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There’s blood trickling down Bernard’s forehead.
That’s all Tim can possibly focus on, all his attention snaps back to even when he manages to tear his eyes away to look into his boyfriend’s wide, scared eyes, or his shaking, bound hands for a few seconds. There’s blood on Bernard’s face, Bernard is bleeding and he isn’t sure how he’s meant to pay attention to anything else, care about a single thing besides it.
There’s blood trickling down Bernard’s forehead, and it’s Tim’s fault it’s there.
It had been three weeks since the two of them had managed to go on a proper date, three whole weeks , and Tim felt like he was losing his mind because of it. Sure, Bernard was as understanding as always when he asked to reschedule, but Tim could still tell that it was bothering him that they hadn't seen each other in so long and, truly, it was starting to bother him too. So, after staying almost a whole month only leaving the Batcave to go patrol and only stopping patrol to go do research on the Batcave, he finally tells Bruce to shove it and that he needs some earned time off from vigilante business.
Or, well, tells Bruce that he will accompany Duke on his day shift so he has the night free and is not to be contacted post sun-down for work reasons. But hey, for a bat that is a very strong boundary to put forward.
So, the second the sun starts to dip in the horizon, Tim forces his little brother to go home and drives himself back to the pier. He dresses up to the nines, buys the biggest bouquet he has ever seen outside of a funeral, and drives over to Bernard’s place, looking as dashing as a good boyfriend should when taking his boyfriend to a Michelin star restaurant. Bernard himself looks gorgeous, of course; he has a dark blazer on that match the black slacks he’s wearing, both of them adorned with vibrant yet subtle flowers that have been embroidered into the fabric, he has a navy blue flowy shirt to match the delicate, dark hyacinths in his sleeves and when he smiles at Tim in the doorway to his apartment, the vigilante can see just a hint of eyeliner on his face that truly make his eyes pop -
They miss their reservation. Tim blames it on the three week absence and the wink Bernard shot him as he opened the front door, Bernard blames it on the button Tim popped on his shirt before the drive over and the cufflinks he had on, neither of them really complain. Who cares about Michilin stars and fine dining when Gotham has hotdog stands in literally every street corner?
They should have stayed in instead; ordered some pizza, spent the night half naked on the couch watching bad television. Anything that didn’t mean leaving the safety of Bern’s place in the middle of the night with their fanciest clothes on.
They make it five minutes out of the apartment before some assholes put a gun to their heads and demand their wallets.
Seven when one of the muggers reads the glaring ‘Drake-Wayne’ brand on Tim’s ID and opens a grin wide enough to scare off the Joker.
Eight when one of the muggers suggests blowing Bernard’s brains out so they won’t have to deal with a witness and Tim panics.
Eleven when they are both shoved into a van, Bernard with a cut above his brow, Tim with a split lip and that laughter and the shame of not being able to be Red Robin then rigging loudly in his ears.
The minutes stop mattering after that. Anything that isn’t the drip-drip-drip of blood just fades into the background of vans speeding off, of tires screeching on asphalt, of doors opening and closing and locking and-
"Tim?" Bernard's voice comes out broken and breathless, a small hint of what could be nervous, unbelieving laughter sneaking into his tone. "You're, uh-you've been quiet for a while and it's really starting to freak me out, babe."
Tim’s eyes snap up, his face softening as he finally takes in his boyfriend's appearance full. He looks…bad, but Tim supposes that no amount of kidnappings make the fear truly go away when you are a civilian trying to live a normal life. His blazer has been taken off of him, and the collar of his nice shirt is stretched to an awkward point from when one of the men grabbed him by it and dragged him to this god awful room by it.
Tim gets the overwhelming urge to gently wipe away the blood and sweat staining his boyfriend’s brows, but the painful tug of the ropes keeping his arms firmly bound behind his back keeps it from happening.
“I-I’m sorry,” He says, shaking his head to briefly rid himself of the guilt and fear slowly eating him alive. He scootches over so he’s sitting as close as possible to Bernard and nudges him with his shoulder, a hint that his boyfriend immediately takes as he lays his head on it. “I just-I-”
“It’s okay,” Bernard tells him, shooting him a painfully fake smile in his face that Tim assumes is meant to be reassuring but only looks nervous before his eyes drift off to the the heavy, latched door across from them in the other side of the room. “ It’s been a while. What do you think is going on out there?”
