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Waking up at three in the morning just to squint at his phone until his eyes became teary and his wrist hurt was not what Tim imagined doing in the early morning as a twenty-one-year-old. He should be at parties, probably, or at cheap bars that made his chest rumble with music and his head spin with alcohol.
But he was a vigilante, and with it came burdens that were easy to ignore until your sleep schedule was so fucked up not even melatonin could fix the problem. And the thing was, Tim was trying to get better at this sleeping thing, okay? He was drinking the right amount of water, he was shutting off every light in his bedroom thirty minutes before laying down, he was eating healthier than ever in his life, he was exhausted from the day and he was not drinking coffee. Not even a drop.
Green Juice was his new best friend.
The sacrifices he was making, and for nothing?
The clock over his bedside table flashed 3:02 AM and how the fuck had it been only two minutes? Tim groaned. He wanted to die. He put his phone away and sighed quietly. His ceiling was the same boring pitch black as the other night, the night before and the one before.
Should he exercise? Maybe if he did some squats his brain would reconfigure every chemical inside it and he would be able to finally sleep. God, was he tired. Today, or actually yesterday, he took Damian to his violin classes because Bruce had to go to a meeting that Alfred would’ve killed him if he hadn’t attended. After dropping Dami off, he went to eat with Steph because Tim couldn’t afford to cancel on her yet again, and then Jason had called for help only to make him read all this goddamn intel of a case.
(121 pages. God. Tim couldn’t believe he was complaining about that.)
Normally, those tasks would’ve been easy to do and even enjoyable too, but Tim wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t.
At some point in the night, though, he dozed off.
Just to wake up again at 5:06 AM and repeat the cycle.
He now had a dent in his middle finger from holding his phone every night until he became sleepy again.
Tim ended up waking up a little after nine. He did his tasks slowly, blearily, endlessly yawning through his shower, rubbing his eyes every three minutes or so while he dressed up. Tim saw his reflection in the mirror and remembered that it was Saturday, so he took off his skinny jeans and put on his pajamas again.
He decided to stay home all day and ignore every call or text. He didn’t even know why his brain and body decided to wake at this forsaken hour, given how he felt exhausted to the bone.
Tim rounded his kitchen island and opened his fridge, which was empty except for a few eggs, milk, and two bottles of chocolate milk. (There goes his record of drinking Green Juice every day.) Muttering to himself to buy new groceries ASAP, he took two eggs and one chocolate milk, because he was feeling especially needy for blissful childhood memories today of all days, and turned to face the counter.
Where Dick was. With his arms crossed. Smiling funnily at him.
Tim blinked.
“Hi?”
He needed to make anti-siblings booby traps before it became a habit for them to appear randomly at his apartment. (It was probably too late for that, though.)
At his croaked voice, Dick laughed a breathy laugh. Unlike Tim, he looked fresh and ready to kick the day.
“Morning, sleepy bird.”
Tim grunted, taking a pan, “What you doin’ here? Wasn’t you supposed to be at brunch?”
Every Saturday they gather for brunch at the manor. Crunchy bacon, toast, cheese and waffles. Tim had been missing it lately, though. Sleep deprivation was killing everything he enjoyed in his life. He stopped himself from spiraling further into that line of thinking before he irritated himself.
Dick quirked an eyebrow, ignoring his question completely, “Are you hungover?”
That would be nicer than this.
“I wish,” Tim muttered, “Breakfast?” he raised the eggs.
“Nah, thanks.”
Tim grumbled an okay, still feeling his brother’s eyes over him. He started to cook the eggs with the speed of a sloth and the dexterity of a two-year-old.
“Late night case?”
“I wish,” Tim said once again.
Dick kept looking at him.
“Look,” Tim turned for a second, “I’m alright. Is there something you– Fuck!”
“Tim!” Dick hurried at him, snatching the greenish spatula from his hand and blocking him from the stove as if he was stupid. “What the hell? Why did you lean on it?!”
