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Tim awoke to a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. He barely kept from dislodging it, instead blinking his eyes slowly. They felt like sandpaper.
His teacher stood over him. It looked like the rest of the class had already left. She was saying something, but between the pounding headache, and overall drowsiness, he didn't quite catch what she said. He thought she asked if he had someone taking him home today.
Tim lied and nodded.
She didn't need to know he would be going to Wayne manor and then the Batcave all by himself. Crime never slept, after all, and that was especially true in Gotham.
He walked out the building, biting back a hiss at how bright everything was. He hadn't felt near so bad earlier that day. Not that he would've stayed home if he had. Just because Jason had made it clear he was wanted didn't mean he was going to be a lay about.
Tim made excellent time to Wayne manor, all things considered. He made sure he didn't look too bad before he entered. Alfred greeted him at the door, looking him over. Before he had the chance to feel too bad and try to offer him anything, Tim told him he was heading to the cave.
"Of course, Master Tim," Alfred said. "I'll bring you something to eat shortly."
"I'm fine," Tim said, barely keeping the scratchy sound out of his voice.
"You're a growing boy, I'll bring you some tea as well. Master Bruce needs to take a break regardless."
Tim nodded. It was easier for Alfred to make Bruce take care of himself if Tim was there as well. The fog in the corners of his vision clearly hadn't cleared from his brain as much as he'd thought.
In the cave, Bruce was punching a bag. Tim changed into his workout clothes. It would be a long training session, but he would be fine.
Tim had hardly started on his own punching bag when Bruce walked over to him. He steadied the bag, and turned to Tim. He didn't speak right away, looking at him with an unreadable face. "Why don't we work on some casework instead?"
"Okay," Tim said, clearing his throat. He had always enjoyed solving the puzzles more than regular training anyway, even if sparing with Bruce had become a close second after he became skilled enough to not be pinned within seconds.
Bruce led him towards the computers, where Alfred was standing with a try. The two shared a look, and Bruce let out an affirmative grunt. Tim didn't know what he had agreed to, but he supposed it didn't really matter at the moment.
A cup of tea was slid over to him with a small bowl of rice with some chicken atop it. "Thank you," Tim said, taking a sip of the tea. It made his throat feel a lot better.
As they worked through a case, slower than usual, although Tim didn't quite realize it, Tim felt his eyes growing heavier. He wished he had some coffee, but there didn't seem to be any around, and he couldn't very well make an excuse to go and make some. Tim could push through it, he had gotten though plenty of things while being exhausted.
Yeah, it wouldn't be a problem.
It was all he could do to make his eyes reopen when he blinked, and eventually, he slumped over on the table.
Bruce reached over, feeling his temperature. It was low enough that it was better left alone for the time being. He wished he knew how to get Tim to take a break, but it was so much harder with him than it was with Dick or Jason. He felt a pang at the thought of his second son. He and Tim would've gotten along so well.
Tim practically had to be tricked into taking care of himself, otherwise he took it as if Bruce or Alfred thought him not capable. The boy Bruce had unintentionally began to think of as a son was far too much like him for his own good.
If Bruce could, he would adopt him in a heart beat, but Tim would likely see it as pity. At least he came to the manor a few times a week, and Tim had told him Mrs. Mac was at his house regularly, and the employment records he had hacked supported that fact. Not to say they couldn't have been faked, but Bruce had to trust if anything got too bad, Tim would tell him.
Not that Bruce was sure he would, considering he was slumped across the desk, taking raspy breaths, after pretending nothing was wrong.
Tim shifted with a weak grunt.
"Tim, Chum," Bruce said quietly, dimming the computers. "Why don't you head to bed?"
Tim jolted, ever so slightly, but Bruce still caught it. He sat up. He looked far too pale. "I'm good," Tim said. "I'm sorry I feel asleep, is it time for patrol?"
Bruce frowned. Tim would not be patrolling Gotham when it looked like he would pass out at the drop of a hat. "No, I think the city will be fine for the night."
"Oh, I'll go home then."
"You know you have a room here," Bruce said. Tim looked confused, as if he didn't realize Bruce was practically begging him to stay. He bit back a sigh. He wished he knew how to make Tim feel more comfortable at the manor. "I'll drive you home." If nothing else, it would give Him a chance to look around. Tim had been slightly off for the past few weeks since his parents had visited, but at the same time he had been looking more healthy. Tim had shrugged it off, saying he must be hitting his growth spurt or something.
"No, that's fine," Tim waved off. "I can get back on my own."
"If you're sure..."
Bruce watched him leave, finally letting out a defeated sigh. Something was up, but he knew he couldn't look into it any more than he had. Tim would tell him when he was ready. Surely he would.
~*~
Tim wanted to hit himself. He hadn't meant to pass out at the batcomputer, and that was after Bruce had already noticed he wasn't at peak performance and changed their training plan up. At least Tim had made sure he wouldn't impose on Bruce and Alfred hospitality.
He had made it far enough from the manor that he knew Bruce wasn't able to see from any cameras, and slid down a lamp post. He should probably ask Jason to pick him up. He wasn't going to be able to get back on his own at the rate he was going without Jason tracking him down anyway.
He shot him a text, and proceeded to shut his eyes. He really felt like shit.
~*~
Jason was in the middle of a meeting with his goons when his phone went off. They had royally screwed something up, and he'd been forced to deal with them since the wee hours of the morning. At least he had been able to leave Tim some actual food and a note before he had left. Jason swore that he would live on nothing but coffee and the occasional energy bar if he was left to his own devices.
He checked his phone, and immediately dismissed his subordinates. He could deal with them at a later date. Something had to be seriously wrong if Tim was asking to be picked up, taking into consideration it was a Robin night, as much as he hated that fact.
He jumped on his motorcycle, not bothering to change out of his Red Hood outfit. If Bruce decided to look for Tim and saw him with him and had a stroke, oh well. Someone should've been taking better care of their bird.
Jason tracked Tim's phone, leading him maybe a mile or so from the manor. Tim was slumped against a lamp post, letting out a few coughs in his sleep. He couldn't help the green that flooded his vision at the sight. Why hadn't Bruce or Alfred made him stay? Sure, Tim had probably refused, but it wasn't like they weren't capable of picking him up and wrapping him in a papoose of something and putting him in a bed.
Jason picked him up, and hauled him to his bike. Tim's face was pressed against his jacket, right under his helmet, so he could drive while making sure he didn't fall off.
"Jay?" Tim's voice sounded horrible.
"Yeah," he said. "You're supposed to stay in bed when you're sick. Do I need to leave you with a baby monitor? Jesus." Jason muttered the last bit to himself. Tim really had no self preservation, and Jason doubted he ever had.
"Don't need one," Tim said.
"Then tell me when you're sick."
"You were busy."
"Doesn't matter, Baby Bird."
Tim didn't say anything else, so Jason assumed he fell back asleep. He cranked his motorcycle, and began the drive home.