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While the ground felt especially hard beneath him, Tim found that the light breaking through the endless shifting clouds above him was much brighter than he ever remembered it being.
Tim threw an arm over his eyes only to find that his arm wouldn’t move. He squinted instead, realising that it wasn’t actually the sky but a ceiling and Tim wasn’t just lying down on a patch of grass some place, he was on a flat surface.
Voices echoed around him and Tim failed to recognise any of them. He tried to sit up to work out just where the hell he was and what was happening but he found that like his arm, the rest of his body wasn’t responding to him either.
Tim’s stomach flipped as whatever he was lying on stopped moving, the brightness above him refining into individual lights.
He realised that he must have been drugged or something and despite the annoyingly common occurrence, it still terrified him because whatever had been used on him this time, it left him helpless to do anything other than blink and even that was hard to do. The voices echoing around him still made little sense and he tried to ignore the nervous energy thrumming through him, knowing he needed to be better than this.
He was Red Robin. He had to be better than this, people could be in danger.
Forcing himself to focus, Tim looked directly at one of the blurs until it refined into a person, doing his best to lip read to go along with the garbled nonsense being spoken but the damn stranger had a mask on. Not a hero’s mask, a surgical mask.
The bright lights, the hard bed, the mask… All at once the smell of antiseptic hit him and Tim shuddered, wondering just how the fuck he hadn’t even noticed it until now when it was so strong.
Except he didn’t shudder. He just kept lying there, still, with only his eyes able to move.
Tim’s lip wobbled, glad to find that at least do that even if it felt a little childish. His eyes burned and while he wanted to blame it on the antiseptic, in truth he was scared because he didn’t know why he was in a hospital or if this really was indeed a hospital and not just some messed up lair of some crazy villain.
He had been drugged with something, taken against his own will, and he didn’t even remember any of it.
The voices were becoming a little more distinct from one another but they still made little sense to him. Tim chewed on his lip, forcing himself to listen carefully.
While he didn’t recognise the individual words, he realised that the tempo was all wrong. No, it was only wrong to him. They weren’t speaking English, but something else entirely. Some kind of European? Not one of the romance languages but something similar enough.
Great help that did him, he couldn’t exactly pick up a whole language instantly while he was lying down on some bed in some random hospital being fussed over by strangers in masks. He was smart, but he wasn’t that smart.
Despite himself, Tim whimpered.
One of the doctors turned sharply, looking directly down at Tim and he suddenly felt even more uncomfortable. Then, in a thick accent, the woman spoke.
“Just relax. You will be able to move soon.”
So she knew about the drug. But what the hell had been used on him and why the hell did he not remember anything before realising he was on this damn bed?
Tim realised distantly that he was in his civilian clothes, one of the doctors above him cutting away the fabric of his hoodie. He whimpered again, having liked particularly liked this hoodie, even though it was significantly lighter than his main ones. Cold air hit his skin as his shirt too was cut so that electrodes could be placed on his skin.
When Tim tried to speak, to demand to know what had been used on him, his lips refused to form the correct movements and all that came out was a garbled groan.
He was helpless, utterly helpless, and if there was anything Tim couldn’t stand it was the thought that he had no control over himself.
“We’ve called your Dad,” The woman said.
Tim blinked, trying to work out what she meant by that. Jack Drake was dead and gone.
“We found his number in your wallet.”
Tears trickled down Tim’s face as he realised who she meant. Bruce was going to be so angry with him, having gotten drugged while the first vacation they had taken as a complete family.
Vacation. They were on a vacation in Portugal which meant that the language the doctors and nurses were using was Portuguese. At least Tim had been right in thinking that it was some European language, good help it did him now. They had been on a walk, Tim remembered trailing after Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason and Damian while they explored the city while the girls had chosen to have a chill day in the hotel.
Tim had been flicking through his phone for updates on Wayne Enterprises when Jason had tackled him with a laugh, putting him in a headlock until Tim put his phone away because this was a holiday and they weren’t to do any work, vigilante or otherwise. Bruce had already been caught twice checking in with Superman and Superboy on the state of Gotham and while it had been Superman himself who had teased Bruce about not working while on vacation, it was Alfred that had made it very clear that the punishment if he were to do it again was matching family tee shirts.
That same matching shirt that had just been cut away from Tim’s chest to allow for a heart monitor because something had gone wrong and he was paralysed and in hospital and he couldn’t quite work out when the teasing banter had become Tim being drugged and alone.
