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Chapter Text

Tim thrashed hard against the arms that held him, roaring at them to let go, his throat raw with his screams and desperate pleas that they let go.

A thousand voices all spun around him, too many sensations all happening at once for him to really make sense of any of it. It was too much, it was all too much. He screamed again, something sharp stabbing into his arm, his back arching off of the hard surface the hands kept pressing him down onto.

He kicked out, he shifted his weight to the right, to the left, but every single thing he tried was useless to knock back his attackers. There were simply too many, too many hands, too many voices, too many sensations that burned through his already breaking psyche.

Tim screamed, he could swear that he screamed, except his throat was too raw and the sound was wrong even to his own ears.

There were hands, so many hands, holding down his shoulders, his arms, his legs, hell even his head. He fought hard against them, he fought with his entire soul, and yet they did not abate.

New pain lanced through that same arm and Tim used all of his force to pull it away, only succeeding in making new pain rock through him, tears running hot down his face no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

There were too many hands, too many voices, too many smells.

Oh fuck, the smells. Something sharp, almost like acid, something metallic, almost like iron. There were too many smells and they were tearing him apart from the inside but no matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, none of it would let up.

He might have roared again, he might have whimpered, all Tim knew was his back arched up and just as quickly it was falling back down onto the hard surface, even that too much for Tim to handle right now.

New tears sprung up as he shuddered, his struggles lessening as his strength started to drain.

No, no, he couldn’t stop fighting. He could never stop fighting. He couldn’t die, not like this, not ever. He couldn’t give up except the world was swirling around him and the voices were swirling too and everything was too much, it was all too much.

Tim sobbed, trying and failing to curl into a ball, the hands touching him keeping him pinned.

Every breath was more like a gasp, the lights blaring above him, transforming the figures around him into monstrous shadows. He tried to fight again, tried to ward off the monsters, but his strength really was failing even if the hands did not yet release him.

“Let go,” He croaked. “Let me go, please, let me go.”

Whatever answered him made no sense to his swirling head.

Tim pulled away from the hand griping his arm but the hand held fast, keeping his arm outstretched.

“Let me go, you can’t, you can’t do this, let me go.”

Summoning what little energy he had left, Tim kicked out, managing to get a solid hit on one of his attackers if the sharp cry was anything to go by. No, that cry hadn’t been from an attacker, it had been from himself, pain thrumming through his leg. Through his arms. Through his whole body.

Tim’s whole chest ached as he struggled to take in a full breath and it only got worse as he felt something almost like metal glide against his skin, his shirt being cut away.

He tried to fight it, tried to keep his identity safe except they weren’t cutting away his Red Robin suit, they were cutting away all of his clothes no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

The words continued to swirl, the fabric that replaced his shirt and pants digging into his skin and sending his mind racing, wondering if it had been fire that had been placed onto him. He roared, kicking the fabric away but it was just as quickly replaced again.

There were too many voices, too many words, all swirling around him.

The lights were too bright, they were scalding, they were going to blind him forever more.

There was too much, everything was too much.

“Let go, let go, please, make it stop, please, I’ll do anything just let go!”

His pleas fell on deaf ears and if anything the shame that sank deep in his chest was worth than any of the pain, any of the sensations, because he should be better than this. He needed to be better than this.

It wasn’t so bad, he could tolerate it. Hell, Tim has handled outright torture before without so much as a peep and yet here he was, outright begging for his attackers to stop, to let him go, to please just stop.

The world was slowing, the shadows of white and blue coming in and out of view.

Tim only distantly registered that his legs had been let go but when he tried to stand, tried to shove off the rest of the hands touching him, he found that he barely moved at all.

New tears poured down his face, the very same face that was all at once being smothered.

Tim’s strength returned to him like a tsunami and his hand snapped out, knocking the suffocating thing away from him but just as quickly his arm was falling uselessly by his side. The thing, the mask, was forced back onto his face and someone was talking directly to him now, their words lost amongst the rest.

His chest stuttered painfully, unable to take in a breath with the mask cutting off his airway.

He squirmed, not even having the strength to thrash anymore, the rush of activity around him slowing until the blurs were ever more blurry.

Tim had been drugged, he realised dimly. He had been drugged and he had not fought against it, at least not hard enough. He should have been able to breathe through it, he should have been able to somehow force his body to metabolise it instantly, but instead he found his strength waning ever more, every blink harder to come back from.

“Stop…” He tried, the mask stealing away his words. “Please, stop. Let go. Don’t touch me. Please.”

There was still so much happening even if everything impossibly felt slow, his own rabbiting heart beat slowing, his breathing slowing, the hands coming in and out of his vision slowing.

The rough fabric that had been laid over him, a blanket he thought maybe, was readjusted until it only hid his hips down.

Tim knew he should fight, knew he should kick and punch and scream and fight his way out of this, but he was tired. He was so tired, even as the tears burned hot on his face.

Something cold was put onto his torso and Tim jolted hard, the new sensation sending him reeling all over again. He shuddered, trying to move away from the sensation but everything was wrong and his body wasn’t listening to him and all at once something was being pushed against his stomach.

Tim outright sobbed, pain rocking through him.

Quick words washed over him even as everything else had become almost sluggish, whoever it was speaking clearly concerned.

Tim didn’t care about some villains concern, all he cared about was getting the fuck out of here but he was tired, he was so tired. The pain was wearing him down, quickly overwhelming whatever discomforts the different outside stimuli nothing compared to the pain.

It was everywhere, none more so than his chest and abdomen, and Tim couldn’t help but whine as whatever was being pressed against him pushed harder against his skin.

Nausea rolled through him but he forced it down, forced himself to breathe, to think, to do anything except lie here and cry.

And yet… And yet, all he was capable of doing right now was the tears pouring down his face, his arms and legs like lead, the hands that had kept him down for an eternity already having shifted away to new tasks.

He should fight.

He needed to fight.

He would not go down without a fight.

But the world was dimming, the pain overtaking all else until even that had started fading away.

“Please.” He croaked, the word like poison on his lips. “Please, stop.”

His attackers paid him no heed, their words a million miles away as the universe grew ever darker.

Tim only distantly realised that his eyes had slipped closed when he tried to open them. The task was too monumental, everything was, everything but the darkness.

Darkness.

Everything was darkness.

Everything was…

Everything…

Tim should fight.

He should fight.

He did not, could not, fight it.

Chapter Text

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Jason roared.

“Mr. Wayne,”

“Todd, and fuck you! Let me see my damn brothers!”

“Mr. Todd, please, you need to relax.”

“I’ll relax when my boot is so far up your ass that-”

Jason’s heart stopped, a scream echoing across the hall.

He knew that scream.

Tim, that had been Tim.

Broken leg be damned, Jason was up on his feet in an instant, using the pain to spur him onwards as he shoved passed the student doctor in an attempt to get to Tim.

Tim was still screaming, the sound echoing deep in Jason’s chest.

The scream faltered as the ground rushed towards Jason’s face, his leg having decided to give up after all but he only forced himself back up all over again just as quickly, lashing out at the hands that tried to touch him.

That awful sound had been Tim and Jason was going to get to him, no matter what.

“Mr. Todd, you need to let me treat you Sir.”

Jason ignored the pain that ripped through him with every step, barely catching himself on a doorway before he could collapse all over again. He breathed hard, sweat pouring down his face, but none of that mattered.

“Please, Sir, you need to let me-”

“Master Jason! That is quite enough!”

Alfred’s voice rocked through Jason almost as hard as Tim’s screams had, and he damn near sat down right then and there before all at once he remembered himself.

He pushed passed the old man, even as his instincts screamed at him not to, but Alfred nimbly moved back into his way.

“You are to sit down this instant young man,” Alfred said lowly. “You will do Master Tim no good in this state.”

“He needs me!”

“He needs you in one piece and I’m afraid walking on that leg right now simply will not keep you in that one piece. Sit. Down.”

Jason’s rage impossibly disappeared, replaced only with anguish. He sat down hard, stretching out his broken leg and damn near sobbing just from the pain of it.

Alfred stayed right by his side, not sitting beside him but still making it very clear that he was there. He was there and he was not leaving.

“Alfie,” Jason’s voice shook. “He needs me. He… He was screaming.”

The screams that had seemed so constant had fallen away, the absence of them only making Jason all the more terrified. That was his brother. That was his little brother and he had been screaming but now he wasn’t.

“Please,” Jason croaked. “I need to help him.”

Over the years, Jason has seen many sides of Alfred. The caring loving side that would do anything to soothe his charges. The hilarious dry humoured side, able to sass even the best of them. The rare but still very real angry side, almost always borne out of concern and fear than true anger.

Jason has seen so many Alfred’s before but he had never seen Alfred look so… Lost, before.

“I believe that Master Tim requires more than simply our company right now.”

The student doctor was rushing back to Jason’s side now, the emergency ward a rush of commotion all around them.

Jason waved her off, glaring even as Alfred tutted his disappointment in him not simply accepting the help.

Just as two big ass orderlies came to help Jason up off the ground, his heart stopped all over again, his head snapping up.

“The others.” He said, near hysterical.

“Are being treated.” Alfred said. “I shall-”

“I need to see them, please, I, Alfred I need to see them. If not Tim, I need to see Dick and Damian, please, let me see them, I need to see them.”

Jason knew that he was being ridiculous, his chest gasping with every breath as panic gripped his heart but the very fact that he hadn’t seen any of them since the explosion, the very fact that he hadn’t even thought about them in the last few minutes in his concern for Tim, utterly terrified him.

“You shall see them once your leg is stabilised, Master Jason.”

“Forget about that,” Jason snapped. “Please, I need to see them. I can handle the pain, but I need to see them.”

“No.” Alfred said firmly.

Jason slammed his head back against the wall, balling a fist and slamming that on the ground too. When he tried to do so again, Alfred tutted and Jason forced himself to take in a ragged breath, only gently leaning his head back as his eyes burned.

If he were stronger, he could have ignored Alfred’s insistence that he sit down. If he were stronger, he could stand on his own two legs, broken or not, and go to his families sides anyway. They needed him right now, just as much as he needed them.

There was one final sob in the direction that Jason thought that Tim was being seen and it tore straight through his heart to think that Tim was scared, that Tim thought that he was alone.

“Please.” Jason croaked. “He needs me.”

“I shall look after our boy.” Alfred assured him. “On the condition that you let these lovely people look after you too.”

Jason didn’t want to. He wanted to be the one to hold Tim as he cried, he wanted to be the one to confirm that his little brother was okay. But pain was running up and down his leg and he just wanted to restart the whole fucking day, go back to before all of this, go back and start again.

“Master Jason.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Jason ground out.

Even with the agreement, Alfred made no move to leave.

“Please, Alfie, just… Make sure he feels safe, yeah?”

“Certainly, Sir.” Alfred said. “After all he, and you, are safe.”

“But the others-”

“Master Bruce is enroute.” Alfred promised. “Master Damian will respond better to his presence than mine and Master Dick is insisting that you younger boys are the priority.”

“Of course he is.” Jason scoffed.

He scrubbed at his face, knocking back the hand of one of the orderlies. He twisted fully to Alfred instead, ignoring as his leg sparked pain.

“We’ll have the same room?”

“I assure you that I will make it so.” Alfred said, even as the student doctor glanced around nervously.

Jason glared at her, taking in a shuddering breath.

He did not want to beg more, he did not want to sound like some pathetic child, but he needed to see them. He needed to know that they really were okay, that they really were alive.

Alfred’s shoulders dipped a little with a sigh.

He came over a little, leaning towards Jason and setting a hand on his shoulder. A single tap before he pulled away, a single tap was all it took to make Jason give in fully because Alfred would look after them. Alfred would make sure they were okay, at least until Jason could be the one right by their sides.

There was a tear then, a hot tear that rolled down his cheek but he made no attempt to wipe it away, his body trembling from the pain in his leg. He knew that he should be handling it better, he knew that he had suffered for so much worse than a simple broken leg, but his vision was almost greying from it, the world spinning a little as he tried to breathe through it.

Somewhere across the hall, above the din of everything else, Jason heard the smallest of whimpers and he knew that it had been Tim, knew it had been his scared and hurt little brother, knew that Jason himself could not go to him, not yet, but he sent out a silent promise to Tim all the same that he would be there soon.

Chapter Text

Damian’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade, brandishing it as the stranger dared to edge closer.

With his back pressed up against the corner of two walls, Damian was going to have little choice but to fight his way out, his heart rabbiting in his chest even though he knew that panic could very well get him killed.

He forced himself to breathe, to focus, but the cries across the hall had gone silent and the other voices had too, the voice that he had recognised as Todd.

Todd had been shouting, he had been damn near screaming to see Drake but he had all at once grown silent and Damian had been left reeling.

When Damian had been torn from Richard’s arms, Richard had told Damian to be brave, to do whatever was asked of him, yet now that there were strangers crowding all around him, Damian wanted to do nothing more than to destroy his enemies and free his siblings from their torment.

The stranger, the one with their hands raised up as if Damian were some scared animal and not a fully trained assassin, inched closer.

They kneeled, still a little ways away from Damian.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Damian. I know this is very scary right now, but you need to let me get the glass out, okay?”

Damian bared his teeth.

The glass shards were nothing compared to the screams that Drake had been making, they were nothing compared to what Richard and Todd had no doubt sustained in the explosion.

Damian had been pushed, hard, crashing down onto the ground even before his instincts kicked in and yet when he was up and on his feet an instant later, Damian had been surrounded by smoke and fire and metal and glass.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart racing ever faster, then realised that he had just given the damn stranger an opening to attack him.

When he snapped open his eyes once more, the nurse had made no move from where he knelt.

“Damian,” The young man said. “My name is Julio. Everything is going to be just fine but I would like to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Damian snarled.

“Yes. You do.”

The glass was nothing. The blood was nothing. All of this was nothing compared to what the others were going through.

He needed to get passed this fool, needed to take Drake away from the Doctors and Nurses, take him somewhere where he wouldn’t have to be so panicked, somewhere he could still be treated for his injuries.

Todd had been yelling, just now and back then.

Todd had been yelling, trying desperately to dig Drake out from beneath the rubble even as his own leg had been covered in blood, twisted in a way it should never have been.

Todd had been yelling and yet now he had fallen silent.

He could be dead. They could all be dead.

Damian’s hand curled ever tighter around his blade, his eyes prickling for some reason.

“Damian.” Julio tried.

Damian pressed his back harder against the wall, his breath catching as one of the glass shards wedged further into his back.

“You need to let me help.”

But Damian was already shaking his head. He didn’t need help. He had been injured, but it was minor. Superficial. The others had much more significant injuries.

Drake had been…

Drake had been crushed by an unknowable amount of weight and Todd’s leg had been clearly out of place and he had been shaking from the clear pain of it. And Richard, Richard had had blood pouring down from his face, and yet he had kept talking softly to Damian as if it had been Damian that needed tending to, not Richard.

The glass was nothing compared to any of that.

“Damian,”

“Don’t touch me.”

There was blood staining Damian’s clothes but he paid it no heed.

He pushed against the wall harder, barely even registering the pain that flared up from his back, too distracted from the pain in his abdomen. Damian winced, biting back a sound, forcing himself not to look to see how big the shard lodged in his side was.

It was superficial, all of it was superficial.

Drake was the injured one.

And Todd.

And Richard.

Richard had been injured and yet he had been holding Damian so gently, as if worried of causing Damian pain. He had been holding Damian until all at once Damian was being pulled away, strangers had pulled Damian away and Damian had screamed. He had screamed and he had fought because they were pulling him away from one of the few people he cared about.