His voice trembes ever so slightly, and Tim pretends not to notice as he he gently rests his head atop the boy’s. He takes the moment to quickly study the room they’re in; he knows they’re in a warehouse, because of fucking course they are, half of Gotham’s archterual markt is building, destroying, then buildin them again, but his mind wasn’t present empugh to try and figure out where they were by memorizing the path they van that brought them took so he can't analyze where they are, unless he judges by smell or something.
And the only scent he can pick up is…bad.
Ugh, he feels like an idiot. His siblings keep making jokes about how his IQ drops whenever he's near his boyfriend, but he genuinely had assumed they were exaggerating until now. As it is, however, he can only pick up on a few things, the obvious stuff first, like the fact that there is only one, newspaper covered large window above their heads and concrete walls in the small room, but also the way the warehouse seems to be disgusting but still void of the distinct smell of blood or urine that coats the usual basement or closet people keep their kidnapping victims in.
"Nothing for us to worry about," he quickly reassures Bernard, letting reassurance and certainty coat his words. "They might be trying to break into my phone to get to Bruce, but mostly they're probably just gonna fuck around for a bit to make us nervous while we wait for them to come back."
Tim kinda hopes it's not the first one. There are several silent alarms in his phone locked and ready to go out to a number of members of family members if someone so much as types a number out of order, and he would much rather get out of this situation on his own than have to deal with the mortifying ordeal of being rescued by one of his siblings.
In any case, if these idiots prove to be a big enough threat, Tim can just activate one of the alarms hidden within his clothes that Bruce forces him to install.
"So, they'll be gone for a while?" Bernard asks, and Tim knows he's taking in the lack of bathroom around them.
"Oh, no, don't worry," He shakes his head, rolling his eyes knowingly. "Most guys would let us stew for a few days, wait for people to notice we're gone, but these losers? They'll get bored soon."
He can almost hear Bernard’s frown. "Wait, how do you-" he stops himself with a sigh as he turns his eyes to Tim. "I'm guessing you've done this a lot since you've taken Wayne's name?"
Yeah, that's definitely the only reason .
Tim shrugs, shooting Bernard a small smile. "It's a thing to do."
"Well, next time you decide to include me in one of your hobbies" Bernard smiles softly, the smallest hint of amusement breaking through the fear in his eyes. "Maybe we could start with some…fuck, I don't know. What's a boring activity?"
"Hm, scrapbooking?" Tim offers, watching as Bernard’s whole face lights up.
"Fuck, yeah, we'd absolutely kill at scrapbooking, are you kidding me?" The man gasps, triumphantly. He keeps going when Tim bursts out laughing. "I'm serious! We should absolutely be scrapbook gays! With your photos and my skils at placing down stickers? We'd be unstoppable!"
"Don't think 'scrapbooking' is a competitive sport, Bear."
"It's not a competitive sport yet ."
Tim can't help but burst out laughing, the sound only increasing when Bernard joins him. It's moments like these where Tim wants so badly to kiss him stupid, to wrap his arms around his boyfriend, and lift him in his arms and just thank him over and over again for being a goddamn light in his life-
Tim's arms rub against his bindings uncomfortably because. Right. He can't.
Their laughter dies down slowly, and Tim gently presses his head against Bernard's forehead, being mindful not to touch the cut in his brow. He closes his eyes and sighs, soaking in the warmth of the other boy's skin. "I'm…I'm sorry."
He feels something brush against his face, and Tim opens his eyes to see Bernard gently brushing a hand against his chin with his bound hands. He has to stretch awkwardly for it, even if his hands are bound on his front instead of his back like Tim’s, and he doesn’t quite know why the motion fills him with such warmth. "This isn't your fault, boy wonder."
Tim is never going to get used to that nickname. He also isn't sure why he blushes whenever Bernard is the one to call him that. "They're after Bruce's money."
"Then it's Bruce's fault. That bastard." Bernard says dryly, and Tim can't help but let out a small snort. Bernard smiles like it's the most wonderful sound he's ever heard. "Look, unless you hired those guys to kidnap us, like-unless this is a weird Wayne thing you do to test future partners, this isn't your fault."
And Tim. Tim doesn't really have an answer to that, so he just shoots Bernard a lame smile. "No, uh, no. We usually save the kidnapping test for the second year anniversary?"
Bernard smiles at him, and he looks so unafraid in that moment that he seems to almost be glowing. "Uh-huh, uh-huh. And is that mandatory or-?"
"Well, I already paid for it" Tim is quick to say, making himself sound apologetic. "So, it would be really rude of you to not go. Or to break up with me before then."
