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This was bad.
In hindsight, Tim probably should have just gone home. Everyone else had already turned in for the night. Even Batman. But he had been staking out that warehouse for hours, and the weapons dealers had finally shown up. At the time, he’d told himself it would just be a little bit longer. He’d get the information he needed, and then he’d go home and join the rest of the family.
Then, of course, shit hit the fan.
Not only were there a lot more men than he’d been expecting – over two dozen, by his estimation – but they were also very heavily armed. Heavily armed, and pissed.
“This is Red Robin requesting immediate backup,” he whispered into his comm. “My stakeout just got a hell of a lot more interesting. I count twenty-eight armed hostiles, and they don’t look to be in a good mood. A firefight is looking probable. Over.”
His listened anxiously for a response. There was a few seconds but static, but then…nothing.
That couldn’t be good.
“Red Robin, here. Does anybody copy? I need backup stat,” he tried again.
Still nothing.
“Oracle, can you hear me? Can anybody hear me?”
Panic gripped Tim’s chest when he received no answer. Yeah, he was the last one out, but surely someone was listening for him, right? Bruce could never fully relax until all of his kids were home safe. He was paranoid like that. Tim was sure he’d be hovering over the Bat Computer, ready to pounce the moment he sensed one of his children was in danger. So why hadn’t anyone answered?
He unsheathed his wrist computer and did a quick scan of the area.
Fuck.
There was some device in the warehouse that was scrambling his comm. It had probably been placed by one of the parties to ensure the other couldn’t call for reinforcements should the deal go south. Smart for them, but very, very bad for him.
He tried his emergency beacon, hoping it was unaffected by the device. He pushed down on the device and waited for the confirmatory “beep” that would tell him the signal got through.
Nope. Complete and utter silence.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. When the sound of gunshots exploded through the warehouse, Red Robin knew he had to intervene. He took a deep, calming breath, then leapt out of his hiding place and into the heat of the firefight.
This was going to suck.
He survived. Barely.
Leaving the mess for the police to deal with, he limped out of the warehouse and climbed onto his motorcycle. Every movement caused him to gasp in pain. He took a quick survey of his body. He’d been shot at least three times: once in his left shoulder, once in his side, and a graze across his right thigh. Nothing vital had been hit as far as he could tell, but the quick field bandages he had fixed were already starting to turn red. Besides the gunshot wounds, he could see that his left wrist was broken, and his entire body was covered in cuts and bruises. He looked and felt like shit.
Knowing he was in no shape to drive, he punched the “auto-pilot” button. The cycle roared to life, and it took every ounce of consciousness Tim had left to hold on.
He pulled into the Cave twenty minutes later. Though his vision was quickly growing hazy, Tim could still make out the voices of his family members. It seemed that Dick and Jason had decided to come back to the Manor. That made sense since tomorrow (or later today, given the time) was Sunday brunch. And no one missed Sunday brunch if they could help it.
“Ah, there’s the straggler,” Dick announced as Tim emerged from the tunnel. His older brother was over in the back corner of the Cave cleaning his escrima sticks. Too far away to immediately see the blood leaking through the red suit.
The bike came to a stuttering stop, but Tim didn’t dare move. He didn’t think he could hold himself up.
That seemed to tip off Batman that something was very wrong. He rushed over to his son, taking in his injured state. “Red Robin, report,” he ordered, his tone full of worry.
“My weapons deal went sideways,” Tim panted. “Twenty-eight guys, all heavily armed. They had a device that interfered with my comm. Emergency beacon didn’t work, either. Couldn’t call for help.”
Bruce put his hands on Tim’s hips, keeping him steady atop the bike. “Give me a rundown.”
“I took shots to the left shoulder, right abdomen, and a graze to my right thigh. Shoulder wound is through and through, but I think the bullet’s still in my side. My left wrist is definitely broken, too.”
By then, they had gathered an audience. Everyone, upon hearing the alarm in Bruce’s voice, came running to see what had happened.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Jason demanded.
Tim swallowed back a wince. “I got beat up.”
“Dick, grab a stretcher,” Bruce ordered.
“I can walk,” Tim argued.
Damian scoffed. “Not with that leg wound, you can’t.”
“Your brother is right, Tim. Moving could cause more damage.”
“Fine,” Tim relented. Walking didn’t sound very appealing at the moment anyway.
Alfred was waiting for them in the med bay. Jason and Dick helped Bruce slide Tim from the stretcher to the bed.
“You seem to be bleeding quite a lot, Master Timothy,” Alfred said with a frown.
Tim leaned back against the pillows. The adrenaline rush that had carried him through the fight was quickly fading, allowing pain and exhaustion to seep in. “Y-yeah, I can tell.”
“Tim, I’m gonna start an IV in your other arm so we can get you something better for pain, okay?” Dick said.
He shivered. “S-sounds good.”
“We need to look into this device they had,” Bruce grumbled. “Your emergency beacon should have worked even if your comm did not.”
“S-sorry. I tried to find it, b-but I couldn’t. I-I had to leave,” Tim admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up.
His father softened. “Oh, Tim, that’s not what I meant.” He reached up and carded his hair through his son’s hair. “You did the best you could given the circumstances. It just kills me to know I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“Iss not your fault.”
“It seems the bullet is still lodged in his abdominal wall,” Alfred reported. “It is shallow enough that it can be easily removed, but I highly would suggest a sedative.”
Tim nodded. “Knock me out. P-please.”
“You got it, bud. We’ll get you fixed up,” Dick promised as he loaded a syringe.
Bruce cupped Tim’s cheek. “Get some rest.”
When he felt the sedative taking effect, Tim welcomed oblivion with open arms.
He woke up some indeterminable amount of time later.
The pain was dulled by the pleasant thrum of opioids, which he greatly appreciated. His left arm was in a sling. His broken wrist was set in a brace, and thick gauze wrapped around the bullet wound in his shoulder. Similar dressings were on around his abdomen and right thigh.
A familiar presence was sitting at his bedside.
“Good morning,” Bruce greeted, leaning forward and grasping Tim’s free hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Been worse,” Tim replied with a lopsided grin. He was, perhaps, just a wee bit high. “What time is it?”
“10 o’clock. Alfred was able to repair your bullet wounds and set your wrist. You’ll need to take some antibiotics for the next ten days to ensure you don’t get an infection, but otherwise, you should heal up just fine.”
Tim nodded, pleased with that assessment. “Good.”
His father’s gaze turned serious. “Tim, I’m so sorry I didn’t receive your call.”
“B, we’ve been over this. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but I just can’t help but think about how close I came to losing you last night. And I also know that you haven’t always felt that your place in the family was equal to that of your siblings. I just want to make sure you know that if I had known you needed help, I would have been there in a second.”
Tim squeezed Bruce’s hand. “I know that, Bruce. But still, thanks for saying it. I’m glad I’m home.”
The smile on his father’s face gave him just as much warmth as the pain medicines. “Me too, son.”