Richard had been injured, he had been injured, Damian must go to him. Must go to him and treat him, must ensure that Richard does not succumb to his wounds.

“Damian, I only want to help. I need you to put down the knife and let me help.”

There should be screams across the hallway and yet Drake’s voice had broken off into pitiful sobs and then nothing.

He was unconscious, or worse, possibly from the sheer fear of this place. Drake had been here too many times, suffered through too many admissions and treatments. Damian must ensure that Doctor Leslie Thompkins, and only Thompkins, treated Drake. She did not work at Gotham General, Damian must go to her clinic and he must bring Drake with him and only then will Drake be safe, only then will he be fully taken care of.

Damian went to stand but he slammed back down onto the ground instead, pain ripping through him.

He breathed through it, locking away the worst of it in the deepest part of his mind, his hand pressed up against his side. His hand was wet and warm, no doubt blood pouring from the wound, but he could not waste any further time on such a superficial injury, not when Drake was most likely unconscious.

Even Todd could be unconscious, his voice having fallen equally quiet.

And Richard…

Damian had not seen Richard since Damian had been ripped from his arms and forced into an ambulance.

There had been so much blood. Drake had been trapped and Todd’s leg had been badly damaged and there had been blood running down Richard’s face and there had been so much blood.

He tried to steel himself, tried to calm his racing heart, but he couldn’t. He should be used to blood, he was used to blood, and yet somehow knowing that it had been the blood of his siblings, knowing that none of them had had the protection of their uniforms…

Damian’s hands were shaking. He willed them to still, especially the one pressed up against the shard of glass in his side, but they wouldn’t.

He looked down but his intention of settling his hands was lost the moment he saw the large shard of glass that was sticking out of his side.

Damian balked, rocking forward.

It was just superficial. It was superficial. He could fight like this. He had fought with far worse injuries and yet here he sat shuddering, each little moment sending pain flare through his back and abdomen, barely even registering the small shards that littered his arm.

“Damian,”

Julio’s voice was different, so different that it made his head snap up.

That wasn’t Julio. Juilo had backed away, replaced instead with…

Damian’s heart dropped.

“This is nothing, Father,” He said quickly.

“Damian, you need to let them help.”

“I do not require help.” Damian’s heart raced ever faster. “Father, you must go to them, you must-”

“Damian.” Father said.

“I can tolerate this, Drake must be-”

“Damian.” Father said again. “Breathe, Son.”

Damian tried. He tried but he couldn’t.

There had been so much blood. There had been screaming and so much blood. There was still so much blood and Damian should be used to blood, he needed to be used to blood, but the smell made him dizzy and his breath kept catching and his chest was stuttering and something was wrong.

Something was wrong but Damian could not allow that to get in the way of his sibling’s treatment.

He was stronger than this, he had to be stronger than this.

“They…” Damian’s voice was raw. “Father, there was so much blood.”

“I know.”

“They, I, I was useless to stop it. I did not detect the device, I should have known, I should have prevented this.”

“Damian.” Father said. “Breathe.”

Father was not inching forward, not like Julio had been. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, a few feet away from Damian, his hands facing upwards on his knees as if to show he did not have a weapon.

New panic slammed into Damian because Father was without a weapon. He was far from defenceless without one but he was still at a distinct disadvantage, Father was in danger.

Damian would protect him, prove to Father once and for all that he was capable, that he was trustworthy.

And yet Damian’s hand was shaking, gripping the hilt of his blade so tightly that his fingers hurt. The other hand was shaking just as badly, pain ripping through him as a particularly strong gasp made the glass shift.

“Drake.” Damian said. “You must go to him.”

“Tim is…”

Father hesitated.

Father never hesitates.

Father is bold and confident and sure of his every action, his every word, and yet he was now hesitating.

Drake was dead.

Drake was dead and it was Damian’s fault. He should have known the danger, should have detected the explosive device long before it went off.

Drake was dead and Father understood that it was all Damian’s fault.

“Damian, Tim is alive.” Father said. “He is in a critical condition, but he is alive. And he would want me to be here with you.”

Damian shook his head hard.

Drake did not care for him, not more than his recurrent medical based anxiety. Drake needed to be watched, he needed to have company by his side to ensure not only would he not touch any intravenous lines that were attached to him but also to ensure that he never once felt as though he had been abandoned.

Drake needed the support.

“Damian.” Father said yet again. “Tim is getting the best care he can be right now. So are Jason and Dick.”

Damian rocked forward, the memory of Richard’s bloodied face flashing right before his eyes.

He cursed himself, sitting up straight instead only to have new pain lance through him, the glass digging into his skin.

“It…” Damian breathed through the pain. “It is superficial. Tend to Drake. To Todd.”

To Richard.

Richard had been bleeding.

There had been so much blood. Damian was supposed to be used to blood.

More blood was coating his own hand now and Damian barely even registered the small whine as his own.

“You need to let us help you.”

Damian swept the knife towards Father but Father did not so much as blink.

Realising that Father would not leave until he had been tended to, even though Damian’s wounds were clearly superficial, Damian gripped onto the shard of glass in his side and pulled.

“No!”

Father was shooting forward, his eyes wide, hand already reaching out toward him.

Damian went to knock Father’s hands away from himself but all at once the world was shifting, spinning all around him, his hand dropping uselessly to the side, the glass clattering to the floor.

Everything was… Wrong.

Damian should be, he should be doing something. Saying something. But everything was wrong and everything was distant and there were big hands pressing hard up against his side. Familiar hands.

He only dimly registered that his head had tilted forward when he tried to rise it, finding it almost to heavy to do so.

Damian blinked slowly, wondering if he had ever seen Father so truely worried.

But why was Father worried? Why was he speaking loudly to Damian, telling him to stay awake?

Why were there people all at once crowding around them?

“Fa…ther?”

“Stay with me, Damian, everything’s going to be just fine Son but you need to stay with me.”

Damian hummed.

He was shifted then, a sharp cry of pain echoing all around him as he was suddenly laid down onto his back.

There was the smell of blood, shrouding all else as the world started to grow dark.

Damian should be used to blood.

He had been used to blood, at least until Father and Richard showed him that there was another way to live.

He should be used to blood and yet when Damian raised his hand and saw red, tears prickled his eyes.

A hand gripped onto his own, tugging it away from his field of vision, a firm pressure still on his side as strangers shouted all around him.

“I’m here, Son,” Father said. “I’m right here with you.”

“Baba…”

“I’m here, Damian.”

“You should…” Damian’s voice was distant even to himself. “You should go to Timothy. He… He was… He was scared…”

Damian Wayne al Ghul himself does not get scared.

He cannot get scared, not when his older brothers would be depending on him in the coming days.

He does not get scared but as his eyes slipped closed, Damian felt genuine fear run through him because he had been pulled away from Richard’s arms and now it felt like he was being pulled away from Father’s too.

Chapter Text

The adrenaline that had buoyed Dick, kept him focused, had started to drain away from the very moment that Damian had been pulled from his arms.

He had tried to reassure his baby brother, tried so damn hard to tell him that it was going to be okay, even as his own vision was pulsing in and out. The whole world had been spinning around him, but he shoved that all aside.

Tim had still been trapped when Dick was guided up and onto his feet so Dick had pulled away from the paramedics, brushing them off so that he could instead go to Tim’s side but he had stumbled.

Dick had stumbled and he had fallen, a ringing in his ears replacing all other sound at least until Damian cried out sharply as he was taken fully away.

Dick had forced himself upwards, shot towards his little Robin in panicked desperation, guilt tearing through him worse than any pain could, guilt for having ever thought to leave him alone for even an instant.

Dick had made it all of three steps towards Damian before he had slammed back down on the ground, the rest coming in pulses.

Being taken to his own waiting ambulance.

Trying and failing to get out of it.

Trying and failing to come off the gurney as it was brought into the emergency room.

Trying and failing to see his brothers, screaming their names in the hope they could hear him.

Worse than the pulses of awareness were the moments that Dick realised that he had lost time.

His consciousness was coming in and out, the whole world spinning around his as nausea ran through him. He tried to shove the pain aside, it was merely a concussion, but it kept overwhelming him, the darkness claiming him each time he thought he might actually make it up to his feet.

Dick only dimly remembered Alfred being there, if that had truely been Alfred and not just some figment of his imagination. He had begged Alfred to go to the others, begged him to let Dick himself go to them.

Alfred had patted his hand, assuring him that he would see them in time, but then the darkness claimed him once more and when Dick came back into himself he found that Alfred was gone.

Dick had allowed himself a single tear then before steeling himself, forcing himself up and onto his feet.

“Whoah whoah, no, we’re not doing that.”

It wasn’t Dick that had spoken, his mouth like cotton as he was wrangled back onto the bed.

Dick shoved the stranger away but they were stronger than they looked, or Dick was far more weak than he had realised.

When Dick tilted far too much to the right, that very same stranger corrected him again, lightly but firmly pushing him until his back was against the raised head of the bed.

“Dick, right?”

“You’re a dick.” Dick said, his words slurring.

There was a chuckle then, one that made Dick’s head hurt more.

The stranger was a nurse, or maybe a nurse practictioner, Dick wasn’t really sure and he really didn’t care about the distinction because he needed to find his brothers, he needed to make sure they were okay.

“Dick,” The stranger said. “You have something called a concussion. It’s going to make things a little weird for a little while but everything is going to be okay.”

Dick glared at him but if anything it just hurt.

When Dick went to stand again, the nurse kept him down not with a hand this time but with words.

“I have news about Damian,”

Dick faltered, his heart racing and head spinning.

“But,” The man said. “I will only tell you if you stay here on this bed.”

Absolutely not, he could not stay here, not when Damian was hurt. Not when Jason and Tim needed him. Fuck, Tim had been trapped, he had been trapped and yet Dick had been forced away from him.

Dick’s eyes burned all over again.

“Dick.” The man said. “That is the deal. You stay here on this bed and I tell you about Damian, okay?”

Dick shook his head hard but nausea rose up all at once and he barely kept himself from throwing up.

The nurse didn’t even seem surprised, holding out a vomit bag that Dick knocked away.

Dick groaned, letting himself fall fully back against the bed, his strength waning.

“Fine.” He muttered.

“Excellent.”

Dick glared at him again, the pain absolutely worth it because fuck this guy in particular.

“My name is Juilo, I am a nurse practitioner for the emergency ward here at Gotham General.”

“How’s Damian?” Dick demanded.

“Alive.” Julio said.

While that was the bare minimum, Dick still felt relief crash into him.

Damian was alive.

He was alive.

“What do you remember of what happened before you were brought here.”

“There was an explosion. Dami, he… There was glass.”

Dick had tried to subtly keep the glass from shifting while making sure that Damian’s focus remained on Dick and only Dick. Damian had been terrified, his own adrenaline that usually kept him precision focused instead making him jolt with every sound, every movement.

“Yes.” Julio said.

Dick blinked hard, his head dipping forward because there were two Julio’s dancing in front of him.

It was just a concussion, he told himself. It was nothing. He’s dealt with far worse before. His stomach didn’t seem to agree, flipping again.

“Is he… Okay?” Dick asked, as carefully as he could.

“There were complications but Damian has been stabilised.”

Dick’s eyes widened but Julio was quick to continue.

“Damian was just a little bit stressed and in that stress he accidentally pulled out the largest shard of glass from his abdomen. This caused some bleeding which we controlled and he will be heading into surgery soon to remove the rest of the glass.”

Knowing Damian, it hadn’t been an accident.

Dick needed to go to him.

He surged up but Julio was once again quicker, keeping him on the bed.

“He is in good hands, Dick,”

“Get the fuck out of my way, he’s my baby brother.”

“I know,” Julio said. “Just like how I know that he would want you being looked after too. Mr. Wayne was with him, and will stay with him until he is brought to theatre.”

Dick faltered again.

“Bruce?” He croaked.

“Yes.” Julio said. “He is the one who told me you should know.”

Bruce was here which meant that Damian wasn’t alone.

Dick’s eyes burned.

Damian wasn’t alone but he was hurt, badly enough to need surgery, and while Bruce was by his side Dick wanted to be too but the whole world was spinning and his head was pounding.

“He’s okay?”

“He’s okay.” Julio said. “The surgery will only take a few hours. He will be put into recovery but as long as you rest enough, you should be able to see him when he’s out.”

“The others,” Dick said.

“I have only been treating Damian,” Julio said.

“I need to see them.”

“You need to rest.” Julio countered. “I understand your worry but don’t forget that you have been injured too. You need to stay as relaxed as possible.”

“The only way that I will relax is if I see them.” Dick countered, even as his head spun.

Julio looked at Dick then, truely looked at him and Dick summoned all his strength to sit fully upright and meet his gaze, proving that he was fully capable of whatever was necessary if it meant that he could see his brothers.

“Dick.” Julio said. “You have a concussion.”

“Not my first.” Dick said.

Definitely wasn’t going to be his last either.

“All the more reason why you need to rest. I will see what updates I can get on the other boys but you need to stay right here and rest.”

Dick’s skin buzzed, needing to go directly to them and see with his own eyes that they were okay. He gritted his teeth, putting on his fake smile and nodding.

“Thank you.” Dick said.

Julio shifted on his feet.

“I’m serious.” Julio said. “You need to stay here. No walking around. No getting overly worked up. No screens. Rest and I’ll be your eyes and ears out there.”

“Or,” Dick said. “I could just-“

“I am not transferring you to their rooms either.” Julio said sternly. “When you are reassessed in a few hours, you will be moved from the emergency ward and put into the Wayne suite but until then we are keeping you here for monitoring.”

“But I’m-”

“You don't have to pretend.” Julio said. “I have seen enough patients pretend that they’re fine just for the sake of their families, only to take a bad turn. I’m not your family, Dick, I’m here as a nurse practitioner. If the pain gets too bad or the lights and sounds are too much, you tell me, or any of the other staff around here.”

“They need me.” Dick said.

“Yes.” Julio said. “But you need rest. You need to let yourself get some genuine rest, Dick, and trust that the rest of my team have got control over everything else.”

For as much control as Julio claimed they had, Dick still heard Tim’s screams echoing in the back of his head.

Tim had been in pain.

Tim had been scared, genuinely truely scared, and Dick had been stuck here in this damn room so busy trying not to puke that Dick hadn’t been able to go to him.

“Rest, Dick.” Julio said. “Mr. Wayne will come by as soon as Damian is ready for surgery, I’m sure.”

Dick shook his head, the whole world swaying from the motion.

“He will go to Tim.” Dick said. “Then Jay.”

“I’m sure that-”

“He will go to Tim.” Dick said firmly. “Tim does not handle being in hospital, he never has.”

By the way Julio hummed, Dick couldn’t help but wonder if Julio had helped with any of Tim’s prior admissions.

“Damian,” Dick said. “Was he…”

Dick swallowed roughly.

“Stressed.”Julio said carefully, almost like he had said it before. “But we handled it.”

“He did something stupid, didn’t he?”

Julio’s laugh was so sudden that he himself seemed surprised by it.

“You could say that.” He said, regaining his professional but cool composure. “But Damian is going to be okay.”

Yeah, after fucking surgery.

Dick felt sick and it had nothing to do with his spinning head.

“Dick,” Julio said. “Rest. I will see what I can find out about the others. I will see if Mr. Wayne will come by, or Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Mr. Pennyworth.” Dick mused. “No, no I’m fine here alone. I, uh, won’t leave.”

“Dick.”

“I won’t.” Dick said.

He scrubbed his face, biting back a hiss when the healing cut on his head hurt.

“I think… I think I’m just going to sleep for a bit.”

“I will be back soon.” Julio promised.

“With news.”