Tim was hissing from the burn on the palm of his hand. It was turning red. “Fuck, I didn’t see.”
“No shit!” Dick said bewildered, “Are you drugged? Drunk?”
His brother’s voice just got louder and louder with each word. Tim winced, feeling a headache coming. In a blink, Dick was putting mustard over the burn.
“I hate this,” Tim was almost gagging from the smell.
He hated mustard.
“Shut up and tell me what’s going on.”
“Make up your mind first.”
Dick gave him a no-nonsense stare.
Tim sighed, considering the pros and cons of telling his eldest brother about his sleep issues. If he told Dick that he’s been suffering for nearly three months now, he’d probably get all panicky again, and mad, and it was too early yet to deal with a feral Dick Grayson. But if Tim lied, shrugged it off, and then was found doing something stupid again because of his dumb sleep-deprived brain, then Dick would be even more furious. And preoccupied. And over all act insane.
But Tim was tired. He didn’t even have the energy to explain the situation.
Yeah, okay. Postpone alarm.
“I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“Why?”
Tim didn’t need to pretend to be miserable. He really was. “I just couldn’t. It’s probably this case I’ve been unable to solve…”
And then Tim babbled for like five minutes about a case he’d already solved last week. He was honestly surprised about his ability to keep up with the vigilante work even in this state. His mind summoned the image of Bruce’s scowl and voice: You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on with this. Tim scratched the thought away.
“You should’ve told me sooner!” Dick replied after his babbling ended. “I could’ve helped you! It’s been years and you still want to do everything by yourself. When will you learn, huh?”
Dick took a step further just to engulf Tim in a hug and, wow, it was nice to be held like this. Tim reciprocated, resting his head on one of Dick’s biceps and putting his arms around Dick’s lower back. Tim melted like ice cream after that.
He was 99% sure he fell asleep for a second there.
Then Dick broke the hug and Tim contained himself from whining like a baby. He blinked back tears, for fuck’s sake.
When was the last time he hugged someone? Probably four months ago when he saw Kon?
“You send me the intel you’ve gathered so far and I’ll be happy to help, okay? No more stress for you.”
At Dick’s words, Tim frowned. Intel?
What intel?
Oh, right.
Shit. Yeah. The intel of the case he’d already solved. Fuck.
“Yeah, sure,” Tim shrugged, totally not panicking. He’ll pretend he forgot anyway. “It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but why the early visit?”
Dick turned off the stove and moved around until he found a plate to serve the eggs.
“I wanted to snatch you to the manor,” and his brother pouted, “We miss you, y’know?”
Tim huffed but couldn’t stop himself from smiling, “You see me every other night.”
“It’s not the same, Timmy,” Dick sighed dramatically, putting the plate down on the kitchen island beside the chocolate milk, “But if you want to stay here by your lonesome and eat this…gourmet, I won’t stop you.”
Weird-looking eggs and chocolate milk or Alfred’s delicious cooking? The answer was obvious and his grinning brother knew that.
Tim rolled his eyes, said, “I’ll go change,” and ignored Dick’s loud: Yes!
After that, Tim felt surprisingly better. He was still exhausted, and his face still looked like shit even with concealer on, but he managed to change into pants and a sweater and survived all the way home with Dick’s 80’s bops playlist blasting from the car’s console.
He didn’t develop a chronic headache, so he considered that a big win.
When they arrived at the manor they left their shoes at the entrance and walked to the left wing patio. Dick kept talking all the way there, and Tim tried to catch up with the conversation because he loved his big brother a lot, but his dumb sleep-deprived brain was already set on the food stimulus, so a few hmm here and there was all he could offer. Dick seemed very happy to talk with him anyway.
Tim’s shoulders sagged from the moment he could smell the waffles. His mouth watered and his brain became even more fuzzy with hunger.
