the little snot home. It’s more fun than sitting around waiting for drug dealers that aren’t gonna come.”
I shake my head.
“Nod sick, juhst allerdees.” My lie doesn’t sound convincing, even to my own ears. I follow it up by wiping my nose with my hand again.
“Just allergies, huh?” Dick says with an eyebrow raise. “Well, I hate to break it to you T, but the flood of snot coming from your nose qualifies as more than enough of an excuse for a sick day.”
Jason helps me stand, “You better not get snot on my jacket.”
I sneeze into my arm, preventing Jason’s jacket from the collateral damage.
Batman puts a hand on my shoulder and reassures me, “Don’t worry, Red. Nightwing and I can handle this mission.”
I’m about to protest, but Batman smirks, “That’s an order.”
I try not to pout too much as Jason and I walk to his motorcycle.
When we reach his ride, Jason shoves his motorcycle helmet in my hands.
“Put this on,” he says, “I’m wearing my Red Hood helmet so I don’t need it. Not that I’m expecting to crash or anything. I’ve been told I’m a really safe driver.”
I hop on the back of the bike, and I quickly doubt that anyone ever told him that. I literally have to hug him so that I don’t fly off.
I feel a sneeze coming on and loosen my grip, but Jason yells, “Don’t let go. I was joking about the snot thing. I don’t give a fuck about the jacket if it means you don’t fall off, you idiot. I’m trying to get Bruce and Dickhead to trust me and if you end up as roadkill on the highway, that’s not gonna help me get any closer to that.”
I reward Jason’s kindness with a wet sneeze against his back.
“I’m telling Bruce to un-adopt you,” he mumbles.
__________
“Lights fifty percent,” I say with a sigh, and the room is flooded with just enough light to keep my dull headache from growing.
I walk inside, with Jason behind me, and I stagger to the couch. I start to take off my boots, but I abandon the task halfway through to look at a tablet next to me. I scroll through the screen, squinting at the information.
Jason’s jacket hits the couch cushion next to me with a thud. He sits on the other side.
“Is it possible for you to stop doing work for, like, one second?” he asks.
“It’s not work, it’s the status report on the house. Everything’s automated in my apartment so I have to make sure the plants were watered, and the fish were fed today. A glitch in the system could cause either task to be skipped and since I’m their sole caretaker—”
“Was there a glitch?”
“No. Everything’s working properly.”
Jason snatches the tablet from my hand, “Then forget about taking care of your house plants or your aquarium, and worry about taking care of yourself. When was the last time that you were fed or watered?”
I cough against my fist and then answer with a scratchy voice, “Um, I had coffee right before patrol.”
“Coffee isn’t food or water. You gotta make sure you stay hydrated when you’re sick. The only time drinking more water isn’t a good idea is if you’re drowning.”
I wipe my nose with my sleeve, “I feel like I’m drowning.”
“That’s gross. I’m setting some ground rules. Rule one—no talking about mucus or snot or any of that shit.”
He tosses me a box of tissues.
“Rule two—you eat whatever I cook you. I’m sure your fridge is filled with takeout boxes and soda, but if I look hard enough, I might find a dusty can of soup hiding in one of the cabinets.”
“Where’d you get the tissues?” I ask as I blow my nose.
“Pulled them out of my ass. More importantly, do you have medicine, or am I making a run to the drug store?”
I continue the task of taking off my boots because I really need to get out of my Robin suit and into a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I probably need a shower before that, though. The steam would be nice, but the thought of passing out in the shower and Jason dragging my naked body to safety makes me shiver. I don’t think I can handle that kind of embarrassment.
“You cold?” Jason asks.
“Why? Do you have a heated blanket up your ass that you can pull out too?”
Jason ruffles my hair, “Ugh, you’re even more of a little shit when you’re sick. I should have let mama bird Dickie play nurse instead.” He reaches over me, grabs his leather jacket, and places it over my shoulders.
“It’s already got your snot all over it,” he mumbles as he heads to the kitchen.
The jacket’s really warm. Warm enough to convince me that I can delay the shower and changing into pajamas a little longer.
I poke my arms through the armholes so I’m wearing the jacket properly.
“I thought rule one was not to mention snot?” I ask.
“You never answered my question,” he says as a pot clangs on the stove, “Am I making a medicine run?”
I curl up against the arm of the couch, “No. I’m not sick.”
As much as I appreciate Jason taking care of me, I’m not used to all the attention. My parents barely noticed me when I was well. When I was sick, they avoided me like the plague.
Jason brings over a water bottle, and raises a judgmental eyebrow, “You have a better system to take care of your plants and fish than yourself. You gotta prioritize better, Timbo.”
I cough a few more times and use the break to chug down some water. Thankfully the hydration stops another round of coughing to start. I curl back against the arm of the couch and close my eyes.
I drift off for a bit. When Jason shakes me awake, he’s holding warm soup in his hand.
I blink as I look up at him.
“If I accept this soup, I’m not conceding that I’m sick.”
“Whatever. Just eat it.”
Jason’s dinner for himself consists of a half-eaten bag of potato chips that he found, and the two of us watch movies until he falls asleep leaning on my shoulder.
My nose keeps cycling from stuffed up to running, which makes breathing difficult and sleeping impossible. I hold back every sneeze I can with every fiber of my being because I don’t want to wake Jason, who’s peaceful resting against my shoulder.
It’s getting impossible though. My eyes are watering so much that I have to wipe away real tears. My nose burns from holding back sneeze after sneeze.
Ironically, it’s Dick’s phone call that jolts Jason awake. He answers the phone while I release a far too long delayed sneeze into the sleeve of my arm—the arm that’s wearing Jason’s jacket.
I definitely have to pay for his dry cleaning after this.
“Dick, seriously, why are you calling me?” Jason grumbles. “You could have texted. What kind of deranged person calls someone?”
I can hear Dick yelling through the phone.
“I did text. Like fifteen times, Jay. You didn’t answer any of them. I’m starting to worry that Tim’s body is sprawled out on the floor, slowly dying and you’re sitting on the couch watching Netflix.”
Jason switches his phone to speaker. “You’re right about one of those things.”
“Which one?!”
“Calm down Golden Boy, Tim’s fine. You wanna talk to him for proof of life?”
“You know what? Yeah, I do.”
I hold up a finger because I’m about to sneeze. I stay in that terrible about to sneeze agony, but Dick isn’t as patient.
“Seriously, Jay. Is he okay?”
I answer with a loud, “a—ah--ahchoOOO!”
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Jason says.
“Jay’s taking good care of me,” I add with a sniff.
“Well, that’s good. Just know that I’m only a phone call away. Feel better, T.”
Jason goes back to using my shoulder as a pillow, but mumbles before he closes his eyes, “Next time you need to sneeze, feel free to wake me up before your head explodes.”
I nod, but I don’t have to take him up on his offer. Against all odds, as soon as I close my eyes, I’m asleep before he is.