“With what news I can get.” Julio said. “This is still just preliminary assessments.”

“Yeah, of course.” Dick said faintly.

“Dick? Are you alright?”

His brothers were hurt and here he was sitting in his own private room, of course he wasn’t alright. He nodded all the same, nausea rising up from the movement.

“Again.” Julio said. “I am not someone you need to protect. You can be honest. In fact, every single Doctor, Nurse and Nurse Practitioner here need you to be honest.”

“I’m okay.” Dick said. “Honestly. I just need rest, like you keep saying. As long as you tell me everything you can about Damian, Tim and Jason.”

Julio watched him for a moment longer and Dick slipped on his best reassuring smile.

For a moment, Julio still looked concerned for some reason. Then he nodded.

When Julio finally left, Dick fought every urge to just get off of the bed and go straight to his brothers. If anything, the fact that he would need to decide who to go first to made him stay where he was.

Tim had been screaming, even if Dick barely remembered the sounds above the din of everything else, his own memories of the screams fleeting but still certain.

Jason had shouted, but only for a short time. More likely out of concern for the others than anything else. Good. Jason would make sure they get tended to, even if Dick was stuck here in this room.

Damian had been ‘stressed’. He had removed the largest piece of glass by himself which meant that he most likely started bleeding out immediately.

Dick’s heart stuttered.

Damian had been bleeding out. Even if Julio claimed that Damian had been stabilised, it didn’t change the fact that he had been severely injured and most likely scared and yet Dick was stuck in this fucking room.

Sure, Bruce was with him but Damian handles admissions just as well as Tim does, which was to say not at all.

Dick himself hated hospital too, of course he did. He had too many memories, from significant injuries that had been hard to come back from. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be home. He wanted all of them to be home but if all three of his brothers had been taken to the Emergency room and had not yet been released then they obviously needed to be here.

The world was spinning even as Dick closed his eyes.

He curled up, forcing down the nausea.

It was just a concussion. A few hours or days feeling like absolute shit and then he’d be fine. No. He could sleep it off in an hour or two and then he’ll go to Jason’s side. No, Damian’s side. No, Damian was going to be in surgery, and Tim was too considering how much weight had landed on him.

Dick’s heart raced.

Tim was hurt, bad, because he had prioritised pushing Damian away over his own safety.

Tim had been the first to notice the explosive device, immediately clocked what portion of the building was most in danger of collapse and he had pushed Damian away even before Dick had registered that there was a threat.

The glass had been unpredictable, the shards already piercing Damian’s back, abdomen and arm before Dick managed to get to him.

Dick should have done better. He needed to have done better. He should have saved them, he could have saved him.

Curling tighter into a ball, the lights felt like they were searing above him.

Jason was hurt too and Dick had never wanted him to ever get hurt again. His leg had been covered in blood and judging from how hard he had gritted his teeth when he had scrambled over to free Tim as Dick had gone to Damian, Dick knew that there was at the very least one serious break in it, if not multiple.

His baby brothers were hurt and yet Dick could have stopped it. He should have detected the threat. He should have dismantled it long before it went off. Sure, he might have still gotten a concussion in the process if it exploded anyway but he should have been able to protect them.

Dick’s head was screaming, even when he covered his eyes and ears.

Everything was too much; too bright, too loud, too painful.

He breathed hard, knowing he had no right to complain when Jason, Tim and Damian were so hurt, but the pain kept building.

He wanted Bruce but Bruce needed to stay with Damian. He should stay with Damian. Then if Tim wasn’t yet in surgery, Bruce would go to Tim and make certain that he knew he was not alone. Then Bruce would, should, go to Jason. Bruce would assure Jason that he was proud, would rightly proclaim that he had done the right thing in trying to save Tim.

And then maybe Bruce would come to Dick.

Bruce would not be proud of Dick.

Bruce could not be proud of Dick, not after Dick had failed his little brothers.

Chapter Text

For all that has happened in his life, for all the mistakes that he has made, Bruce has never regretted taking in his kids.

There had been days of course where he grew frustrated, with them and with himself; days where he wished just for once they had not taken to a life of crime fighting like he had, or where he wished that they would simply just listen to him and not do such reckless things.

Days where he just wanted, no needed, silence.

But there were also days where his children made him glow with pride, where he looked to them and saw a bright future he had never thought was truely possible for Gotham. They were the lifeblood of the city, the lifeblood of him.

There were days where the fact that they outnumbered him so greatly was almost like a punchline, the end to the joke that seemed always directed at him as he entered a room where one son was hanging off of a chandelier, a son was doing the most dramatic retelling of A Christmas Carol that has ever been performed, a daughter that was avidly listening to the retelling while sitting perched on the top of a three hundred year old cabinet while another son was hacking into the Lego companies mainframe because hacking into The Pentagon was far too boring and childish of course, a foster son who was having an absolute blast throwing popcorn up to the young man hanging from the chandelier while his youngest sat on the couch surrounded by not only a Great Dane and a Cat, but a racoon that Bruce distinctly remembers not being a member of the family the day before.

Of course there were also days where his children were not just those he legally had become a guardian for but so many others too, the once silent house filled with laughter and joy and maybe only some pranks.

And then there were the days where the fact that they outnumbered him made him feel nothing but carnal fear.

There were too many of them.

Bruce prided himself on understanding situations and making a decision in the blink of an eye but when he has four sons each in a different room with varying medical treatments underway, he found that he truly was outnumbered.

The priority at first was to stay with Damian.

Given his history, Damian struggled to show weakness, even if he was slowly realising that he could depend on Jason and Tim in his times of need, not just Dick and Bruce, and Bruce was starting to suspect that Duke was quickly making his way onto that honoured list.

Even with Bruce soothing him as best he could, Damian had pulled a shard of glass from his abdomen and had immediately started bleeding out right in front of him. Bruce had stayed right by Damian’s side as the Doctors and nurses rushed to manage the bleeding, staying with him even long after Damian had lost consciousness.

Bruce had walked alongside Damian as he was taken to the operating theatre, almost going passed the line that declared it a sterile area in his desperation to stay by his young son in his time of need.

There were three other sons for Bruce to go to next but he could not go to each of them.

While the head doctor had promised to have a full conversation with Bruce as soon as the extent of his boy’s injuries were discovered, he had been told in brief terms that not only Damian but Jason and Tim also required surgery to tend to their significant injuries. Dick was at this point the most stable, his head injury currently classed as a concussion though he was being monitored for any sign of change.

Bruce wished to go to Dick but he knew the moment he saw his eldest, Dick would demand that he go to the other boys. It was not that Dick’s injuries were insignificant, he could be actively dying and terrified and he would still ask for Bruce to go to them.

Bruce wished to go to Jason but he knew the moment he saw the boy, old memories would juxtapose current events. While as far as Bruce had been told, Jason’s only injury had been to his leg, he couldn’t help but remember how he had felt in his arms all those years ago. So cold. So still. It had been an explosion back then too, an explosion Bruce had been incapable of stopping.

Bruce wished to go to Tim but when Bruce had passed by the room with Damian, he saw that his boy had been surrounded by so many Doctors that were working on saving his life that Bruce couldn’t bear the thought of compromising his care. Tim did not handle hospitals well, he never had. Hospitals were overstimulating even without any pain or blood and considering how scared Damian had been for Tim, there had been a lot of pain.

“Mr. Wayne,”

Bruce did not know how long he had been standing there at the line that divided where he could and could not go.

Damian was across that line.

Dick, Jason and Tim were on this side, at least for now.

He should go to them.

He needed to go to them.

“Mr. Wayne.”

A hand, gentle, on his elbow.

Bruce should have avoided it, he should have known about the movement long before it had been completed.

There was a young man in mauve scrubs, comfortable shoes, a tattoo snaking down his right forearm and while Bruce did not see the full design he deduced by the pins on his lanyard that it was a Star Wars tattoo.

Tim would have loved to see the finer details.

Would love, Bruce corrected himself. Tim was alive. He was going to stay alive. He was going to see this tattoo in all its glory.

Bruce knew this man.

He had been in Damian’s room. He had been trying to calm Damian, and the very fact that the nurse did not seem to have any marks from Damian’s knife told Bruce everything he needed to know, even if he had not fully managed to settle Bruce’s youngest.

“Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce distantly realised that he had just been staring at the nurse, Julio Alves his name tag proclaimed.

Alves was still touching Bruce’s elbow, though all at once the man was stepping away, letting Bruce go.

“Sorry,” Alves said. “My name is Julio and I have just been talking to Dick and I think that you should go visit him, he could use a-”

“Tim.” Bruce said.

Julio blinked.

“I will go to Tim. He does not tolerate hospitals very well. Once he is safely in surgery, I will go to Jason.”

“Mr. Wayne, I really-”

“I will go to Tim.” Bruce repeated even as his feet refused to move. “Then I will go to Jason. If Jason requires surgery as well, I will go to Dick.”

“Mr. Wayne, I understand that Dick would just tell you to-”

“I will go to Tim.”

Bruce would need to find Alfred also, make sure that Jason is not alone for too long before Bruce was able to get to him. While Jason had had far fewer admissions into Gotham General compared to Tim, he still did not handle medical treatment, especially if it included any medications or needles.

Bruce should go to Jason.

No, he needed to go to Tim.

Yes. Tim. Then Jason. Then Dick.

Bruce was decisive in all things. He had to be decisive in all things. He would go to Tim except maybe Dick’s head injury had been more serious than first expected, or maybe he should wait right here outside of the surgery ward in case Damian’s condition worsens as soon as he is put under but he also needed to go to Jason, ensure that Jason understood that he was loved and cherished, understood that this was not going to be like before.

Bruce was decisive in all things.

Bruce was stuck in a hallway, his youngest having been taken somewhere he could not follow while his other boys, his sweet boys, lay in three different rooms.

Tim would be brought by here soon so perhaps Bruce should stay, see him on his way to surgery except that would feel too much like a goodbye and this wasn’t a goodbye, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Bruce was decisive in all things. He had decided to bring these children into his life and now they lay dying because Bruce had not been there to keep them safe.

“Mr. Wayne, Sir?”

“Tim.” Bruce forced out.

“I, uh, I’ll take you right to him. Just so you know though, Tim is in a critical condition and it is possible that you won’t be able to stay by his side while they are treating him.”

“Tim.” Bruce said again, all other words failing him.

When Bruce walked, his movements were stilted, his heart heavy in his chest knowing that he was walking away from Damian.

Damian was unconscious and would be put under anaesthetic but while Bruce had warned the doctors that he had resistance to drugs and their effects, he did not know if the doctors had really understood to what extent.

This was not simply someone who lives in Gotham being hardier than the average civilian from Metropolis due to the chemicals they are constantly exposed to; Damian’s had been trained his entire life to fight back against poisons and toxins and Bruce has never had to have him be fully put under before.

Bruce should be with him, he had to be with him.

But Tim needed him too, Tim was no doubt terrified at the simple fact that he was once again here in these walls and that wasn’t even mentioning the significant injuries he had endured because Bruce had not been there.

Bruce had not been there and now Damian had damn near bled out right in front of his eyes, Dick was no doubt downplaying his own condition and Jason had apparently been walking on a severely broken leg and Tim was in a critical condition.

There were too many of them.

There were too many of them and they were suffering because he had not been there to protect them.

Bruce barely even registered the hallways until he was all at once standing outside a small room in the Emergency ward.

He blinked hard, cursing his fleeting focus. He could not afford to go numb, not now, not when they needed him.

“Dick is right this way,” Julio said.

Bruce froze.

“Tim.” He said.

“Yes, but Tim is in a critical-”

“Tim.” Bruce said ever more firmly.

If he saw Dick, Dick would only insist that he see to the others. Bruce was beyond proud of his boy but also he could not stand the thought of looking Dick in the eye and admitting that he had not yet seen Tim and Jason for himself.

No, Dick had to come last.

“Mr. Wayne,” A new voice said. “Perfect timing.”

When Bruce turned, the movement was stiff.

“I understand that all of this is a lot right now, Mr. Wayne,” The woman, Doctor Storey, said. “But Tim is just about ready to go into surgery and I thought you might want to see him beforehand.”

Bruce nodded his head once, his body feeling empty.

He reached out towards Dick’s room in silent promise that he would return. Then he turned crisply on his heel, falling into step with Doctor Storey.

“Tim is unconscious,” She warned. “But we also both know that Tim can quickly snap from being unconscious to climbing out of a window.”

Bruce did not, could not, chuckle. He only nodded his head again, trying hard not to think about how small Damian’s body would be on that operating table. Trying hard not to think about how bad Jason’s leg was. Trying hard not to think about how he had been so close to seeing Dick only to walk away from him.

“Also fair warning,” She said. “I have needed to insert a chest tube as his lung collapsed.”

“I…” Bruce felt empty. “I understand.”

“It is going to be confronting.”

“I understand.” He repeated, trying to sound more sure about it.

If he had been Batman, perhaps he could have sounded more convinced. Perhaps he would have never hesitated in that hallway. Perhaps none of this would have happened in the first place.

He was not Batman, not right now, and yet he only felt like a shadow compared to Bruce Wayne right now.

His boys were hurt. They were hurt and he could not fix any of it.

The rest of Doctor Storey’s report washed over him and while Bruce knew that he should be listening, he needed to know every single minute detail, he found his mind drifting.

The moment that the sea of Doctors and Nurses parted, revealing a bed with a too small boy covered in a mess of blood and tubes and wires, Bruce drifted further away from reality. Then he steeled himself, forced himself to feel, to understand.

In three quick strides he was there, his hand hovering over Tim’s own for barely even a moment before he was gripping onto it and squeezing tightly.

Tim did not squeeze back.

There was an oxygen mask fixed on Tim’s face, one that Tim made absolutely no attempt to rid himself of, with too many IV’s to really keep track of giving him a mixture of blood, fluids and medications.

Bruce kept Tim’s hand in his own, twisting sharply to Doctor Storey.

“He’s already on antibiotics.” She promised.

Bruce’s jaw ticked but he nodded all the same.

He reached out with his other hand, not quite knowing where he could touch without causing pain. He settled for brushing Tim’s hair from his face and when Tim didn’t immediately stir, Bruce found that his heart sank.

“Son,” He said.

Tim’s chest rose and fell with weak breaths.

One of the monitors alerted and Bruce’s whole existence stopped but Doctor Storey was quick to step towards him.

“He’s holding strong.” She said. “But we need to take him into surgery now.”

Tim’s chest rose and fell with weak breaths and it was like it was tearing Bruce apart.

“You sedated him.”

“Unfortunately, we had no choice.”

Anger flared in him then, true anger, because Doctor Storey has treated him enough times to know full well Tim’s stance on being subjected to any type of medications that weren’t antibiotics, sedatives included.

While Bruce could agree that pain management was required in this situation, he could not understand why Tim would have ever been sedated.

“Tim was extremely combative.”

“He was scared.” Bruce countered.

“Mr. Wayne. Bruce. I’m on your side here. I’m sorry that Tim needed to be sedated, I truely am, but he was putting his body through too much.”

There was an oxygen mask on Tim’s face, multiple lines running through his arms and hands and yet Tim made no move to get rid of any of it.

Tim’s vitals dipped a little again.

Bruce breathed in, held it, let it go. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss against Tim’s forehead.

The vitals picked back up.

“I am here, Tim,” Bruce said quietly. “And I will be here, for as long as you need. You have done so well, just hold on a little longer, Sweetheart, and we’ll go home as soon as we can.”

Bruce waited for Tim’s hand to shift, or his eyelids to flutter. Waited for him to show any sign at all that he even knew that Bruce was there, but all Tim did was breathe weakly.