At the patio, the food was already served, and Bruce, Alfred, Jason, and Damian were already praying for it. It was a habit that Jason had installed in all of them. Tim’s brain found it funny and endearing that they all had different approaches and beliefs in life but still tried to be part of each of them. They managed to look like a normal, functional household sometimes. (Keyword: Sometimes.) It was nice.
When Jason finished his prayer, he opened his eyes, whistled, and said, “Look who decided to come!”
Tim made a face Jason’s way, and went straight to the others, greeting them.
“Sup,” he ruffled Dami’s hair.
“I’m glad you could join us, Master Tim,” Alfred attempted to stand up, probably to serve them their plates, but Tim didn’t let him, putting his hands over the butler’s shoulders and squeezing them affectionately.
“I’m happy to be here, Al. But please, don’t stand up,” then Tim went and sat down beside Bruce, “Dick can serve me.”
“You wish,” said Dick, doing exactly that.
Tim smiled proudly.
Damian huffed, “I want people to obey me too.”
“Watch out, B,” Jason mumbled between loads of food, “That’s what the last Arkham psycho said.”
Dami rolled his eyes at Jason, “You’re one to talk, Todd.”
Tim saw Bruce shaking his head in amusement before he landed his gaze on Tim, “It’s nice to see you outside the uniform, son.”
Tim felt a bit guilty.
Perhaps he should’ve told them when he started to struggle with his sleep, and then they would’ve understood why he’d missed family gatherings for months. But he didn’t want them to worry. His family had already a lot of things to do and solve, and Tim wasn’t going to add one more problem to the pile.
“Yeah,” Tim replied gently and a bit embarrassed, “I’m just… I’ve been busy.”
Bruce gave him one of his trademark tight-lipped smiles and extended his arm to grip his hand, “Don’t worry. I’m glad you’re here now.”
Dick suddenly appeared beside Tim, settling down a plate of food, and Tim was about to thank him when his oldest brother talked.
“Timmy’s been having some trouble with a case.”
Shit.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, “Really? Which one?”
Tim opened his mouth to say whatever lie he could come up with in three seconds, when Alfred said: “Boys, boys. Please. Remind me of the first rule of brunch?”
“Not nightlife-related conversations,” Dami replied, puffing his chest proudly.
Oh, thank God for Alfred Pennyworth.
Tim let out an imperceptible sigh of relief and shrugged, “You heard the man, B.”
Dick made a gesture with his hand as if he was zipping his mouth and sat down beside him. Bruce kept looking at Tim for a second too long before he seemed satisfied with whatever he saw and kept eating.
After that little scare, the morning passed by beautifully.
Tim’s energy skyrocketed by the time he started to eat his last plate of fruit. He laughed out loud at Jason’s jokes and enjoyed catching up with Dami about his school life.
Like every other brunch, Alfred told them about one of those early stories of Bruce’s childhood and how he was a little devilish kid, and, like every other brunch, B blushed and tried to deny whatever Alfred claimed as true. As always, Dick ended up with a pile of ravished plates to which Damian claimed that one day he was going to resent eating too much food.
“I’ll be young forever, Little D!” Dick had chirped.
By the time everyone finished eating, Tim’s brain started to malfunction again. It seemed that both his body and mind decided that this was the perfect time to feel sleepy. His eyelids were heavy and his heart was beating slowly. So very slowly, Tim sighed in happiness and decided to support his head with both his hands.
He felt an impressive amount of ease hearing his family bicker around him. Once again his language transformed into one of pure hmm, but his family didn’t seem fazed by it. At one point, Bruce moved his seat closer, so Tim didn’t waste the opportunity to move closer too. Soon enough they were shoulder to shoulder with him softly resting against Bruce.
Out of nowhere, Tim felt the type of relaxation that invades your whole bones. He was so happy he could—
Bonk.
“Tim!”
His brain barely registered Dick’s voice.