More tears stung Tim’s eyes but he refused to let them fall.
He may be helpless right now but he would not let himself be pathetic too.
The voices above him were morphing into one again and Tim vaguely registered his arm being shifted, the weight of a pulse ox being placed on his finger. His heart raced as he glanced down, watching as a needle inched closer to the skin in the crook of his arm. He tried to fight it, tried to prove that he was fine, that he didn’t need an IV, that he wasn’t completely helpless after all but all Tim could do was lie there as the metal pierced his flesh, quickly replaced by a tube.
Tim whimpered then, the tears falling again anyway.
It felt wrong, everything felt wrong. He didn’t want any of this, not the IV, not the monitors that were alerting to his racing heart, not the unfamiliar voices and hidden faces that spun around him. He just wanted to go home.
He only realised that he was drifting when a Doctor rubbed a fist into his sternum, telling him something in Portuguese that he could only guess was an order to stay awake.
His oxygen levels must be too low because a mask was forced onto his face and Tim tried to shake it off but all he could do was lie there and blink.
The heart monitor alerted again as if the doctors needed proof that he was scared and as much as Tim tried to settle it, tried to prove that he was fine, he simply couldn’t. It wasn’t just his anxiety making his heart race, he realised, but the drug itself was making it so that enough of the paralytic kept coursing through his blood, keeping him helpless.
Tim could only hope that the IV that had been placed was going to try to limit his symptoms, with saline coursing through alongside whatever had been used on him to make him this way, but his awareness was fading again.
He was tired. He was so tired. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just close his eyes, it was the only thing he could do after all and he very much did not want to just lie there and watch as strangers assessed and did things to his useless body.
When the doctor tried to rouse him again, Tim ignored them.
He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to go home and sleep and forget about all of this.
There were fingers carding through Tim’s hair.
At first he was confused, unsure if the doctors were checking to see if he had a head injury or something, but then he realised that it wasn’t some stranger that was doing the soothing motion. He tried to lean into the touch but he couldn’t and Tim whimpered.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Dick’s familiar voice mumbled. “You’re okay…”
At last, Tim’s eyes managed to crack open and he saw that it was indeed Dick who was still running fingers through his hair.
When Dick had gotten there, Tim had no idea. Shame suddenly slammed Tim in the gut as he remembered that he had ruined not just Dick’s vacation, but all of theirs. Dick must be so angry with him, surely as soon as the doctors were satisfied that Dick had performed his role as a worried brother, Dick was going to leave him here alone because everyone always left Tim.
Tim didn’t need Dick anyway. He didn’t need anyone, his parents had proved that from the start. Tim Drake was better by himself and yet the fact that he couldn’t just move up and hug Dick made his very soul ache.
He tried to say something but his mouth still wasn’t working right. He groaned in frustration, hating that his eyes were prickling again.
“Everything’s okay.” Dick said gently.
But it wasn’t okay. He was stuck unmoving on a bed in a hospital in another country and he couldn’t even tell Dick to go away because even if he managed to speak, he was utterly terrified by the idea of Dick actually leaving him.
There was a click of a door and it was only then that Tim realised that at some point he had been moved to a private room.
Tim tried to see who it was but his head refused to move enough for his eyes to be able check so he focused on what he could hear instead. The footsteps were heavy but familiar. Nice shoes.
Bruce.
Tears burned as they started falling in earnest and in an instant it wasn’t just Dick who was touching him but Bruce also, the older man cupping his cheek and wiping the tears away.
The touch was so gentle, so easy despite Bruce’s usual distance, and it just made Tim cry harder because he didn’t deserve it. He had ruined the vacation and he had somehow managed to get drugged as a civilian and surely Bruce must be so disappointed with him and yet here Bruce was, brushing away his tears.
“The antidote will take time to take affect.” Bruce rumbled.
Antidote. They knew what had been used on him and how to fix it. Good. As soon as the antidote did its job, Tim could get up and leave before Bruce or Dick had a chance to do the same.
“Yeah Timmy,” Dick said. “Just a couple of hours and you’ll be feeling better, I promise.”
Hours.
The monitor alerted beside him as his heart rate picked up and Dick hushed him, the hand not in his hair now tracing patterns into Tim’s arm.