Just as Bruce had done for Damian, Bruce went all the way to the line for Tim, holding his hand up until the very point where he was forced to let go. He still waited a moment longer, swearing once more that Tim wasn’t alone, that he would never be alone, and then he let go of his son’s hand and let him be taken away.

The nurse had stayed with Bruce too, even though he certainly had more responsibilities that he should be focusing on. When Bruce was finally ready to leave that boundary between where he could and couldn’t go, Julio was right there next to him.

“Mr. Wayne, I understand that Dick wants you to-”

“I will go to Jason.”

“But-”

“I will go to Jason.” Bruce repeated.

His legs felt heavy with each step, having left a piece of himself with Damian and Tim.

When he got to Jason’s room, Bruce forced away any sign of hesitation, going directly to Jason’s bed.

Alfred nodded a greeting while Jason himself had scrambled up, eyes wide, mouth already asking a thousand questions about the others, questions that all at once fell quite.

“Old Man?”

Bruce straightened.

“What happened?” Jason demanded.

“Nothing, Son.”

“Nothing?” Jason scoffed. “Then why the fuck do you look like someone died right in your arms?”

“Master Jason,” Alfred said.

Jason twisted sharply away, his arms crossed.

“I’m okay.” Jason said. “I’m not… Going, this time.”

Bruce was dimly aware that Julio was still just a few feet behind him, giving them space while still definitely in ear shot but Jason didn’t seem to care at all.

“I’m not dying so get that damn look off your face.”

Jason’s leg had been bound, the trembling in his muscles making it clear that he had thus far refused pain medication.

Bruce knew that he should try to convince Jason to accept it, the break no doubt significant if it got Jason of all people shaking like that. He knew he should reassure Jason that both Damian and Tim were being well taken care of, assure him that he would next visit Dick.

There were a thousand different things that Bruce could say and yet all he managed to do was take those final steps to Jason’s bedside, his hand reaching out towards his little boy’s only to not quite reach it.

It was Jason himself who let out a sigh, closing the distance until their hands were folded together. Then Jason gave out another sigh, this one far more shuddering.

“I’m okay.” Jason said. “So please… Just tell me that they are too.”

Bruce nodded.

Relief crashed into Jason’s features but when he tried to grin it was still strained.

“Alfie’s here,” Jason said. “I’m good. Go to Dick.”

“You won’t walk?”

“He certainly will not.” Alfred said primly.

“Oh please,” Jason said. “It’s just three breaks, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Three breaks.

In one leg.

With no pain medication.

And Bruce had been told that the first thing that Jason had done was walk on it.

“Jeez, Bruce,” Jason said. “You look like I just shot your dog.”

“You will not walk.” Bruce said firmly. “And you will accept pain medication and any treatment you require including surgery.”

“What? No way, I’m good, there’s no way in fuck that I’d-”

Jason stopped then.

He tilted his head, watching Bruce for a few moments in silence.

“They were bad, weren’t they?”

Bruce did not, could not, answer him.

“I, uh,” Jason cleared his throat. “Maybe some meds wouldn’t be so bad.”

“And surgery.”

“Not until they’re out.” Jason said. “I need to see them.”

Bruce’s nails dug into the palms of his hands.

“I believe what Master Jason is trying to say, Master Bruce, is that he will accept any and all treatments he needs because he understands that not only is he deserving of such treatment but it will also be what is best for his siblings in their own treatments if he leads in example.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Older Man.” Jason growled. “But yeah, whatever. No opioids.”

“No opioids.” Bruce promised.

Bruce stayed a moment longer, Jason leaning into the touch when Bruce kissed the top of his head. He nodded his thanks to Alfred, Alfred in turn giving him a reassuring look to say that he was doing well.

“Dad?”

Bruce turned to him.

“They’re gonna be alright, yeah?”

“Yes.” Bruce said. “You are all going to be just fine, Jaylad.”

Jason hummed, his eyes wet.

Alfred brought Jason’s attention to himself, letting Bruce do what he needed to.

Julio was for some reason almost buzzing at the doorway.

“Tell whoever necessary that Jason will submit to all treatments except opioids.” Bruce said.

“I will,” Julio said. “But first I think you should go to Dick.”

“Lead the way.”

“It’s about time I check on him anyway,” Julio said as they walked. “During the explosion, Dick sustained a minor head injury causing a mild concussion. He has been nauseous but will not admit to any other symptoms. I have reason to believe that he has double vision, and he was repeating the occasional sentence. He has suffered concussions before?”

Too many to count.

Bruce nodded stiffly.

“As I’m sure you’re aware then, prior conclusions increases the risk of more significant injury,” Julio said. “But we have been keeping a close eye on him and-”

And Dick was not in the room that he was supposed to be in.

No, it wasn’t that. He wasn’t in the bed he was supposed to be in.

As Julio blinked in surprise at the door, Bruce swept into the room, instantly going towards the other side of the bed.

He found Dick on the ground, a line of red running down his face as his body jolted in unnatural movements.

Bruce crashed down onto his knees, pulling Dick onto his side, keeping his airway clear as he barked towards Juilo to get help.

Dick was still seizing, his eyes only half open, his breath coming out strange as his body spasmed.

“Easy easy,” Bruce murmured, running fingers through his hair. “I’ve got you, shh, it’s okay.”

If Dick could hear him at all, he showed no sign. The seizure was getting stronger, Dick’s head snapping back but Bruce made sure to keep him on his side.

The rest came all too quickly, even though every second felt like a millennia.

Dick was taken away, rushed to that very same line that Bruce could not cross that his other boy’s had been taken to.

Bruce found himself standing at that line, his soul empty.

There were too many of them.

He loved each of them, truely and deeply, but there were too many of them and only one of him and here he was at that line for the third time in less than an hour and soon enough Jason would be crossing that line too and there was nothing at all Bruce could do to protect him.

Protect any of them.

Bruce did not realise that he was moving until his fist was already slamming against the wall.

There was a hand, gentle on his elbow, and for one foolish moment he thought that it was Tim’s.

He looked up, finding instead Duke Thomas.

Bruce tried to gather himself, tried to reassure Duke that everything was okay, but the moment Duke was wrapping his arms around Bruce, Bruce felt himself crumble completely.

Chapter Text

“I am here, Tim,”

The voice was quiet, even amongst the silence.

“And I will be here, for as long as you need.”

So quiet.

So distant.

So… Sad, somehow?

“You have done so well, just hold on a little longer, Sweetheart,”

There was a hand, holding his own but all else, the pain, the fear, all of it had faded. The other hands had been forceful, holding him down, forcing masks onto him, but this one was gentle. This one was special.

It was not holding him down, but giving him something to hold himself up with.

“And we’ll go home as soon as we can.”

Tim liked that voice.

He liked that he had a home.

But then away, because everything and every always goes away.

He should be used to it.

He did not want to be used to it.

For an eternity, there was no other voices. No reassurances. No reprimands. There was simply… Nothing. The nothingness was all consuming, lasting an eternity. Maybe it had only ever been nothingness, maybe that voice, and that hand, had never really been real.

But then that voice came back, even if the hand did not.

The voice had been so sweet earlier, sad yes, but it was loving. So loving. This time, it wasn’t loving. It was angry. Not yelling, not yet, but certainly not the soothing tones from earlier.

“What’s this?”

“Advanced Care Directives, Sir.”

“No.”

“Master Bruce,”

“Get out.”

“Master Dick has set out very clear guidelines. He is not to be revived through any method except cardiopulmonary compressions and rescue breathes. No magic and no Lazarus Pits are to be used.”

“Get. Out.”

“Master Jason has also signed for the same terms. However, he wishes that-”

There was a sound then, a fist splintering against wood, and Tim jolted except he didn’t move at all.

The older voice had continued all the same, and while his tone had never changed for some reason Tim knew that the older man’s eyes were wet.

Tim… Tim did not want to hear this.

He asked the abyss to take him back now, begged it to take him back, but it didn’t.

They weren’t at that point yet, Tim would know if they were at that point, and yet the mere thought of losing Dick? Losing Jason? Unfathomable. Advanced directives or otherwise, if either of them truely died Tim would do anything it took to bring them back.

He would not lose them.

Could not lose them.

He was… He was losing them, not his brothers but the voices. They were fading, growing ever fainter except Tim did not want to be alone again so he focused. He focused on the voices, on his Father and Grandfather’s voices.

At some point Bruce had become not just a little bit upset but outright angry, his fist colliding once again against something but Alfred only continued on.

“And as for Young Master Da-”

The sound of a shoe against the ground then, Bruce no doubt whipping around to face Alfred.

Bruce does not make sounds, not less he either wants to or he is so out of control that he cannot focus enough to be soundless.

“Damian does not have an advanced directive.” Bruce seethed.

“He does, Sir.”

“No.” Bruce snarled now. “He’s just a child.”

“A child who has seen far too much suffering, Master Bruce. A child that has also seen what happens to those who wish to prolong their lives.”

“Get. Out.”

Once again, ever unflappable, Alfred just continued on.

“As you are already aware, Master Tim has in his own Adva-”

“Whoah whoah, Bruce,” A new voice then. “Easy, Alfred’s just trying to help.”

Duke, Tim realised.

That was Duke.

Bruce had not gone to attack Alfred, he may be upset but never in a million years would Bruce truely attack Alfred, and yet Tim still wanted to step in between them all the same.

He could handle Bruce’s temper, he could break through it and force the stubborn old man to acknowledge that he wasn’t angry, he was upset and he was scared. Tim has seen Bruce at some of his worst points, he could handle this one just as easily.

Tim went to rise but he couldn’t.

He was lying down but all else felt distant. There were no hands touching his own, there was nothing except the voices and the voices were fading again. They were fading and so Tim tried to focus but he couldn’t, the abyss, the abyss was too vast.

It was taking him away, it was suffocating all else.

Tim fought against it, he fought not just for his Father but for his Brothers too, but it wasn’t enough.

He had never been enough.

There was another voice, an eternity later.

A girl this time, and Tim almost wanted his eyes to burn in tears but they didn’t. He tried to sit up, tried to curl his hand, tried to do anything at all to show Barbara that he was awake, that he was awake and that everything was going to be okay.

If Tim couldn’t be there for Bruce, then Barbara could be and if not her, then someone else.

She was talking to someone, softly, and while there was only the occasional verbal reply Tim realised that it was his Sister that Barbara was talking to.

Cass was there, she was there and she would be able to work out that Tim was awake.

She understood body language more so than anyone else which meant that she would know what to do and she also had the added benefit of being Bruce’s only official daughter which meant that she totally had him wrapped around her finger.

They were still talking.

They were talking, Tim was sure of it, but the voices were fading just as quickly as they had come.

I’m here, Cass, Tim tried to say. I’m right here. Listen. See. Know.

“Oh, thank you, Duke.” Barbara said.

“All good,” Duke said. “Here, Cassie, I got you a-”

The voices were fading and Tim was fading and he fought it, he fought it so damn hard.

The nothingness took him back anyway.

“Bruce,” Another voice.

It could have been minutes.

It could have been hours.

It could have been for eternity later, but there was a new voice.

“You’re worrying them.”

Tim knew this voice too, knew that now that Clark was here Bruce might finally realise that things were going to be okay after all.

Bruce did not answer, but Tim knew that he was listening. Bruce always listens to Clark.

“You need rest, Old Friend.” Clark said. “Your boys will still be here when you return. I’ll watch them, if that would help.”

Again, Bruce did not verbally answer but he did not need to because Tim heard his grunted breath, heard his clenched fists shaking.

It’s okay, Dad, Tim tried to say. We’re okay. Go rest.

“Bruce.” Clark tried again. “Bruce, don’t shut me out.”

Another grunt, an exhale of breath that was darker than an exhale should ever be.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Clark chided. “Rest. If not for my sake, then for theirs.”

“Why bother?” Bruce’s voice finally echoed.

His voice was… Empty.

Devoid of anything at all.

Bruce’s voice was almost like the abyss that was trying to take Tim away again and Tim wanted nothing more than to sit up and show Bruce that there is still light, there is still hope. Tim hadn’t yet heard Dick, Jason or Damian’s voices but he knew his brothers and he knew that they were okay.

They needed to be okay.

“Alfred was only trying to help.” Clark said.

“Help?”

The single word was without emotion and yet all at once there was what sounded like paper being thrown hard against a wall.

“This isn’t help, Clark!” Bruce snarled.

“Their wishes matter.”

“Alfred thinks they’re already dead!”

“No.” Clark said. “Alfred just wants to support the boys the best he can. That includes knowing what their limits for what interventions they want.”

More silence, stretching so long that Tim thought that maybe the darkness had consumed him once more. Then, quiet, like a prayer.

“I was meant to give them safety.”

“And you have.” Clark said. “More than you’ll ever know. But they’re hurt, Bruce. And… And I’m sorry to say this, but they’re hurt badly. And that means that the safety you need to give them right now is to know at what point enough is enough.”

“I can’t lose them. Any of them. I… I’m not strong enough.”

A sigh then, not Bruce’s.

Tim… Tim did not think he has heard Clark sigh like that before. He never wanted to hear that sound again either. Uncle Clark was bright, he was hope and humour and love, and that sigh had been…

No, Tim did not want to ever hear Clark make a sound like that again.

“I cannot promise that you won’t lose them. I want to, believe me, I want them home as badly as you do.” Clark said softly. “But listen to their breathing. They’re alive, Bruce, your boys are alive. They’re strong. That is what matters right now. And that is why you need to rest. Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian. They’re going to need you. They do need you. But they also need you to be okay too.”

“You will…” Bruce’s voice was strained, his fists clenched ever tighter. “You will stay with them?”

“Yes.” Clark said.

More silence, but this time Tim knew it wasn’t the abyss.

When Bruce moved, it was stiff. He went further to Tim’s left. Tim strained, trying to open his eyes, trying to move his finger, trying to show his Dad any sign at all that he was here, that he was here and everything was going to be okay just like Uncle Clark couldn’t promise.

Another sound, almost so quiet that Tim missed it.

Lips against a forehead.

Footsteps.

A soft murmur. A declaration of love. Lips once more, this time pressing against what Tim thought might be a hand.

Footsteps.

Coming closer.

And closer.

See me, Bruce, Tim tried to say. Know that I’m okay, know that you will be too.

Bruce stilled and so Tim fought ever harder.

Then, Bruce’s weight shifted, his shoes moving against the floor.

There was a gentle kiss against his forehead, so gentle that Tim wanted to cry.

“He will be here,” Bruce said quietly. “You will not be alone. You will never be alone.”

An old promise, one that Bruce could make a thousand times and Tim would still be utterly floored to hear it. Some days, Tim even believed it too.

He believed it now, because this was Clark and Clark would do anything for Bruce just like Bruce would do for Clark.

More footsteps, going away from Tim.

A final kiss, this one lingering.

Damian, it must be, Tim realised.

Then, Tim realised something else.

The others. They weren’t awake. They should be awake. Tim’s body was just being dramatic, soon enough he’d be able to fully sit up and declare that he was fine, but Jason never let himself be taken care of for too long and Dick should have been insisting Bruce rest hours ago and Damian, Damian had not clicked his tongue even once.

They were unconscious, or maybe they were awake too just unable to move.

Fear ran through Tim then, real genuine fear, because Jason has been through hell before, he has died and forced to come back years later and now he might very well be not in control of his own body again and Tim wanted to scream.

Jason deserved better, Jason had fought so hard to get back his bodily autonomy and yet now he was either unconscious or worse.

But…

But Jason hadn’t been hurt. No, he had been, but his injury hadn’t been that bad from what little that Tim could remember amongst the flood of his own screams and pain.