"Oh, it would be rude, would it?" Bernard mocks, a small smile in his face as he begins to lean closer. Tim makes a small noise of agreement as he does the same, suddenly eager to close the gap between their lips-
The door to their cell is thrown open, and both of the boys shoot back as if they were still teenagers, fooling around where they shouldn't be.
The man who walks in looks exactly how they always do; big, burly, clad in a black ski mask, combat boots and ill fitting dark clothes. Tim doesn't particularly see the point of it, the man seems to have the same size and stature as one of the original assholes who mugged them and he wasn't wearing a mask back then, but he supposes some people might not have the same facial recognition skills that Robins are trained to have during high stress situations.
He is also pretty certain that this dude was not wearing these clothes when he kidnapped them, so Tim allows himself to briefly be amused by the thought of him either eagerly running home to change, or begging his colleagues to borrow whatever they were wearing.
"Oh, no, please keep going" The man says, eyes popping out of the mask nearly as cruel as his tone. Yup, definitely the same guy as before, dumb fucker isn't even trying to disguise his voice. "I'd hate to interrupt."
Tim doesn't dignify that with a response, settling on straightening his back and staring the man down. Unfortunately, in the corner of his eye, he can see Bernard doing the same.
No, he wants to scream. Act scared, give him what he wants, let him focus on me!
He knows there would be no use even if he could scream it. His boyfriend is far too much like him.
Their captor gets closer to Tim, thankfully not even bothering to look at Bernard, before dropping to one knee and looking the boy in the eye. "I hope these accommodations are up to your standards, Mr Wayne," he says, faux apologetic and Tim has to resist the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. He wonders if the man prepped this speech before stepping foot inside the room or if he's just desperately trying to remember every line he's ever heard in any movie. "We didn't have a lot of time to-"
"Prepare for my arrival?" He completes, already far too done with this weak display of power that he's heard far too many times before. The man curls his hands into fists at his sides, ooft, quick to anger, not a great sign. "And it’s Drake-Wayne, actually. If you're going to try to antagonize me, at least get my name-"
A hand curls on his hair and yanks him up forcefully. It stings, but the hiss of pain Tim let's out is purely there to inflate his captors ego and keep his cover, whilst the way he clamps his mouth shut is mostly to stop himself from making the man angrier.
"Ah, that's better, isn't it?" Ski Mask says, and honestly, did he watch a Marvel movie before walking in or something? Did he study by having a Taken marathon? He has to know that the bad guy doesn't get the happy ending in those. "You better learn your place, Drake-Wayne , 'cus I can make your life very unpleasant. "
Don't make a joke, don't make a joke, don't-
"Woah, a three syllable word! Great job!" Tim's eyes widen in alarm and he turns to look at Bernard. The boy is snarling, fury clear on his face as he mocks their captor. "Now, why don’t you pick on someone your own size for a fucking change?"
Tim wants to scream, icy fear quickly filling his veins since Ski Mask is way closer to Bane-size than he is to Bernard-size. He feels like an idiot, of course his stupid, loving, amazing boyfriend would get worried about him the second he showed the first sign of distress and try to take the heat off of him when he doesn't have to, Tim is a vigilante for fuck's sake, he can't just-
He opens the mouth to try and steer their captors attention back to himself just as the man pulls out a gun.
The temperature in the room seems to plummet.
Tim starts quietly undoing his bindings behind his back even though he knows he can't do anything; strike the man, jump in front of Bernard, either option might cause the man to panic and fire. He can't let that happen, he cannot let Bernard get hurt, not again.
"So you two do have some sense after all," Their captor says, smugness dripping from his tone in a way that makes the Robin inside of Tim desperately want to jump out. Besides him, Bernard looks so pale he's almost see-through and briefly he wonders if he looks the same. "Now, here's the fun thing: I need the little heir here to get my paycheck, but you " He turns to Bernard, the man's face obscured still and yet so terrifyingly clear in Tim's mind's eye. He imagines the cruelty in his eyes, he imagines a big, sick smile that might adorn his features, and imagines the satisfaction he would feel in punching the expression right off. "You I can just pop right now, and no one would even-"
"Bruce will pay for him!" Tim cries out as quick as he can after the fear allows him to move again. The man turns his attention to him once more and the vigilante has to stop himself from sighing with relief as the gun goes an inch down. "You can double your money here. Bruce will pay for both of us, and-and if he doesn't, I will." He locks eyes with the man, face as serious as it's ever been. "When my ransom is paid in full, I'll empty all my bank accounts. I'll give you every dime I got just-don't hurt him."