“Hmpf,” Tim found himself plastered face-first over the table and when he finally realized that he’d fallen asleep, he hurriedly straightened himself up, rubbing his throbbing nose, “Ouch!”
Everyone around him was talking at the same time.
“Timbo! Are you okay?!”
“Dear boy, what just happened?”
“Are you alright, son?”
“Talk! What’s wrong with you?!”
The only one that remained quiet was Dick, who was giving him an unimpressed look with his arms crossed.
Fuckity fuck.
Okay.
Okay, alright. Tim knew when to stop fighting.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he blurted, wincing, then, “I guess I relaxed too much. Sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry?” Jason sputtered, “Since when have you been like this?!”
“I was born this way.”
Nobody laughed. They seemed to get more mad.
Tough crowd.
It was Bruce’s turn to look unimpressed, “Tim.”
Here it comes.
“Ugh, okay, it’s been…three months?” His family stared at him in shock. “What? You’re lookin’ at me as if I’ve confessed to a murder!”
“Uh, yeah! A murder to your health,” Jason moved his hands around, “Idiot.”
Tim stopped himself from laughing. He was so tired, God. He wanted to laugh uncontrollably.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Yep, Damian was angry. “Pennyworth could’ve given you of his special tea.”
Tim sighed, “I didn’t want you to wor—”
“I beg for you to reconsider your next words,” Alfred leveled him a look.
Tim closed his mouth.
“You’ve been having trouble with that case for three months?” Dick asked, probably already knowing the answer. He just wanted to see Tim suffer.
Tim shook his head, “There’s no case. I just… I can’t sleep,” Tim tried not to sound too desperate but going by the worried looks they gave him he probably didn’t succeed. “I mean, I can but... I wake up three, four, or even five times every night. I don’t know why. I’m just fucked up, I guess.”
“Master Tim,” Alfred reprimanded, “Do not refer to yourself like that.”
Bruce extended his arm until his hand was over Tim’s, “What am I going to do with you?”
Tim lowered his gaze. Maybe he should’ve told them sooner.
“What are we going to do with him,” Dick said, “I can’t believe this, Bruce. He’s been going out on patrol like this!”
“You could’ve killed yourself,” Damian added with heat.
At the realization, Bruce’s hold over Tim’s hand tightened.
Jason suddenly stood up and started to walk around the table.
“You’re an idiot, birdie,” he kept saying, “What? Are we painted? Don’t you trust us? Dick and Damian are right!”
“You could’ve hurt yourself,” Bruce repeated then, sounding upset.
Ah, shit. Here they come. The waves of guilt.
Tim rested his head against his hands, “God, I know. I know. It was stupid. I’m sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I’m so tired. Like, so tired,” a sudden sob made him stop. Tim blinked.
Oh. He was crying now. Not expecting to feel tears rolling down his face, he quickly cleaned his face, “Shit.”
Bruce’s arms tightened around his shoulders, and Tim was too weak, too tired to fight the embrace, so he exhaled loudly, trying to stop crying, and placed his head against Bruce’s chest.
Bruce’s hand caressed his spine gently, “Shh. It’s alright, sport. You’ll stay here tonight, okay? We’ll help you.”
“Just tonight,” Tim managed to say between hiccups. “I’ve got— things to do,” he mumbled.
(He had absolutely nothing on his schedule.)
Everything quieted down around him. Tim could hear feet shuffling against the floor, plates being moved slowly, a sliding door being closed, and he wondered if Bruce had asked the others to leave in his own muted but obvious way.
He quickly stopped thinking about it when Bruce started to pet his hair. Bruce’s nails scratched gently against his skull, then combed through his hair. Tim shoulder’s sagged after a few minutes, and he didn’t stop his eyes from closing after who knows how much seconds later.
It felt so good to finally sleep.
When Tim opened his eyes again, he was laying down on his old bed. His room remained intact and clean. A few posters here and there were chipped on the corners or barely hanging from the wall, just like Tim had left them before he’d gone to live on his own.