Jason especially shouldn’t be unconscious, even if Dick or Damian were.

Damian. Damian was just a boy. An absolute pain in the ass of a boy that definitely needed to check himself far more often then he does but he was just a kid all the same and now he was laying in a hospital bed.

And Dick. Dick has been through more than any of them, even if he never really liked to acknowledge it.

Tim fought fucking hard to sit up, to check on his brothers himself and see if there was anything he could do to ease their suffering even a little bit but the world was fading again.

Everything was fading.

Bruce’s footsteps.

Clark’s even breaths.

All of it was fading, back into the nothingness, back into the abyss.

I am here, Tim tried to say.

But his own voice had faded away, never to be heard.

Tim should be used to it.

He should be used to no one hearing him, no one seeing him, and yet he wasn’t, not anymore, not for a long time.

Not ever since he got his new family.

I am here, Tim tried to say. Please, please don’t leave me.

Chapter Text

“I would like to act as a patient liaison.”

“You have other duties, Alves.”

“The Wayne’s are our largest benefactors,” Julio pointed out.

He was keeping in step with Dr. Storey, no matter how hard she was trying to shake him. He would stay right by her side for as long as it took.

“I can assist in each of their care,” Julio said. “I am up to date with all their files, including Tim’s extensive history and past medical trauma. I can try to get through to Mr. Wayne when he returns, I can get him to understand in laymen’s terms what’s happening to each of his boys and I-”

“And you’re not going to stop, are you?” She asked dryly.

“No.” Julio said. “But I was actually going to say that I will be able to streamline all communication, taking unneeded stress off your plate which will allow you to focus instead on working out why they haven’t woken up yet.”

“Alves,”

“I have all necessary experience in each type of injury that they have sustained, and the rotation I got the highest marks in was for paediatrics so I understand how Damian’s age may affect his treatment plans.”

“Alves.” She said again. “Julio."

“Please.”

Dr. Storey looked at him then, setting down a file with a sigh.

“You’re a Nurse Practitioner now, Julio,” She said. “You have higher training, higher responsibilities. You worked hard to achieve that, far harder than you should have ever had to. And you want to spend that time working as a liaison between us and the richest man in all of Gotham?”

“No,” He said. “I want to be a liaison between Gotham General’s Staff and a scared Father who has not just one but four sons who have been hurt.”

“Your shift ends at-”

“Eight thirty, Sir.”

“It’s quarter past ten.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Go home.”

“I can’t do that.” Julio said. “Not until you say yes.”

“You really want to be a liaison that badly?”

He stood tall, as tall as he could even though Dr. Storey was far taller than him.

“Wayne is meant to return at eleven.” She said. “Could you stay a little longer to tell him that you will be working directly for his family for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you Doctor.”

“Then you are going to go sleep, Alves, and that isn’t up for debate.”

He barely heard her, already shooting off towards the Wayne suite, a bounce in his step even if his chest felt a little heavy knowing that Dick had had a seizure on his watch.

“So, working theories.” Barbara said.

“Tim’s catching up on sleep for the last thirty two years of insomnia.” Steph said.

“Possible.” Barbara said. “But actual theories. Mine is that their bodies are simply recovering and need a little more time.”

“I don’t know,” Duke said. “It’s been three days and they’re still unconscious.”

Barbara pursed her lips.

“Cass?” She said. “Theories?”

“Breathing.” Cass said.

“Yes,” Barbara said. “They’re all breathing on their own strength, which is a great thing but it might also be a clue all and of itself.”

Cass shook her head.

“Breathing.” She repeated.

Duke readjusted, swiping another piece of cheese from their little picnic in the centre of the room.

“They are all breathing,” Duke said. “But doesn’t Tim usually rip off oxygen masks the very first chance he gets? So he is fully unconscious. And Dick would have ignored anything that he was experiencing if he knew that the others needed help.”

“And Jason hasn’t said fuck in two whole days.” Steph said.

Barbara blinked.

“He’s been unconscious for three?”

“Yeah,” Steph shrugged. “He said it in his sleep, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Cass parroted.

“Wait a second,” Duke said. “Breathing. They all had surgery. Barbara, can you-”

Even before he finished, she had her laptop out, pulling up records of all the patients that had had surgery in the time that Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian had been here.

“All the other patients have woken up without complications.” She said.

“Did they refuse any particular drugs?” Steph asked.

“Opioids for Jason,” Duke said. “I heard that Tim was sedated before he could demand they not give him anything.”

“So it’s not that their treatment was compromised because they’re stubborn assholes.” Barbara said. “Boy Wonder has had surgery before and he’s woken up just fine, if a little loopy. Same with Angry Red and Angrier Red.”

“Has Damian?” Duke asked.

“He has a metal spine, Dukey.” Steph said.

“Oh, shit, yeah, forgot about that.”

Barbara leaned forward, careful not to go too far and swiped the last cookie before Steph could get to it. When she resettled against the pillows she was using for support, she grinned as Steph’s eyes widened in betrayal.

“Maybe it has something to do with the explosion?” Barbara said.

“It was just a normal building,” Duke said. “Not even a chemical plant, surprisingly enough.”

“That really shouldn’t be as surprising as it is.” Barbara said dryly. “But also, maybe something did happen back there. Steph, Cass, go check it out. Clark will be coming back soon, so he, Duke and I will stay here with the boys.”

“Oh, wait!” Steph said. “I have another theory!”

It felt like a trap but Barbara listened intently anyway, ignoring the fact that Duke was already trying to hide a preemptive chuckle with the fakest cough to have ever fake cough.

“Maybe they took a bet,” Steph said. “Whoever remains unconscious the longest wins.”

“And because they’re all assholes,” Barbara said fondly. “None of them would give up so easily. Yes, that must be it.”

“Breathing.” Cass said.

They were all breathing.

They were all alive, even if they weren’t awake, and Barbara clung to that knowledge like a lifeline.

Steph pushed herself up to his feet.

“Could you stay a little longer?” Duke asked. “Finding evidence is super important, I get it, but I think that they might want us here for a little while.”

Barbara’s gaze drifted over each of the four beds that surrounded them. They weren’t brothers to her, not really, especially not Dick. But they were family all the same, always would be.

Steph sat back down, grabbing an entire stem of grapes, plucking each one before trying and failing to get them into her mouth.

“The swelling on Dick’s brain has gone down significantly,” Julio said. “We will have to wait until he is awake to see if there has been any lasting impact but he has been seizure free since that first episode.”

Wayne did not make so much as a sound of acknowledgement but Julio continued on all the same.

“Jason’s incisions are looking good and the scan confirmed that the plates are holding steady. I have been looking into non-opioid based pain medications that could assist when he is allowed to put weight onto it, I have taken the liberty of sending every option to your email. I can explain anything that you may have questions about.”

Today Wayne was sitting by Jason’s side but he was almost a shadow of a man, even if he had been looking a little better ever since the really really nerdy looking reporter guy had come by and forced him to go home.

“Tim’s internal bleeding has been managed also, his lung is holding steady too. He is running a low grade fever so we have adjusted the antibiotics he is receiving, hoping to get on top of any infection before it fully sets in.”

Jason’s chest rose and fell. He wasn’t even on oxygen, looking the best out of all of them even if his leg was still heavily bandaged, the very same leg that was held up on some pillows that Wayne’s near constant companion Alfred Pennyworth had made certain to keep puffed whenever Jason needed to be shifted.

“Damian’s wounds are healing too,” Julio said.

“They’re unconscious.”

“I, uh, yes. Yes, Sir, they are.”

Wayne’s voice was hollow, his head dipped.

“We are doing everything that we can to work out what is going on,” Julio assured him. “While ordinarily someone who has had an injury like Dick being stuck in a prolonged state of unconsciousness would be highly concerning, the fact that Jason, Tim and Damian are in similar states has suggested that it is not due to Dick’s bleed on the brain.”

“They’re unconscious.” Wayne repeated. “I… I thought that if I left, if I… If I abandoned them,”

“You did not abandon them, Mr. Wayne. It’s incredibly important for patients families to look after themselves too.”

“I thought they would slip away.” Wayne whispered. “I thought… I thought they were waiting for me to walk away.”

Julio’s chest ached. He closed the distance between them, putting a gentle hand on Wayne’s elbow.

“I know that this is hard,” Julio said. “But they’re doing well. As soon as we work out what’s keeping them asleep, we’ll reverse it. They’re going to be okay, Mr. Wayne.”

“Why are you here?” Wayne asked, his eyes empty.

“I am your liaison, Sir.”

“Why are you here?”

Julio opened his mouth. He closed it again.

Sighing, Julio leant against Jason’s bed, knowing that as unprofessional as it was, this wasn’t just a conversation between a nurse and a family member.

“I had siblings.” Julio said quietly. “I was the baby of the family, and I was always trying to prove myself, make myself stand out from the rest of them.”

Wayne did not respond and so Julio continued on.

“There was an accident… And I lost them."

Even now, years later, it made Julio’s chest ache with longing but he pushed it aside. He leaned forward, took Wayne’s hand into his own and guided it towards Jason’s. Wayne still hesitated but after a moment, he wrapped his hand around Jason’s and held it tightly.

“I thought it was my fault. They had tried to protect me.” Julio mumbled. “But my Pai, my Dad, he just kept saying that he loved me. That he was glad that I survived, even if they didn’t.”

Wayne did not so much as blink.

“It’s actually why I became a nurse.” Julio said. “To help families. To help kids who are having the worst days of their lives. And, I guess, it’s why that instead of just moving onto the next patient once the boys were fully admitted and not just in the Emergency Ward, I asked to stay on with them.”

Julio pulled away, making his way for the door.

“Let me know if you have any more questions.”

“Stay.” Wayne grunted. Then, more softly. “Just a little longer.”

Julio saw the shadow of a man, seeing just the slightest glimmers of pain that he was finally allowing himself to process.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce. Call me Bruce.”

The voices were… Faded.

But they were here.

The voices were here again and Tim could have damn near cried from the relief of it but his eyes didn’t actually water and when he tried to sit up, he found that he still couldn’t move.

Tim’s very soul ached, wanting nothing more than to sit up and hug Steph because she sounded stressed, she sounded so upset as she demanded to know why something hadn’t worked.

“Give it time.” Barbara said.

“I’ve given it a thousand years!”

“Three minutes.” Cass corrected.

“Three minutes and a thousand years! Duke, is Dick waking up?”

There was a beat of silence.

“No.” Duke said, sullen.

“Because it’s not fucking working.” Steph said. “Are you sure you got the right antidote?”

“Steph,” Barbara said. “You’re the one that got the antidotes.”

“Yeah but Cass is the one who worked out what toxin they could have been exposed to.”

“Under bus.” Cass said primly.

“No,” Steph said. “I’m not throwing you under the bus, I’m just wondering why they hell they’re not waking up yet.”

“Steph,” Barbara said gently. “It’s possible that it wasn’t the toxin reacting with the anaesthesia. It’s… It’s possible that they’re just really hurt.”

“No.” Steph said. “No, that can’t be true. They can’t be, he can’t…”

Steph’s voice had grown wet.

“I need air.” She declared, twisting on her heel.

“Stay? Little… Little longer?”

“Tim? Tim!”

Steph’s weight was instantly on him and Tim grunted, pain rocking through him.

“Sorry, sorry!” She said, scrambling back off. “But holy shit, you’re alive!”

“Ye… Yeah?”

“You asshole! You absolute asshole!”

“Getting really mixed signals here, Stephie.” Tim said, still shuddering. “But I’m glad to see you too.”

“Yeah, well, you are an asshole. It’s been a fucking week Dumbass, not just you but your twerps for brothers too.”

“Twerps?” Even chuckling hurt, but Tim did it anyway. “What are you, Team Rocket?”

“I’m Team Kicking Timothy Jackson Drake’s Ass.” Steph said fiercely.

For all of Steph’s apparent fury, her eyes were wet, her hands shaking. She looked exhausted, the corners of her eyes red.

“I’m-”

“Don’t do that.” She snapped. “Don’t apologise. I’m just… I’m just glad that you’re okay,”

“I’m just glad you’re here.” Tim said. “So stay? Please? Just for a little longer?”

“You think you can get rid of me that easy?”

Tim shook his head. His arm felt heavy as he raised it but Steph took his hand all the same, squeezing it tightly.

“Dick’s opening his eyes too!” Duke announced. “Hey hey, easy Man, just take it easy.”

“Little Brother too.” Cass said.

Tim tried to push himself fully up, desperate to check on Damian but Steph forced him back down.

Memories rocked through him worse than the pain ever could, hands holding him down, voices swirling all around him.

“We’ve got them, Tim,” Steph said.

He let himself collapse back down, hope swelling in his chest when he heard Jason’s grumbling voice.

They were okay.

They were okay, they were all okay.

Tim wanted to cry.

He was crying, but Steph was gently brushing the tears away from his face so it didn’t seem so bad.

“It’s okay, my amazing incredible dumbass of a best friend,” Steph said, her own face wet. “You’re okay now.”

There was another sound then, one that for the first time in all of eternity Tim could turn towards.

Bruce was by the doorway, his eyes sunken in, his face a kind of depressing attempt at a beard that was really just patches.

All at once Bruce was sweeping into the room and Tim told himself to prepare, prepare for Bruce to go to the others, prepare for Bruce to barely even notice that he was there at all.

Instead Bruce was suddenly by his bedside, his hands hovering above Tim as if unsure where he could touch.

“Bruce?”

“Tim, you’re… You’re awake. You’re all…”

Tim nodded slowly, trying once again to prepare for Bruce to move away to the others but Bruce stayed exactly where he was.

Bruce leaned down, a kiss pressing onto his forehead. There was a tear then, a single tear that dropped on Tim’s face.

“I’m okay, Bruce.” Tim said quietly.

He was in pain and his head was spinning a little from having spent so long in the abyss but none of that seemed to matter right now.

“I’m okay,” He said again. “Dad. But could you… Could you stay a little longer, please?”

Bruce cupped Tim’s cheek, brushing away a tear that Tim did not realise had fallen.

“For as long as you will let me.” Bruce said. “My sweet Son.”

Chapter Text

“We will have refreshers on the importance of not removing foreign objects when not ready to control the subsequent bleeding.”

Damian clicked his tongue.

Then, realising that Richard had turned sharply towards him, Damian fought every instinct to duck his head, settling instead on tilting his head away from Richard.

The very same Richard who had only just been reprimanded for his own foolishness, apparently not having notified anyone of how significant the head injury had actually been. What Richard had done was far more worthy of reprimand and Damian opened his mouth to inform Father of just that but he closed it again, because Father’s shoulders had sagged.

Father looked… Old, somehow, though at the same time his eyes looked awfully young.

Damian did not understand. Everything was clearly being handled now and yet Father was still not quite himself.

Perhaps Father was furious with Damian after all, despite his claims otherwise. Damian would need to regain Father’s favour, no matter what it took.

“Master Bruce,” Pennyworth said. “I believe that is quite enough. The boys require rest, Sir, though I do not deny that they also require said refreshers.”

“I handled the bleeding perfectly well.” Damian seethed.

“You lost consciousness.” Father shot back. “And were rushed into emergency surgery than remained unconscious for an entire week due to a chemical reaction to a toxin from the explosion.”

“All the same,” Damian said. “I was simply trying to make it so that you would go to Richard.”

The world was silent at once, as if every single person in the world had held their breath.

Todd broke first, giving off an almost devilish chuckle.

“You’ve done it now, Babybird.” Todd said.

“Dami,” Richard said evenly.