It's supposed to be an act. Some reassurance that exists for the sole purpose of stroking their captors egos and keeping Bernard as safe as possible whilst humoring them because Tim knows they won't get any money out of Bruce. Either they'll break out themselves (the better option) or Batman will swoop in (the mortifying but slowly becoming more acceptable option) and in any case, these sorry fuckers will have hell to pay.
And still, Tim's voice breaks with nearly every word, pure conviction and desperation being the only thing pushing his words out of his throat.
The worst part of it all, is that Ski Mask picks up on his panic immediately.
"Oh?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. Tim can see Bernard from the corner of his eye, the way he's staring at him so intently with fear and conviction in his eyes. Tim hopes he knows the vigilante would rather die than let him get hurt again. "And what if daddy doesn't pay?"
"H-He will." Bruce probably won't. He's prideful like that. But they'll both still get out of here, Tim's sure of it, he has to be. "Whatever you ask for, he'll pay for us."
There is a cruel tint in Ski Mask's eyes, shinning brightly in the darkness of the room. He snorts, and Tim wishes he had his domino on because he can only guess how desperate he must look right now.
The man tucks his gun away in his waistband and Tim lets out a breath of relief.
"Wayne is a better man than me, then" Ski Mask says, shrugging even though his tone is biting. He looks Tim down as he moves up to his feet. "If you were mine, I'd be glad to get rid of you" He turns to Bernard and Tim's blood goes cold even before he reaches to grab the other boy's face, his thumb and index digging roughly in his captive's cheek. "and your little pet faggo-"
The ice in Tim's veins turns to magma.
His bindings fall to the ground before their captor can start speaking, the man is on the floor before he can end, and Tim-
Tim could not care less about any rule, any stupid goddamn stupid oath he took or promises he made once. All he can think of is that he needs this asshole off , he wants his face bleeding, his nose broken, his tongue missing so he'd never refer to Bernard with his sinful fucking mouth ever again.
For all the muscle Ski Mask has, he's all too easy to overpower; running straight into him is enough to send the man tumbling to the ground and then it's just a matter of straddling his chest and doing what Robin does best. His punches find flesh easily, and Tim reveals far too much on the sounds the miserable monster makes as his knuckles hit home again, and again, and-
-Bernard is screaming. Tim can only barely register the sound; he's screaming and crying out his name, fear coating his words again but Tim can't tell what for. He's helping them both, he's-
-There’s a hit to the side of his head, the coldness of metal biting his skin as he falls to the side. He hears an all familiar click echo around him and when Tim looks once more there's a gun staring him down.
Tim hesitates for a moment. And that's enough.
The man snarls, shifting so he can slam Tim down on the ground, his head explodes with pain from where it hits hard concrete and he lets out a pained moan. The gun briefly vanishes once more, and Tim feels the fist that hits him more than he sees it, and when a hand wraps around his throat he has no choice but to try and kick out from beneath it.
His vision begins to blur around the edges. He can't breath, he can't think, Bernard is still crying somewhere and he's feet are still helplessly kicking the ground-
Their captor lets up, and Tim takes a few long, greedy lungfuls of air even as the gun gets aimed back at his face.
"You little SHIT !" The man screams as Tim continues to get his bearings back. His hair is yanked up once again and he is forced to stare his captor in his eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! What-a few special self-defense classes and you can beat me?! Are you fucking stupid?!"
Tim doesn't say anything, his ears are still ringing. The man throws him on the floor once again.
"You're fucking lucky I can't kill you" He snarls, anger filling his tone and for a brief moment Tim does feel somewhat lucky, especially with how much this asshole keeps waiving his gun around like it's a toy. The man grabs his collar and brings him close enough where he can smell his hot breath on his face. "But trust me. I can still give you back to daddy Wayne with a few limbs missing and get my money just fine."
"H-He didn't mean to!" He hears Bernard call out, his voice both incredibly far and ringing inside his head. "Please-Please don't-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Ski Mask screams. Tim wiggles in his grip a bit more, just to be sure the man's attention is back on him instead of Bernard again, and gets tossed back on the ground once more, this time trying to land on his shoulder to avoid a concussion."I'll make your lives a living hell. I swear, I'll make both of you wish you were fucking dead."
"Jokes on you," Tim jokes, the words spilling from his tongue before he can stop them. Damn the Robin instinct to hell. "I already do, bucko."