Bruce’s mouth was a firm line, no doubt already sick of how helpless Tim was. But then Bruce lent forward, pressing a gentle kiss on Tim’s forehead. It was brief, barely more than a moment, but it only made Tim cry harder.
“It will pass, Son,” Bruce said. “It will pass.”
Tim had gotten distracted on his phone again, his footsteps slowing as he read some important data. He hadn’t cared that the others were getting further ahead, knowing that he would catch up with them. Distantly, he noticed that they had fully disappeared into the crowd but that barely mattered, not when this data might very well affect Wayne Enterprises’ entire financial year, putting the social programs connected to it at risk.
A hand had covered his mouth and before he had a chance to register what was happening, he had been dragged into an alleyway.
His training had kicked in almost immediately but not soon enough because the moment the needle pierced his neck, Tim was stumbling. His head had spun, his enemies crowding around him and while Tim had known that he should act as though he was just a normal civilian, the fear of being attacked in broad daylight made him lash out.
He hadn’t even managed to get one hit in before he was suddenly on his side on the ground, his attackers laughing above him. Tim was patted down, his wallet taken from his pocket. They took the cards and what little cash he had, tossing the wallet back onto him.
Tim had tried to rise, but he couldn’t. He tried to kick out the legs from beneath his enemies but his own leg barely managed to move, his hands only twitching when he tried to reach for the hidden staff that somehow they hadn’t found.
He couldn’t do anything but just lay there on his side, the strength in his body quickly draining away from of him. That was how they left him, having attacked him for only his wallet and his watch. Tim could only hope he could track down these attackers before they realised that his watch was a lot more valuable than just another watch but he must have passed out at some point, barely registering as he was picked up and put onto a gurney.
And now Tim was in a private hospital room, crying but otherwise paralysed, wasting not only Dick’s time but Bruce’s too. He needed to warn them of the watch, tell them about it’s capabilities to connect to the Batcave though it should be easy enough to disconnect it if Barbara only knew about it.
“Sleep.” Bruce said.
Tim wanted to shake his head no but it only twitched to the right the slightest amount. His strength was returning, but barely. It had already been hours since he had been dosed and yet Bruce had said that it was going to take hours longer to clear it from his system.
Realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. If he had only been jumped for his valuables, the drug used would have been cheap and fast acting but not long lasting. The only reason why he was still left helpless and paralysed was because of his compromised immune system.
Tim really was useless.
“B’s right,” Dick said. “You need your rest. We’ll be here the whole time, I promise that you’ll never be alone.”
But Tim wanted to be alone. He deserved to be alone. The only reason why they were fussing over him was because he was so pathetic that they felt sorry for him. He refused to be pitied and he refused to just lie here and take it.
Tim tried to sit up but he barely moved at all and the tears began anew all over again.
“Tim,” Dick said. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He wasn’t okay. He was useless and pathetic and he couldn’t move and he couldn’t stop crying and he had ruined the vacation for all of them and he should have never even left Gotham.
“Bud, it’s okay,” Dick said again.
Tim barely realised that he was drifting again before the exhaustion hit him all at once and when he closed his eyes, he let his mind shut down.
There was warmth pressed into his side, nestled close against him.
Tim tried to look down to see who it was and he was relieved when he was able to tilt his head down enough to see that it was Damian, the demon brat apparently asleep.
Dick wasn’t by his side anymore and it took Tim a moment to find him draped over a couch beneath the window, bending in a way that would be impossible to anyone that wasn’t Dick Grayson.
There was a smell that tried to cover the tang of antiseptic and when Tim looked to his other side, he found that Alfred was drinking a tea. How he got a porcelain tea cup in a Portuguese hospital, Tim had no idea, but the tea smelled nice and when Alfred nodded a silent greeting to Tim, it felt even nicer.
Tim tried to ask Alfred where Bruce was but while he could move his head now, and maybe even if his fingers if he focused enough, his lips still weren’t quite working.
Alfred seemed to understand all the same because Alfred always knew everything.
“Master Bruce is keeping Master Jason company.” Alfred said quietly. “He was quite distraught to see you this way.”
Of course Jason was angry, Tim was wasting their vacation time being pathetic. Except Alfred hadn’t said angry, he had said distraught and they were two very different things.
Tim blinked quickly.
“Yes, he will be quite alright.” Alfred assured him.