Damian had misstepped, he must have, even if he did not know what he had done wrong.

The Wayne Suite felt like ice all of a sudden even though nothing had actually changed but Damian fought every urge to pull his blanket up onto him, needing to prove to Father that he was completely fine and ready to return home.

Before Richard could say any more, Drake spoke.

“So now that we’ve covered all the ways we messed up,”

“It is not all the ways.” Father said.

“I vote we all just go home and have a movie mara-”

“None of you are leaving this room until you are fully cleared and discharged, do I make myself clear?”

Predictably, it was Todd who immediately found issue with that statement, though Damian would certainly not be very far behind.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m fine, Old Man! Don’t lump me in with this lot!”

“You have three breaks,” Father said. “Including one in your femur.”

“So what? That’s nothing.”

“So you are staying.” Father said firmly. “Until you are fully cleared and discharged. Am. I. Understood?”

Damian shifted uncomfortably, not from the pain, the pain was nothing, but from the thought of wasting any more time within this room when he could instead be anywhere else.

“That goes for all of you.” Father said.

Drake, the fool, raised a hand. He had slipped on a perfect smile, one that Father surely would not fall for.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, Tim,” Father said.

“I didn’t ask my question yet.” Drake said.

“No, Tim.” Father repeated. “Whatever it is, whatever loophole you are looking for, no. Each of you need rest, you most of all, Son.”

“Of course,” Drake said lightly, hand still raised. “I was just wondering who precisely is doing the medical clearances.”

“Someone who is not prone to bribery, if that is what you’re asking.”

Drake’s smile did not falter though he did lower his hand at last.

Damian clicked his tongue. He went to stand, done with this foolishness, but his breath caught the moment he tried to move.

At once Father was right by his side, his hands for some reason hovering above Damian.

Damian blinked up at him and Father must have finally realised that Damian was fine because he shifted back, shooting a glare at Todd when Todd cackled.

“Medical clearances and discharge.” Father said.

“What about our nightly activities?” Richard asked.

“Nightly activities are all being handled and even when you are each discharged, you will not return to said activities until I clear you also.”

“Two clearances?” Richard growled. “That’s absolute bullshit and you know it, Bruce. I’m good to go.”

“You ignored a significant head injury reaching the point of a seizure, Dick. You will not be ‘good to go’ until I say that you are good to go.”

“Father,” Damian said.

“This isn’t negotiable.” Father said firmly. “Not for any of you. You each did ridiculous things that put not just your health but your lives at risk. That is unacceptable.”

“You’re saying that this is our fault.” Todd growled.

“This is your fault.” Father said simply.

“I believe,” Alfred said. “What Master Bruce is trying to say is that we have all been very worried for you each and he wants to ensure that this does not happen again.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Father glared at Alfred. “Is that none of you are leaving this hospital until you are cleared. That is final.”

Father looked pointedly at Damian.

Damian mimicked Father’s glare perfectly, complete with the way that Father always seemed to loom a little.

Father’s gaze did not let up.

Finally Damian huffed a breath, turning away. It was not that he was weak, it was that he was merely being tactical. He would need to regain, or remain in Father’s favour to return to being Robin at the soonest possible time.

“Yes, Father.” Damian said.

Father’s attention turned to Drake.

“I didn’t do anything stupid.” Drake said. “On account of the whole being crushed thing.”

Father’s glare strengthened, as did his loom.

“And besides,” Drake said. “The whole ‘This Is Your Fault’ thing is an asshole thing to say to significantly traumatised kids who have guilt complexes and significant injuries.”

Father did not falter and Damian decided that would need to practice it more often in order to best recreate that particularly dark look.

“Fine,” Drake growled, crossing his arms and then wincing. “But this stupid line comes out.”

“It comes out when the Doctors say that it comes out.” Father said.

Father turned to Todd now but instead of looming, he got a weird look on his face. His mouth turned downward, his expression softened.

Damian tried to mimic this one, ignoring Drake’s barely hidden chuckle, but he found that it made him feel… Down, for some reason.

“Jaylad.” Father said.

“Whatever.” Todd snapped back. “I won’t fuck off, but not because you said not to but because this place as cable.”

Damian did not think that Gotham General had Cable Television. He also did not think that Todd was being entirely truthful especially because to Damian’s understanding, Todd loathed admissions almost as much as Drake did.

Then again, Damian himself did not want to be here.

It was too loud, too bright, with far too many obnoxious know it alls.

At last, Father turned to Richard.

Once again Father’s expression twisted but this time it was almost like he was readying for a fight. Before he could speak however, Richard sighed.

“I’ll stay.” Richard said. “The boys need me anyway.”

“No the fuck we don’t.” Todd said.

“Dick,” Drake said. “If you so much as try to smother me, I swear, I will end you.”

But Richard did not rise to the ‘banter’ as they so often called it. He only sighed, curling up on his bed away from Father’s attention.

For some reason, that made Damian feel more down too.

“Dick,” Father said.

“I’m fine,” Dick said. “Just tired. Honest.”

Concern thrummed through Damian but when Pennyworth nodded to Father, confirming that he actually did believe Richard’s claim, Damian found his tension easing, if only by a little.

“So,” Drake said. “Who do we have to convince to get out of this hell hole?”

“One,” Father said. “You especially are still recovering from significant internal bleeding and a collapsed lung, so you might need to spend the longest time admitted.”

“A collapsed lung that has been fixed.” Drake said with another fake smile.

“Two, Julio Alves will be deciding when you will be cleared.”

“Who the fuck is Julio Alves?” Todd demanded.

Damian blinked.

He… Did not know why, but he recalled the name Julio.

Richard seemed equally perplexed but all at once Richard was jolting fully upright.

“Crap.” He said. “He’s gonna kill me.”

“He is not impressed with you, no,” Father said. “Which is exactly why I am allowing him to be the assessor.”

“Alves…” Drake said slowly. “I have no idea who that is.”

“He has assisted with your care before, Tim.” Father said.

Drake only shrugged.

Given his amount of admissions due to illness, Damian thought that Drake may have very well been treated by every staff member of Gotham General, except perhaps the maternity staff.

“In fact,” Father said. “He has been very… Helpful these last few days.”

Drake and Todd exchanged a look.

“He went full Angst, didn’t he?” Todd asked.

“Absolutely.” Drake said. “One hundred percent. Hey, do you think he did the full eye shadow thing?”

“Nah, no way,” Todd said. “I think he just-”

Father’s sigh was long but for some reason it only made Todd and Drake grin wickedly as if that had been their plan all along.

“We’re all good, Old Man,” Todd said. “We’ll pass whatever dumb assessments this dude has easy and then I’m gonna kick your ass on the training mat because you don’t get to tell me not to do my ‘nightly’ activities.”

Richard was still curled up, an old worn down Elephant tucked into the crook of his arm.

Damian looked between their two beds.

It was not that far of a distance, but given Father’s apparent irritation and quick footed reaction as soon as he had tried to stand earlier, Damian thought that he should wait until Father had left before he tried to go to Richard.

It wasn’t that Damian needed the contact, of course he didn’t. It was only that Richard is a very tactile individual for some reason and as such needed touch to regulate. Yes, that was the only reason why Damian wanted to go to him.

Pennyworth cleared his throat with a dainty cough.

Father glanced at him.

Pennyworth did the same again, this time tilting his head towards Damian.

“No.” Father said. “Damian is too injured.”

Fury filled Damian except it wasn’t fury, not really, it was… Shame?

He ducked his head low, unworthy of his Father’s gaze.

Damian’s side was aching and if he had been anyone lesser than who he was, his eyes might have been prickling with tears.

Father approached once more, slowly this time.

He bent down low, practically going down onto his knee to meet him at eye level even though the bed was actually a little high for Damian’s preference.

“Damian,” Father said. “If I put you with Dick, you need to be extremely careful of your wounds.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Extremely.” Father said sternly.

“Yes, Father.”

Damian went to stand but Father just shook his head.

Instead, Father came close, giving Damian every chance to move away from him. Damian didn’t, though he hadn’t been quick enough to hide a hiss when Father brushed up against a bandage on his arm that covered one of the many spots the glass had embedded into.

Father lifted Damian fully from the bed with ease, though Damian made certain not to meet either Todd or Drake’s gazes because they were certainly going to be poising themselves for insults.

Richard… Richard did not meet Damian’s gaze either and it made Damian’s fingers curl into Father’s neck.

“Easy,” Father murmured. “He will be alright.”

Whether Father was talking about Richard or Damian himself, Damian wasn’t quite certain.

Just as carefully as Father had picked him up, he set Damian down onto Richard’s bed.

Richard curled away from him.

Damian’s heart stuttered in his chest. He had disappointed not only Father, but Richard too.

Then Richard shifted again, his face for some reason wet.

“Sorry Dami,” Richard said. “Come here, Bud, I’ve got you.”

When Richard’s arms wrapped around Damian, Damian made certain to not react as pain ran through him, his back, arm and side all aching from the movement. Instead, he burrowed into Richard’s chest, giving Richard the contact that he needed to exist.

The moment that Bruce and Alfred were out of the room, Tim turned to Jason.

“So,” He said.

“We’re not busting outta here, Drakeyboy.”

“Coward.” Tim said.

Impossibly, Jason did not rise to the very easy very appetising bait. Instead he just readjusted, grunting when he must have shifted his casted leg too much.

“Dick,” Tim said. “You know Bruce is being ridiculous, we’re all fine.”

Dick did not answer him, his only moments a slow hand carding through Damian’s hair.

Damian had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had settled into Dick’s arms and while Tim ached to let him rest, his skin was itching at the mere idea of staying in this room, this hospital, for even a moment longer.

“You can’t be serious,” Tim said. “You’re both really going to let Bruce boss you around like that?”

“Timbo,” Jason said. “You got crushed by half a building.”

Tim waved it off but Jason’s gaze was still haunted for some reason.

“Tim.” Jason said more quietly. “You got crushed by half a building.”

“Who hasn’t been.” Tim said.

“Tim.” Jason said, barely even a breath now. “You got-”

“Okay, sure,” Tim said. “But I’m fine now. Promise. So let’s get out of here. If you don’t want to go, then I’ll go.”

Jason fell as silent as Dick then and so Tim’s attention was drawn to all the other sounds around them. Tim was still on monitors, for some unknown ridiculous reason because he was literally fine, the steady beeping so constant that it was already driving him insane.

His skin was itching too, his arms especially. There were deep bruises all over his body, apparently already healing given that the others were claiming that Tim had been unconscious for an entire week after the explosion. Some of the bruises were from IV’s though and if anything they hurt far worse than any formerly collapsed lung could.

Tim readjusted.

He readjusted again, the lights burning far too brightly.

Tim blinked, the room darkening. He twisted, far too quickly according to the flash of pain that ran through him, expecting to find Bruce once more by the doorway.

Instead there was a young man, a sick ass Star Wars tattoo running down one of his arms.

The moment that Tim realised that the man was in scrubs, any excitement over the tattoo was replaced with loathing.

The man stepped fully inside, offering a smile that was far too perfect to actually be real.

“Hi,” He said. “Sorry about the lights, I had asked Sabrina to turn them down after she checked everyone’s vitals but I’m afraid she must have forgotten to.”

Tim glared at him.

The dumb nurse with the dumb tattoo seemed wholly unaffected, coming fully into the room instead.

“Also,” The man said. “I’ve asked Duke to get you each some clothing from home to wear, now that you are each stable I think that having something more comfortable would do a world of wonders.”

Tim glared harder.

“And Tim,”

Tim was absolutely not on first name basis with any nurse, let alone this one. Well, he was absolutely on first name basis with multiple nurses, but all the same!

“I’ve been looking into ways to lessen sensory overload from medical equipment. I’d like to try using a butterfly needle to replace your line with, if that is okay.”

“Or,” Tim said. “You could just-”

“I am not taking it out.” The damn nurse said. “Your blood pressure is holding steady now because of the fluids that you are on, not to mention pain medication that I promise I will take you fully off of the moment you are able to tolerate it.”

No matter how hard Tim glared at him, the man just kept talking.

“Oh, by the way, I probably should have introduced myself.”

“Julio Alves, I presume.” Tim said dryly.

“So Mr. Wayne told you about me then, good. You are more than welcome to call me Julio, or Alves, or You Bastard, or anything you would like to. I am here at your service.”

“At our service.” Tim said. “Which means you have to listen to what we say. Which means when I ask you to sign the forms you will-”

“I will only discharge each of you when you are individually at the point of recovery when returning home is the best course of action.”

“I believe that the best course of action would be to-”

“Timbo,” Jason said. “Give the poor guy a break.”

“Why is everyone cutting me off?” Tim demanded. “It’s literally more dangerous for an immunocompromised person to be in hospital than at-”

“Moo.” Jason said loudly.

“-Home. What? Moo?”

“Moo.” Jason shrugged. “You know, the knock knock joke. Knock knock, who’s there, interrupting cow, interrupting cow wh-”

“Jason, shut the fuck up.” Tim snapped.

“Nah,” Jason said. “You shut up, you’re the one antagonising the guy who’s gonna let us out eventually.”

Eventually wasn’t good enough.

Tim needed to get out, now.

They all did.

Dick didn’t like hospitals, Jason didn’t like hospitals, Damian didn’t like anything so he probably didn’t like hospitals. They were all conscious now which meant they could go home. Hell, they literally have a Medbay in the cave so if they really did need something then Alfred could just do it for them.

At least then the smell of antiseptic was more manageable, and there weren’t as many strangers coming in and out of the room and they would be home, they would be home and everything would be okay.

“Tim,” You Bastard said. “I understand that you don’t want to be here, believe me, I do. But the sooner you let yourself rest, the sooner you will fully recover from your injuries.”

“I am recovered.” Tim said.

“Timbo, for fuck’s sake.”

“What floor are we on?” Tim asked sweetly. “Do you want to find out before or after I kick you out the window?”

“Oh please,” Jason scoffed. “As if you can even stand right now.”

“I can kick better than you can, Mr. Full Leg Cast.”

“I’ll show you better Mr. Absolute Little Shit.”

Impossibly the nurse did not so much as blink let alone go to interrupt. Instead he waited, giving a bright smile when Tim and Jason both gave up.

It wasn’t that Tim was too tired to continue, he wasn’t, he was just… Oh, who was he kidding, he was absolutely wrecked. It wasn’t just the residual pain that broke through the meds he was apparently on, it was a deeper exhaustion, one that was only worsened by all the sensations going on around him right now.

He just wanted to go home.

“Jason,” You Bastard said. “While you won’t be able to put any weight on your leg for a few weeks longer, my parameters for you will be full independence on crutches, getting at the very least to and from the cafeteria on the ground floor without assistance or breaks.”

“That’s ea-”

“Before you say that’s easy,” You Bastard said. “I expect you to get to that point after you first reach a point of knowing when you need the breaks, and taking them accordingly."

Jason, for the first time in his life, shut the hell up.

“Dick,”

You Bastard lowered his voice now, as if Damian wouldn’t have already woken up the moment Alves walked in.

“While it has been a week since you sustained your concussion, I don’t want you on screens until we’re sure your symptoms have passed. I will send you home only when I know for certain that you have no headaches, double vision, nausea or other symptoms.”

For a moment, for a long moment, Dick did not so much as acknowledge the conditions.

Hope rose in Tim’s chest because there was no way in hell Dick was just going to take this lying down.

“Okay.” Dick mumbled, tugging Damian closer to him.

“Damian’s wounds are healing well but I would like to get him walking unaided with no pain, as well as eating consistently with no issue.”

Dick nodded, still brushing fingers through Damian’s hair.

“And Tim.”