He watches Bernard's face slowly shift to quiet horror the second Tim opens his big, stupid mouth, and the boy closes his eyes tight before the hit his boyfriend is watching come to him connects.
Except it doesn't. Because the window above them explodes.
Tim is on his feet before the sound even fully registers, running as fast as he can to cover Bernard with his body as glass rains down on them. Bernard screams, the gun goes off, yet Tim doesn't flinch even as the sounds struggles echo all around them. How could he? He knows how this goes.
Briefly, when he hears the door falls open and men pile in during a screaming haze, Tim dares look up. His eyes catch on the shadow moving fluidly across the room, taking men down with ease unlike any other, and in that moment, that unfortunate moment, his father looks back. Their eyes meet.
Tim hugs Bernard closed to his chest and looks away, trying his best to swallow past the shame burning in his gut and failing miserably.
Bernard forces him into an ambulance once the police and paramedics arrive.
He feels fine, he tells Bernard and everyone who can and will hear as much, but his face must look quite atrocious because it doesn't do him much. After a bit, and after enough health care professionals get yelled at by his kind yet misguided, wonderful boyfriend about his lack of a spleen, he allows himself to get herded away to a hospital at the promise that Bernard will be looked at as well before his statement to the police.
Because he had all his organs in perfectly working order last time he was seen by anyone besides Alfred, he assumes the visit will be fast and he'll be able to hop on a cab fall asleep somewhere after a few stitches are done; however, he quickly discovers that being immuno compromised makes things a bit more difficult. For once, he's placed in his own room and given…way too much attention, though that might be a Wayne thing, the doctors also insist on him staying overnight so they can keep an eye at him, but Tim plans to sign himself out the second a single nurse turns their back on him.
Of course, because God has decided to abandon him long ago, Bruce Wayne walks in.
"I thought you'd be working." Tim says, simply as the man walks in, dressed carefully like he just rolled out of bed and drove over like the dedicated father he is. He's holding onto a plastic bag in one hand, which are filled with the blood stained clothes Tim had to switch for a humiliating hospital gown.
He can barely keep himself from crossing his arms like a petulant teenager at the sight of him.
"God, no. It's almost four, Tim." Bruce replies with a yawn, like Batman has even stayed out longer than that. He knows they have to convince the nurse still in the room with them, but Bruce could bear to be a little less obtuse at times. "Though, I did immediately roll out of bed when I heard-godness, I'm just glad you're okay."
Tim looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. He's good at this bit, the lying, the pretending, the acting ; hell, he was raised on it. And yet now it feels far too taxing to play along with it.
Bruce's act, however, workers wonders as it always does. Tim can almost hear the nurse's heart melt at 'loving, caring father' bit, and when the man turns and asks them for 'just a moment alone with his son, dear', the nurse turns to butter and leaves so fast their sneakers squeak on the white floors.
There's a bit of silence as Bruce closes the door and locks it behind him, quickly turning to scan the room. Tim rolls his eyes.
"Relax, I checked for cameras already." He says, sinking into his bed miserably. "I cannot believe you skipped patrol because I have a boo-boo."
"Well, I was worried" Bruce smiles at him, throwing to Tim his nice dress shoes which he catches, only to stare at in disgust. "It's not often you trigger your beacon."
Paranoid fucking Bruce. There was very few pieces of clothing Tim owned that didn't come with a Bat-Nanny, and while there was plenty of things his captors stripped him off during their kidnapping, most important of all being his dignity, his shows never left his person.
"Just tap your heels together three times" Bruce explained it to him back when Tim was 13, a seriousness in his voice that only grief could bring. "I'll come running."
"What, like Dorothy?" Tim had joked, but Bruce didn't laugh. Back then, Bruce hardly ever even smiled, much less laugh at his stupid jokes. Now Bruce laughs again, but Tim avoids making jokes around him.
"I had to let ol' Ski Mask get a few hits in to be discreet about it," Tim groans, wanting nothing more than to sink into the mattress and vanish for good. The ring of bruises around his neck probably tells Bruce all he needs to know, but Tim doesn't think he'll forget so quickly the feeling of kicking out while on the floor against a foe so easy to beat and just have to play weak, and hope no one notices that everything is planned down to the kicking of his legs in panic. "Bernard…it freaked him out badly. Well have to talk about it if he doesn't fucking-break up with me before the sun comes up."
Bruce doesn't dignify that with a response and Tim is…a bit grateful for it. He knows he has a habit of getting in his own head about things and this is not a conversation they need to be having right now.
