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Damian wakes up for school and immediately knows something is wrong. His mouth feels like it is filled with cotton, he’s hot all over, and his hands are shaking. He is sick, that much is clear. That’s fine, a small fever won’t prevent him from going to school and patrolling.
So he goes through his normal morning routine, he gets dressed and brushes his teeth. He goes to the kitchen, pausing at the top of the stairs so he won’t fall from a sudden bout of vertigo, white-knuckling the banister. Tim is in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee, and he looks up when Damian walks in.
“You look like shit, you feelin’ okay?”
“I’m not a mirror, Timothy.” And that’s the end of that.
That’s the gist of their relationship, they tease each other and pretend they don’t like each other and coexist in mostly peace. Damian has even stopped trying to stab him. At least, not when he isn’t wearing armor.
Alfred puts a plate in front of him, just a bagel. One half with cream cheese and one half with strawberry jelly. Damian only eats the half with cream cheese, he thinks he may be sick if he tries to eat anything sweet right now.
Tim gives him a weird look when he doesn’t eat the whole thing, and Damian reflects by asking if Tim is the one driving him to school today. Tim says yes and they get in his car and drive in silence.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You really don’t look too good right now.” Tim says as Damian gets out of the car.
Damian rolls his eyes and shuts the car door with a tad more force than necessary.
Damian feels so much worse by the second period, he’s on the verge of sweating through his school uniform and if he moves his head or stands up too fast his vision dips for a half second. He’s stumbled on his way up and down stairs and tries to ignore the concerned looks he's getting for it, but it gets harder to ignore when he has to duck into the bathroom and dry heave into one of the toilets.
He splashes his face with cold water, hoping it’ll cool him down. All it does is make his face wet.
Sitting in third period, he seriously regrets choosing a seat directly next to a window. The sun beats down on him, making him feel even hotter and even more nauseous. He can barely pay attention to what the teacher is saying, he’s trying to, but her words are going in through one ear and out the other and he feels like he can barely keep his eyes open. It feels like there have been weights tied to his eyelashes, dragging his eyes shut.
Between one blink and the next almost 30 minutes have passed and he registers that he’s laying down on his desk, temple pressed to the cool concrete. There's someone next to him saying something and he doesn’t understand them. Another blink and he’s walking down the hallway, being held up by someone. Another blink and he's laying on his side in the nurse's office, a cold towel pressed onto his forehead.
Distantly, Damian thinks he should have just told Tim he wasnt feeling well because maybe then he could have stayed home. He hears someone talking, and again, every word slides through his ears. He groans because his head is pounding and he kind of wants to go home.
Maybe if Damian were more lucid, he’d tell himself he was being childish, and that it really wasn’t that bad. That he could stay at school and didn’t need the nurse to call his dad.
It’s like Bruce appears the second Damian thinks of him, pressing the back of his hand to Damian's forehead. Where was the cold towel? Where did it go? Damian sure as hell doesn’t know, instead he leans up into Bruce's hand like a cat and feels a little smug when Bruce’s hand starts carding through his hair.
Apparently, Damian has a fever of one hundred and one point two degrees Fahrenheit, which is far from great because it means he’s benched until his fever breaks and then for an additional two days after. This is normally something he would pout about, but right now he’s passed out on the living room couch, Alfred the cat curled up next to him, so he’s not doing much pouting at the moment.
Bruce is in the room too, sitting on the loveseat to the right of the couch with his laptop perched on his knees. He isn’t actually doing anything besides staring at Damian and wondering why he didn’t text Bruce or tell Tim he wasn’t feeling well. Tim had mentioned that Damian wasn’t looking good when he had dropped Damian off at school, he had apparently looked flushed and a little wobbly, but Damian had insisted he was fine.
They determined it was just a case of the flu and had tried to give Damian antibiotics but he’d laid down on the couch and practically passed out the second he could.
So now they’re here. Bruce feels bad, Tim feels bad he has to avoid the Manor so he doesn’t get sick himself, and Damian definitely feels bad, if the state he was in when Bruce picked him up is anything to go by. Bruce’s phone pings and when he picks it up he sees a text from Dick saying he’s on his way. Bruce smiles. Dick may claim he doesn’t have a favourite brother, but everyone knows it’s Damian.
Damian groans quietly and Bruce's gaze returns to his youngest. He’s still flushed, and his hands shake minutely, but Bruce is sure he’ll be okay. He always is, in the end.