Tim glared at You Bastard with all his soul.

“You will know when you can be discharged.”

“Right now.” Tim said.

“No.”

The nurse shook his head, and it was only then that Tim saw that his badge actually read as Nurse Practitioner, not that Tim cared enough to know the difference.

“If any of you need any help whatsoever,” You Bastard said. “Then please, reach out. I know it’s hard. I know it sucks. But I’m here to help, and so is the rest of my team. Your guardian only wants the best for you, and so do I so please don’t feel like you need to hide any pain, discomfort or questions at all.”

“I’ve got a question,” Jason said.

“Go ahead.”

“When can we start?”

You Bastard’s smile was so bright, the bounce in his step so bouncy, that it must be an act.

No nurse, or nurse practitioner or whatever the hell he was, could be that chipper in a place like this.

Chapter Text

Tim’s first earnest attempt at getting the fuck out of Gotham General had been the moment that Julio Alves had gone to discuss Jason’s first physical therapy session with what Tim could only assume would be the physical therapist.

He had gotten to his feet easily enough, ignoring Dick’s measured sigh and answering Jason’s barked laugh with a certain middle finger, while also ignoring the way that Damian clicked his tongue as if Damian didn’t want to get the hell out just as badly.

Getting to the door was a little bit harder, his legs wobbling beneath him for some reason.

The only benefit so far for their own personal babysitting nurse practitioner was the fact that Tim had finally been able to wear his own clothes which meant that this time he wouldn’t have to go swipe some from an unsuspecting patient.

Actually, no, there was one other benefit to this damn guy; Bruce hadn’t come back to smother them.

And that was a benefit, Tim told himself again. He didn’t want the attention, he didn’t, and he certainly didn’t need it just like how he certainly did not have to spend even one more minute in this room.

“You gonna get caught, Kid,” Jason said, far too smug.

“Ignore Drake,” Damian said. “He is nothing but a fool.”

Dick did not offer any advice or reprimand, not that Tim cared.

Tim slipped from the room, forcing himself to walk slowly and calmly, head held high, even as his body ached. His chest especially was hurting but he pushed that all aside, forcing back the urge to cough.

He had made it all the way to the elevator, reaching out towards the button but someone pressed it before he could.

Tim whipped around, ready to curse Jason out for walking on a broken leg again but it wasn’t Jason.

The Man, The Nurse, The Bastard Julio Alves offered a bright smile.

“Hi,” Alves said. “So, where are we going?”

Tim summoned his own perfect gala smile.

“Just for a walk,” He said. “I wanted to get some fresh air, you know what they say about getting out into the sunshine on nice days.”

“Of course.” Alves said. “They also say that the less time you spend in Gotham air, the better.”

“Look, I know Bruce has paid you off and all that, but I’m fine.”

Alves tilted his head a little but he let Tim continue.

“I’m fully off oxygen and fluids,” Tim said. “As you can see I can walk perfectly fine, so please, Nurse Practitioner Alves, just let me go home.”

“Damian,” Alves said. “He is walking. He is off oxygen and is nearly finished the last of the course of antibiotics which can be taken while at home.”

“Yeah, so let him out too.”

Alves hummed.

The elevator doors opened.

Tim’s skin itched.

The antiseptic smell was too strong on the air, the fluorescent lights burning into his eyes.

The elevator doors slid closed once more.

Tim let out a shuddering breath.

“Damian,” Tim said. “He… He’s good, right?”

“Yes.” Alves said. “He is out of danger and recovering well. And so are you. Just give it a little more time, then you will go home.”

“I, I just,” Tim bit his lip hard.

Whatever he wanted to say, it drifted away. His shoulders sank, chest aching ever more so.

“Tim,” Alves said. “Would you like me to help you back to your room?”

Tim glared, shoving passed Alves.

He knew that he shouldn’t, he knew that the best way to get out would be to keep Alves thinking that perfect little, and most importantly rich, Timothy Jackson Drake was meek enough and pitiful enough that Alves would sign the damn paperwork.

When Tim trudged back to the room, he flipped Jason off all over again when the idiot whistled a greeting.

Tim did not bother meeting Damian’s smirk but he couldn’t help but notice that Dick didn’t so much as look over to him, as if Dick had known he would fail after all.

Shame burned through Tim, ever more resolute that the next attempt would work, if only to prove Dick that he was still capable of doing things.

The second attempt at leaving lasted exactly two minute and thirty two seconds.

Damian had been asleep, not in Dick’s or his own bed this time but Jason’s.

As Tim gathered everything he needed to leave, he heard the smallest of whimpers. At first, he had thought he had imagined it but then there was another small sound.

Jason was asleep soundly, his arms wrapped around Damian, snoring lightly even as Damian started to tremble.

Tim glanced towards the door.

Then he looked to Dick, seeing that Dick was on his back, his eyes open and slowly blinking in the dim light.

“Dick,” Tim whispered.

Dick blinked again.

“Dick,” He tried again. “The Brat is…”

Damian whimpered.

It wasn’t out of pain, at least Tim didn’t think it was. Just a nightmare, one that was serious enough for the normally silent sleeper Damian to make noises like that.

Tim looked one last time to the door.

Even though the bed was absolutely not capable of holding a third person, especially because of how fuck off big Jason was, Tim climbed up into it all the same, ignoring the need to wince as his ribs shifted a little too much.

He readjusted Jason’s arms carefully, the meds that Jason was on the only thing that kept him asleep, tugging Damian up against himself instead.

Damian settled, letting off a soft hum, his eyes never opening.

As Tim felt his own exhaustion set in, he heard a rustling of fabric as Dick turned fully away from the three of them.

Tim bit back any resentment he could feel for Dick, knowing that soon enough Tim would prove his worth to his older brother once more.

Attempt three was equally a non starter.

The dessert was Chocolate Bavarian.

You do not miss Chocolate Bavarian.

By attempt four of Tim’s Get Out Of Here Already For Fuck’s Sake plan, he wasn’t actually surprised at all to find Julio Alves once again waiting for him, this time on the ground floor.

Alves had handed Tim a coffee, one that was apparently fucking decaf because this man is the fucking bane of Tim’s existence right now, and led him not back up to the Wayne Suite but instead to the small open area that had benches and trees and a only slightly suspicious looking trash can that totally didn’t have contraband.

To Alves’ credit, he did not speak, did not even mock Tim’s pathetic attempts at leaving, he simply sipped on his own coffee which Tim had deduced wasn’t actually a coffee at all but a hot chocolate.

Also to Alves’ credit, the nurse did not even ask if Tim was done with this particular attempt to get out of here, instead somehow knowing full well that Tim was so tired and sore that he just wanted to curl up on that too hard bed and sleep for all of eternity.

Tim did not comment on the fact that there was a new mattress topper on his bed, though when he found himself sinking into it, he couldn’t hold back the relieved sigh, his eyes slipping closed even before Alves turned his attention on getting Damian up and walking.

Breathing treatments fucking sucked.

Having a previously collapsed lung fucking sucked.

Being in this damn hospital fucking sucked.

Tim was done with it.

He was so absolutely done with all of it.

It didn’t matter that he was in his own clothes again, it didn’t matter that Julio Fucking Alves had had all monitors and machines removed now that each of them were undeniably stable, it didn’t matter that the bed was far more comfortable than it had ever been before even if the subsequent cuddles with Damian was nice, not that Damian himself would ever call them cuddles.

None of it mattered because he was so over it.

Tim had lost count of how many days they had been stuck in this damn room but when Steph suggested that they play Trouble for the up tenth time, Tim decided that enough was enough.

He stood, without issue and with very little pain, pointedly ignoring Steph’s rolling eyes.

Beelining towards the window, his skin itching at the thought of being here for even a single moment longer, when Tim was still three feet away from the window, he stopped.

Tim clenched his fists, letting his nails dig into the palms of his hands, then loosened them. He turned, slowly, gathering every little bit of his courage but it still didn’t feel like it was enough.

Dick was sitting on his own bed, just like he had been for several days now.

Tim glanced to the window.

To the door.

To the floor.

He let out a breath, turning around slowly to Dick.

“Just say it.”

“Tim,” Steph said.

“Say it.” Tim repeated, his voice growing louder. “Say that you’re pissed at me. At us. Say that you’re mad we got hurt.”

Dick did not so much as look at him.

“Say that you’re never going to let us out of your sight ever again.” Tim demanded.

“Kid,” Jason tried now, balancing his crutches against his bed as he settled down onto it. “Give him space.”

“No.” Tim said. “Dick, either say that you’ve just been worried sick abotu us or say that you’re fucking done. It’s not like we need you anyway, if you want to say you’re done with out shit, then just say it.”

“Drake.” Damian warned lowly.

Damian must have stood at some point, suddenly standing in between Dick and Tim. Tim stepped to the side but Damian met the movement, as if to protect Dick.

“Get out of the way, Brat.” Tim said, baring his teeth.

Damian raised his chin, his fingers twitching, preparing to reach for a blade.

“Dick,” Tim said. “I’m not going to put up with your bullshit any longer.”

Jason was up on his foot again too, his crutches clicking against the floor, the sound making Tim’s head spin more than the bright lights did.

“Just say to my fucking face that you’re sick of me.”

“I’m not.”

Dick’s voice was quiet, so quiet that Tim had almost missed it.

“Then why the hell won’t you even look at me?” Tim demanded. “Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s because you’ve finally realised that I’m nothing more than a pathetic little-”

Dick’s head raised then, just as a tear slipped down his face.

Tim tried to hold onto his anger, tried to channel all of his frustration into something other than it just making his skin itch, but all at once his shoulders were sagging.

Damian had gone stiff now, his eyes wide as he looked at Dick but Dick made no effort to wipe away the tear or to reach out towards Damian.

“Jase,” Tim said.

“Damian,” Jason said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“What? No.” Damian snapped. “I’m not leaving Richard.”

“Dames,” Tim said. “Go with him.”

Damian’s eyes flared then, a blade all at once at Tim’s throat.

Tim did not so much as blink. He simply raised a hand, guiding Damian’s own shaking hand away.

“He’ll be okay.” Tim said. “I promise. Now go with Jason.”

Damian seethed, damn near going for the cut anyway but Tim stood his ground until Damian had no choice but to either attack outright or back down.

Finally, Damian relented, though when he passed by Tim he shoved against him hard.

Tim did not let the flash of pain cross his expression, though he caught Damian’s own sharp intake of breath as if his own injuries had been affected.

Waiting until Jason and Damian were fully gone, Steph silently trailing after them, Tim sat down on the edge of Dick’s bed, his back towards his older brother.

Dick did not speak, nor did Tim.

At some point Dick readjusted, even in his stupor being unable to keep still for very long. When he readjusted again, Tim just waited him out.

“I don’t hate you.” Dick snapped. “Of course I don’t.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Dick went completely stiff then and Tim cursed himself.

“Sorry.” Tim said, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m a little… Off, still being here.”

“I don’t hate you.” Dick said far more quietly.

Tim took in a deep breath, held it, ignored the dull pain it caused, let it go.

When he did the same again, Dick followed it with his own.

Finally, when Dick spoke again his voice was a little more even.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, Tim. I just… B’s right.”

“About the refreshers?” Tim asked. “I don’t know, at least my Keynotes are entertaining, his are just dull. Like seriously, how many slides do you think he’ll have about not putting weight on broken legs?”

Dick did not rise to the joke and Tim let his shoulders dip down.

“If you mean the fact that it was our fault,” Tim mumbled. “Then you need to realise that he thought that he was going to lose all of us.”

“He didn’t say it was our fault.” Dick said. “He said that it was my fault.”

“No, Dick,”

“And it was. I should have protected you. Protected Jason. Damian. I was meant to keep you safe, Tim, Bruce has every right to blame me.”

Tim turned, clasping Dick’s hand into his own before Dick had a chance to pull away.

“Dick, no, I don’t blame you. None of us do.”

Dick turned, curling up on his side, but Tim didn’t let go of his hand.

“Dick I’m serious.” He said. “If anything, it was my fault, I should have noticed the device before it went off.”

He waited for Dick to interject, to claim full responsibility if only to take it away from Tim.

He waited and waited and waited until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He told Dick in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t his fault. He told Dick that he was upsetting Damian, making the poor kid think that he’s done something wrong. He told Dick to stop being a Bruce and just fucking say something.

Eventually, Tim had no choice but to give up.

He let go of Dick’s hand, watching as Dick curled tighter into himself.

He glanced towards the window.

The door.

The floor.

Then he curled up onto Dick’s bed, hoping his big brother could feel at least some of his warmth.

There were no more attempts to run away, not when Tim knew that right now Dick needed him more than Tim needed to get out of here.

He submitted to the breathing treatments.

He held Damian as the last of Damian’s bandages were removed, hushing him when panic flared up in the boy, knowing how hard it was for Damian to allow himself to be vulnerable.

He listened to Jason read aloud when Jason’s own frustration over Dick’s new silence became too much.

Tim did what he did best, looking after his family until his elder’s mental state improved. He made sure that Dick ate, gave every excuse under the sun to Julio Alves as to why Dick was sleeping more often, making sure the nurse practitioner did not subject Dick to any unnecessary treatments.

He gave Dick time and patience and love, hoping that it would be enough to break Dick out of it. Hoping that by showing Dick that all four of them were okay now, Dick would be able to move passed the guilt that he had no right to bear.

When Jason was discharged, Tim insisted that he really does go home, assuring Jason that the longer he stayed here the more Dick would think that he was severely injured.

When Damian was discharged, it had been a much larger fight, one that had ended the moment that Damian realised that not only was Dick not interceding in the argument but he realised that at no point had Dick reached out to hug him, even when Damian was mere inches away.

Tim did everything he could to be a perfect patient, a perfect brother, and yet it still tore him apart when he returned to the room with a stolen plate of Chocolate Bavarian only to find that Dick was not on his bed, nor was he on either of the two now free beds.

Dick wasn’t in the bathroom, or down the hallway.

Dick was simply gone, having run away from the hospital like Tim had been so desperate to do.

Run away from his misplaced guilt.

Run away from Tim, because in the end people always leave.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t be. No matter how hard Tim tries, people always leave, he shouldn’t be that hurt that Dick would leave too.

And yet when Tim curled up on Dick’s hard bed, two plates of untouched cake sitting beside him, he felt his face burning as the silent tears slipped down anyway.

Chapter Text

Damian Thomas Wayne al Ghul had fallen out of favour.

He had fallen out of Father’s favour and worst of all, no one had even replaced his position.

Father had barely even spoken to him in the three days that he has been home, but he had not instead been talking to Thomas or Cain or even really Pennyworth according to Damian’s very through investigations.

Damian’s next assumption had been that Father was just spending some time with Todd, if only to keep Todd beneath this roof until he was fully out of the cast, but that was quickly disproven too considering that Todd seemed furious with Father too for some reason.

Of course Damian had considered that Father would want to spend time visiting Richard, and Drake he supposed, at Gotham General but Father had had done little except train hard within the Cave, even during the day, glaring up at Damian whenever Damian tried to descend the stairs.

The only way to regain favour would be to prove that he is once again at full capacity and so on the fourth time that Father glared at him, Damian ignored it, just like how he ignored the fact that Father’s disappointment in him ran through him sharper than any blade could.

Damian was slow in his movements, making a show of his perfect fundamentals and weapons skills, waiting for Father’s attention to drift to him.

It didn’t.

Damian recited a mantra in his head, reaching out towards a full sized Katana.

“No.” Father grunted.

“I am capable.”

“No.” Father repeated.

“Father,”

“Upstairs, now.”

Damian tilted his head up.

“I seek clearance to return as Robin.”