Instead, Bruce sits with him on the bed and gives him a knowing look. "I get it." He says quietly, reaching for his hand but stopping short and pulling his hand back to his lap. "It's…complicated, when you get trapped with civilians."
"That's not-" he groans, the anger he has been holding onto starting to drip from between his fingers like sand. "I mean, yeah, of course it was that, but it wasn't-I could have handled it. I mean, seriously, I could have done it on my own, that moron barely even knew how to hold a gun right and- ugh ."
He expects Bruce to scoff, to be all condescending and say he doesn't have to be embarrassed. Instead the man's face softens. "Then why did you call?"
"I-" Tim starts. Then stops. He feels his ears going pink as exhaustion starts taking over his body and leaving him barely a shell of embarrassment and sorrow. "He-the guy that took us. I had it under control." He reiterates, looking at Bruce only to get a soft nod from him instead of a disbelieving look. He feels himself sink further. "I had it-i had it handled and then he just."
He sighs, turning his gaze to his lap and his hands sitting there useless. He feels….ashamed.
"He called Bernard something bad" he settles on finally, hands curling into fists. Besides him, the worlds greatest detective lets out a soft 'oh' that makes Tims eyes fill wil tears he wont allow to spill. "And I just-I lost it alright? I couldn't-I couldn't just sit there and let him say that! I wanted to hurt him" he sighs. "I didn't…I didn't call you because I was in danger. I called you because our identities were."
I called you because I had no discipline. He doesn't say, but he knows Bruce will read between the lines. I called you because at the first sign of trouble I used Red Robin as a shield like some coward.
"I'm glad you did."
Tim blinks up to his father. "What?"
"I trust your judgment," Bruce says, like it's just like that. Just that easy. "And I understand your anger. We can't always be composed all the time, sometimes things happen and since you couldn't physically step away I'm really glad you reached out."
That.
What?!
"Did you hear what I said?" Tim repeats slowly, and Bruce looks faintly amused at it. "I told you I almost blew our covers. One second with some low lever thug and I almost showed him who Red Robin and therefore all of us were!"
"One second with your civilian boyfriend on the line and you made a level-headed decision to keep both him and your family out of danger." Bruce repeats, looking at Tim in the eyes. "You made a tough decision, one that, you particularly, don't like and it paid off. That took guts, Tim."
He looks away, cheeks red. It's been…a while since he and Bruce had an honest and open conversation like this, and before him, Tim doesn't remember anyone ever taking the time to understand him like this. It feels nice. Freeing almost.
Maybe…maybe he should ask for help more often. It's good blackmail material to see Batman as such a softie he supposes.
A hand lands on his shoulder. "You really like that boy, don't you?"
And no.
Tim doesn't.
Because it would be like saying he really likes the sun. Or the air. Or water.
Tim can't live without Bernard anymore, and the realization of that hits him so suddenly it leaves him gasping for breath. He wants to stay with him forever, he wants to-
He opens his mouth to say something but the words catch in his throat. He settles on nodding instead and Bruce gives out a soft laugh.
"Well, good," he says softly, squeezing Tim's shoulder. "Because he was downstairs, making a fuss to see you when I arrived and I doubt he has stopped."
Tim frowns. "I-wait. You're not signing me out?"
Bruce actually laughs this time. "No! Now I have Ber-Bertie-"
"Bernard." Tim rolls his eyes. He remembers when Bruce used to get Stephs name wrong too.
"Well I have him and an entire hospital staff to make sure you sleep tonight!" He says, awfully self satisfied, the prick. "And then you can enjoy the rest of the month with him!"
"The m-youre grounding me?!" Tim demand, fury slowly returning. "You said my decision paid of!"
"It did. And you made the correct decision there " Bruce says, getting up and dusting his clothes off despite them being spotless. "Your decision to spend three weeks doing casework with no breaks was not, so, I'm putting you on forced leave.'
"I-Bruce!' Tim cries as the man gets up and opens the door. "You can't! I have work and-"
"You'll thank me later!' The man calls out as he leaves, disappearing past the door. It only takes a few moments for Bernaed to run inside, managing to both launch himself against Tim and fuss for him.
As they lay down in the hospital bed, Bernard finally nestled safely in his arms, Tim notices that any trace of blood once stuck to his golden hair is long gone and he looks, for the first time in hours, at peace.
Tim thinks he might actually have to thank Bruce for the vacation.
Just, y’know. Not to his face.