The sound of someone clearing his throat startled him, and he quickly turned to his right, where Dick was, sitting on his desk chair.
“Second time in a day where you don’t notice my presence at all,” Dick noted, frowning.
Tim smiled apologetically.
“No, Timmy. Don’t give me that look. You’re in so much trouble. I already convinced B to bench you.”
“Hey! You can’t do that!” Tim crossed his arms, “I work solo. I’m a grown–”
“I don’t think so, mister,” Dick poked his tongue at him, “You act childish, we treat you like a child. Deal with it.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Whatever,” Dick replied hastily. “You’re going to stay here until you can sleep properly, Whatever.” Before Tim could decline or make a fuss, Dick added, “Alfred’s orders.”
At the words, Tim bit his tongue.
Okay. Yeah.
“Okay,” Tim melted on the soft covers. “There are worse things in life.”
“We are going to be sleeping with you too.”
What.
“What?!” Tim sat up, “You’re kiddin’.”
Dick only grinned. The bastard.
“I’m not six!”
“Think about it, Timmy. You, me, and the others, drinking tea, having late night convos and cuddling. It’s gonna be fun!”
Tim grunted.
“C’mon, little bird! Don’t be a party pooper.”
Well.
He’d missed his family all these months…
Spending time with them only when they were in their alter egos hadn’t been enough.
And being hugged didn’t sound so bad either…
“Alright,” he mumbled, hoping that he didn’t sound too eager. Too needy.
Dick smiled fondly, ruffling his hair, “No more sleepless nights, baby bird. I promise.”
That very night, almost at nine PM sharp and after having dinner, everyone gathered in his old room. Damian and Jason climbed over his bed and each one took a spot beside Tim. Bruce sat down on the desk chair while Dick and Alfred claimed the little sofa he had beside his closet.
His family kept the conversation flowing while Tim sipped Alfred’s miraculous tea. They talked about nothing and everything. Bruce made fun of Superman. Dick defended Clark even though he wasn’t there to hear Bruce laughing about his brightly-colored suit. Then Damian made a point, saying that Uncle Clark was probably listening, even miles away.
After that, Alfred asked about Jon, and Damian rambled for almost twenty minutes about some little adventure he had with the other kid. Something about a day full of flamingos, a sunny day, and popcorn. Tim wasn’t so sure. His brain was fuzzy with comfort and exhaustion.
At one point he rested his whole body against Jason’s, and Tim sighed quietly in relief. It felt good to be held by his loved ones. It felt good to finally be able to relax. To breathe deeply and let his eyelids weigh.
He didn’t notice he’d finished his tea until Bruce was suddenly by his side, taking the mug away from his hand. Tim mumbled a thanks, or at least he thinks he did, because Damian started to push him down by the shoulders, ordering him to lay down.
The next time Tim managed to barely open his eyes, the room was dark, with just a tiny ray of light coming from the window’s curtain. Someone was snoring very, very loudly. Tim gently turned his head to look and a very asleep Jason was still hugging him tightly. His snores echoed around the room. Then, he turned at his other side to find Damian sleeping too, hugging his side of the blanket, not a sound coming from his mouth.
Tim felt rested. At peace. Soft. Loved. Healthy.
Something, some kind of ugly knot, became undone inside his chest.
Tim felt like crying, so he did, quietly. He let the tears flow down this time, not interrupting the moment, not burying away the loud sentiment of gratefulness that wanted to scream its way out of his heart.
Before standing up from the bed, mindful to not wake his brothers, Tim looked at the clock resting over the bedside table and the blurry, bright numbers gave him the last dose of happiness he’d so desperately needed.
07:28 AM.
Sweet Lord. Nine hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.
That morning Tim cooked breakfast for his whole family, and if the eggs were a bit odd, they didn't comment on it. (They loved him just that much).