The relief took away what little strength Tim had. As long as Jason was okay, then maybe Tim could be okay too. Sleep took him swiftly once more, comforted by Damian pressing up against him like that.
When Tim woke again, he was immediately felt the difference. While his body had earlier been strangely fuzzy, he felt almost normal now. Barbara was the one next to him and when he tried to sit up, he found that he almost succeeded before all of a sudden he was on the bed again.
“Give it time, Drake.” Barbara said, not once looking up from her computer.
“I’ve wasted enough time.”
While Tim words didn’t quite sound right, at least he had managed to say anything at all.
Her hands stilled on her keyboard. She sighed, closed the laptop, and put it to the side.
“Tim.” She said. “I don’t think you realise this, but you were lucky. Really lucky. This could have gone very differently if you hadn’t been found when you were.”
He was always sick. With his stupid spleen and his stupid immune system, this wasn’t the first time that a drug had been too effective on him and he was doubted that it would be the last as much as he loathed to be left so helpless.
“We…” Barbara said. “We could have lost you.”
Tim shrugged.
Barbara’s gaze turned to ice.
“Timothy Jackson Drake,” She warned lowly. “I will give you one chance to take back that response.”
He didn’t. He couldn’t. They would be better off without him, they already had Damian replace him as Robin, they could do without Red Robin. And if Tim was gone, then he wouldn’t have to be so scared of them leaving him all alone.
Her face softened and when Barbara reached out and cupped his cheek, it felt different to Bruce but he lent into it all the same, more fucking tears rolling down his face.
“It’s just that you don’t feel well,” Barbara said gently. “Once you’re better, everything will feel okay again, I promise. I… I understand what it’s like to not be able to move. Just give it a little more time, okay?”
He didn’t want more time, he just wanted to be left alone even though he was utterly terrified of the thought.
While the door had always seemed to be so loud, Tim had barely noticed it opening before Cass was suddenly by his bed too, holding a coffee out to Barbara, staring silently down at Tim. Tim yearned to reach out and take Cass’ coffee as his own, the exhaustion from the last however long it had been seeping into his very soul.
He ordered his body to stop crying, already embarrassed enough for Barbara to see him like this, but Cass simply climbed up onto the foot of Tim’s bed, Tim barely even realising he had managed to move his legs just enough for her to not crush him before she was already comfortable.
“For what it’s worth,” Cass said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “We caught the people who did this to you.”
“Why?” Tim croaked.
“No one touches one of our own.” Cass said.
Tim only cried harder.
Tim’s strength came back slowly. It took him nearly two days to sit up unassisted, another two after that before his legs were capable of holding his weight. Tim hated to be so helpless, even though his family kept assuring him that they didn’t mind helping him.
But as frustrating as it was, Barbara had been right. With every passing milestone, movements that had once been so easy slowly becoming easy again, Tim found that he was questioning their fake care for him less because it wasn’t fake.
Tim hadn’t ruined their vacation. Changed it, certainly, but as the days passed they did many of the things they were going to do anyway. Alfred and Jason played chess, with Tim himself working towards the dexterity required to play, Bruce and Dick talked about everything and nothing at all, not minding one bit when Tim tried to add onto it with slurred words, Damian was sketching from some reference pictures that Tim had taken a few days ago, constantly showing Tim his progress, Barbara and Cass teased the boys as often as they were genuine.
As he grew stronger, he also grew to appreciate these people around him. This family that had taken him in, this family that were not going to leave him and he in turn would not leave them.
Even when he was able to stand and walk and talk and do everything he could before, Tim let them fuss over him. Dick held his hand when they got back to their hotel while Jason constantly hounded him over coffee not being breakfast and he needed to eat well to fully recover from everything that had happened to him.
On the second day since returning to the hotel room with only one day left of their vacation, Bruce had gone to the hotel room door on his way out to get lunch for all of them and Tim had trailed after him and soon enough they were standing alone with just the two of them in the hallway.
“Is everything alright, Tim?” Bruce asked.
“Yeah.” He said, because for the first time in days it was. “But Bruce?
“Yes?”
“I…” Tim tried.
His voice failed him not because of a drug but because he simply didn’t think that words could convey everything he needed to say.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Bruce asked.
“For everything.” Tim said.
Bruce’s arms wrapped around Tim and they were warm and they were familiar and Tim hugged him back just as tightly, nestling into his Dad’s chest.