“No.”

Because Damian was broken now. Father did not trust him to handle danger, did not trust him to be Robin.

Father took a shuddering breath, lowering the weight that he had been lifting until all at once it was slamming hard onto the ground.

“Not yet.” Father said. “You… You will be able to return. If you want to. Not yet.”

“Father, I am capable of anything you could ask of me.”

All at once Father was coming towards him but Damian stood his ground, readying to defend, readying to prove himself once and for all.

But Father never began a spar, nor an outright fight. He simply stood tall over Damian, Damian’s heart for some fluttering even though he was not at any risk.

“Then go upstairs.” Father said lowly. “And rest."

“But, Fa-”

Just as quickly as Father had loomed him, he was gone again, disappearing deeper into the cave.

Damian gritted his teeth.

Turning on his heel, he made sure every step he took sounded against the Cave’s walls, going so far as to slam the Grandfather clock closed when he reached it.

Damian leant against it, his breath coming in stuttering gasps. His eyes were burning but he told himself it was nothing, and it was nothing.

He would regain favour.

He would regain Robin.

No matter what it took.

“Finally reached that preteen angst, Kid?”

Damian whipped around, blade already at Todd’s throat even before he fully registered that it was Todd at all.

Todd to his credit did not falter, though the eye roll he made was completely unnecessary.

He hid his knife once more, going to move passed Todd but Todd readjusted, blocking his path.

“Move, Todd.” Damian said lowly. “Or I will cut your other leg.”

“Ooh, big threat for such a little kid, did you Daddy teach you that one?”

Damian’s fist collided with Todd’s gut but Todd barely even dipped forward, simply readjusting his crutches again as if to keep his balance.

When Todd spoke again, the teasing tone had been replaced with a more sincere one.

“It’s gonna be alright, Damian.”

Damian glared at him because someone like Todd could never possibly understand Damian’s position.

Todd had been chosen.

Damian had been born.

Father had wanted Todd, wanted each of the others too, while he had simply been lumped with Damian.

“I’m serious.” Todd said. “He’ll come around. I think we scared him pretty bad, even if he’s too constipated to admit it. But, you know, you’re allowed to fall apart too.”

“I am not falling apart.” Damian hissed. “I’m better than that, better than you."

“Listen here, you little shit, I’m just trying to make sure-”

For some reason, Todd’s voice trailed off.

“Oh Kid.” He breathed. “C’mere.”

Damian stepped away from him, almost reaching for a blade once more. His lip was wobbling, but that was only because he was preparing for an attack, and his chest was aching but that was only because he hadn’t been doing enough exercise recently.

Todd came forward, the crutches clicking against the wooden floor.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Todd said. “Dad, he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Freaked, a little, thinking he lost us. He’ll come around once Dick and Tim are back here, you’ll see.”

When one of Todd’s arms wrapped around him, Damian knew that he should fight. He should kick out, hit Todd’s damaged leg, prove once and for all that the blood son was the only one that deserves to have Father’s favour.

He should fight but his eyes were burning, and when Todd’s hand gently held the back of Damian’s head, he found himself giving in.

“It’s gonna be just fine,” Todd murmured. “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Dick felt nothing as he sat by the rubble.

It was barely even rubble anymore, the concrete and metal and plaster that had kept Tim trapped for so long having been mostly cleared away.

But there were still blood stains, still glass.

Glass that had cut through Damian’s skin, making the boy bleed.

Bruce must have insisted that the rubble get cleared away, the only time any repair projects moved so quickly was if someone was bankrolling it but even the sway of Bruce Wayne’s money hadn’t been enough for the building to be fully demolished yet.

He had cradled Damian in his arms here, barely knowing where he could touch without hurting him.

He had heard Tim screaming in pain here, beneath that mess of rubble.

He had seen Jason track blood from that a leg here, the leg that could very well have needed to be amputated.

Dick should be feeling something as he sat amongst the blood and glass and yet he felt empty, an empty shell of a body that should have done more to protect its brothers.

Shoulders sinking low, head sinking lower, he let himself be a shadow.

Dick’s head suddenly snapped up as he heard something.

Pushing himself up to his feet, Dick rushed for cover amongst some of the rubble.

Dick silenced his breathing, keeping low as a shadow dropped down from what little remained of the roof.

For a moment, Batman just stayed there, cape spilling all around him where he crouched. Then he stood, slowly. He moved towards the remaining pile of what had pinned Tim to the ground.

Batman reached for a slab of concrete. He tugged at it, pulling it away from the rest. With barely so much as a grunt he fully picked it up. He carried it outside and Dick forced himself to keep quiet as something hit the ground hard beyond the ruined building.

Soon enough Batman was back, reaching for the next piece of concrete.

And the next.

And the next.

Slowly he moved, methodically, and if Dick didn’t know any better he would have thought that it was some kind of menial task just to keep his hands busy.

But Dick did know Batman.

He knew Bruce.

Dick stood from his little spot, brushing the dust from his shirt.

“It’s not your fault, B.”

Batman did not show any surprise, or even any acknowledgement that Dick was there. He simply moved onto the next piece of rubble.

Dick tried to step in his way when he went towards the door once more but Batman easily glided passed him. He returned again just as quickly, moving towards yet another piece.

“They’re okay.” Dick said. “They’re alive.”

Batman reached down. His gauntlets strained, the piece apparently heavier than he expected, but he compensated easily and stood anyway.

“B,” Dick said. “It’s not your fault. You were right, it was mine.”

Batman dropped the concrete and it cracked into two. His jaw ticked, preparing to say something, but then his eyes slipped closed. He opened them once more, picking up the larger piece that had broken off.

“B,”

Batman carried it towards the half destroyed entrance.

Dick’s chest ached, needing Bruce to know that this was his fault, not Bruce’s. He couldn’t bear the thought that Batman had been coming here each night, removing the mess that Dick had caused piece by piece. Couldn’t bear the thought of Batman taking on this weight when it should lay squarely on Dick’s shoulders.

“You weren’t even there, B.” Dick said, more harshly than he had intended. “You don’t get to take the blame for something you could have never known would happen.”

Batman gave no sign of hearing him, his every footstep slow.

Dick seethed, picking up the smaller piece of rubble and stalking towards the pile that Batman was making outside.

He tossed it, making sure to make dust spray in Batman’s face.

“They’re alive.” He growled. “But they could have died because of me, not you, me. So stop wasting your fucking time here and go out there and be Batman.”

It was Bruce, not Batman, that reached out, hand gliding over where there was a small healing cut on Dick’s hairline.

Dick blinked, unsure why his eyes had started to burn even when the rest of him had started to feel empty once more.

He stepped away, forcing his gaze to land on anything other than Bruce.

Batman made a sound then, one that Dick did not let himself decipher. He moved, slowly, like a phantom, back towards the rubble inside.

“Do the others know that you’re doing this?” Dick demanded. “Oracle? Spoiler? Orphan? Do they realise that while they’re risking their lives to protect and help people, you’re acting like this place is some kind of grave?”

Batman moved onto the next piece.

“What about Signal? Does he lie awake at night, wondering if he is expected to come help?”

The concrete must be heavy, it must be, a piece of rebar sticking out from it and yet Batman did not seem to struggle at all.

“Or Nightwing?” Dick’s voice cracked. “Does he even deserve to help you?”

Batman stilled once more.

“Go back.” Batman said.

“No.”

“Go back. To the hospital.” Batman’s voice was like gravel, his fists curled. “Now.”

“No.” Dick snarled.

“You are injured.”

“I’m fucking fine, you’re the one who looks half dead. They’re fine too Bruce, so stop beating yourself up over something I did.”

Dick waited for Bruce to yell, waited for him to shout, waited for him to maybe even shove him backwards. Waited for him to do anything at all to express the anger that he was surely feeling, anger at what Dick had almost made him lose.

Instead Bruce just sank to his knees and Dick found himself dropping alongside him.

Dick felt nothing even as his knees crashed against the hard floor, he felt nothing even when he should be remembering how it felt to have Damian shaking in his arms, should be remembering how Damian’s blood had felt like on his hands.

“B,” Dick said. “I’m sorry. I… I was meant to protect them. I failed.”

For a moment, for an agonising moment, Bruce said nothing at all. When he did speak, it was soft, almost like a whisper.

“You were injured.”

“It was just a concussion.” Dick said.

“You felt so small in my arms.”

Dick didn’t really understand but he dipped his head low all the same, new shame trying to bloom in the already suffocating apathy.

“You were so small,” Bruce said again. “I couldn’t protect you.”

“You don’t need to protect me, B.” Dick said. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I didn’t go to you. I should have gone to you. I could have prevented it.”

Bruce wasn’t talking about the explosion, Dick realised, he was talking about the seizure.

“It’s fine.” Dick said.

But Bruce was shaking his head, the movement jolting and so unlike the Batman he should be right now.

“I should have gone to you.”

“Bruce, it’s fine. You know I would have told you to go to them instead.”

“You’re my Son.”

“They needed you more.” Dick said. “The boys, they…”

Dick didn’t know what he should be feeling right now but for some reason he was only hollow. He tried to settle on sadness, on anger, on anything at all but all he felt was tired.

“They were hurt really bad.” Dick said. “I will never blame you for going to them first. Hell, I’m glad you did. I’m glad they weren’t alone.”

“But you were.”

It was Dick who shook his head now, only the slightest hint of vertigo hitting him when he did so.

“I know that I’m never really alone,” Dick said. “At least… I thought I did but, I don’t know, everything’s just kinda… Nothing right now.”

Concern crashed into Bruce’s expression but Dick waved it away.

“I’m fine.” He said. “I’m not going to have another seizure or whatever, I guess I’m just tired.”

He had been tired ever since Bruce had said straight to his face that this had all been his fault. Bruce had said it as an attempt at a joke, Dick knew he had, but long before Bruce had said it aloud Dick had already known it as the truth.

“Someone’s here.” Batman snarled, hand reaching for a Batarang. “Get down.”

Dick did not point out that they were both already on the ground he simply let out a low breath, his head sinking down low once more.

“Jeez, Dickface,” A voice said. “Can you get much more dramatic?”

Dick did not both to try to locate where Jason was, that familiar shame at last replacing the emptiness again, if only for a little while.

“I mean seriously,” Jason said. “That sigh, that was pretty fucking impressive. The declarations of fault are a little on the nose though, I’ll admit, I would have thought you two would have gotten better at them by now.”

As crutches clicked against the ground, Dick did not allow himself to be happy that Jason was actually using them instead of putting weight on his healing leg. He did not allow himself to feel anything at all but the shame but that was slipping away too, no matter how hard he tried to grasp it.

Batman was fully up on his feet again.

“Home. Now.”

Jason made a show of thinking about it. Then with a grin, his arm keeping a crutch in place, he flipped Batman off.

“I’m all good, Old Man,” Jason said. “Though I do feel like gagging, given the whole pity party thing. How would you rate it, Little D?”

The click of the tongue was as unmistakable as the small shadow that suddenly hovered above Dick.

Batman’s gauntlets strained, fists clenched so tightly that they were shaking.

“I have not gone against your word, Father,” Damian said quickly. “As foolish as the rule was.”

Damian gestured towards himself, bringing attention to his civilian clothes and lack of mask.

“Though,” Damian said. “I did rightly say to Todd that it would be stupid to let our secret identities be found out just to follow your instruction about no vigilantism until we get a second clearance.”

“Home. Both of you. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

“No negotiation necessary,” A third voice said, because of course Tim was here too. “Robin’s help people, including people who sneak out of hospitals when they’re not supposed to.”

Dick blinked then, raising his head just a little. When he spoke, his voice sounded rough even to his own ear.

“Didn’t you just sneak out of hospital?”

Tim put a hand on his heart, summoning near perfect tears to form at the corners of his eyes.

Even knowing it was a trick, Dick’s heart still stammered at the thought that he was in pain, that he was hurt, that he was dying. Tim was dying and it was all his fault.

“I would never,” Tim proclaimed. “I’ll have you know, I have fully signed discharge papers that were not forged whatsoever.”

The anxiety gave way to the nothingness once more, even if Bruce remained somehow both stiff and absolutely furious.

“I made it very clear that you are not to-”

“Relax, Batface,” Jason laughed. “He’s actually telling the truth for once.”

Tim beamed, bouncing on his heels only to pale and force himself to go fully back onto both feet again.

“I’m all good now.” He said, a little winded. “Fully cleared to go home.”

Tim came a little closer, his movements only a little pained though he hid it well.

He knelt in front of Dick, though Dick shifted his head away the moment Tim reached out towards him.

Tim’s hand dropped down.

“I’m all good,” He said again, softer this time. “I’m okay. But you’re not, Dick.”

Dick bared his teeth but the anger simmered again almost immediately.

“I know the last few weeks have been hard,” Tim said. “Trust me, I get it, but everyone’s okay now.”

The only reason that things hadn’t been okay in the first place was because of Dick.

Just a few weeks ago, Tim had laid beneath that pile of rubble. He had been in pain, unable to stop his screams despite how hard he had clearly been trying to.

Just a few weeks ago, Jason hadn’t been on crutches, he had been covered in blood, his leg unbelievably damaged, hands going red as he scrambled to get the weight off of Tim.

Just a few weeks ago, Damian had been shaking in his arms, eyes shut tightly from pain that even he couldn’t simply breathe through.

It had been Dick’s fault. It had all been Dick’s fault, it didn’t matter if they were all here and claiming that they were okay now, what mattered was that they had ever been injured at all.

“The Kid’s right, everyone’s okay.” Jason said, turning to Batman. “So shut the fuck up already and get over yourself. Surely you’ve spent enough time moping about things that you couldn’t have stopped.”

“Jason,”

“I’m serious.” Jason said. “I’m not gonna spend the next ten fucking years dealing with the both of you moaning and groaning about who’s fault it was. This place went boom. We went boom. We got back on our damn feet. That’s it. That’s the whole story.”

Dick’s head hung low.

“And Tim,” Jason continued. “I swear to fuck, if you point out that I’m on one foot not two I will make sure you get so buried in rubble next time that fucking Superman wouldn’t be able to dig you out.”

Dick waited for Tim’s retort but none came. Instead, Tim was cupping Dick’s cheek, forcing his head to rise.

“Look at me,” Tim said gently. “I’m okay. Damian’s okay. Jason, ass that he is, is okay. None of us blame you for what happened.”

“Oracle ran the simulations.” Damian said. “Even detectives such as ourselves would not have been able to notice, let alone stop, the device in time.”

“And,” Jason said pointedly. “Dickiebird’s records had been okay before the seizure with no sign of swelling until after it happened. So get off your damn gargoyle Bruce and admit that you couldn’t have stopped that either.”

“I…” Dick swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes were burning but when he tried to pull fully away, Tim didn’t let him.

“You’re allowed to fall apart, Dick.” Tim said. “Just next time, instead of running away, instead of making me think that someone was leaving again, could you just let me in? Please?”

Just a few weeks ago, Tim had laid beneath that pile of rubble. He had been in pain, unable to stop his screams despite how hard he had clearly been trying to and yet now he was brushing Dick’s tears away as if Dick was the one who deserved to be crying.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Bruce said, stiffly. Then, clearing his throat. “Of course it wasn’t your fault, Dick. You did everything you could to protect them.”

“And you did,” Jason said. “You held Dami, you made sure I didn’t fall on my face in the hospital. Hell, you gave your every dessert to Timbo because god knows he needs the sugar. You protected us, Dick, but you could have gotten hurt coming out here by yourself.”

Tim pulled away, slowly, giving Dick every chance to clutch onto him. Dick shoved down the instinct to do just that, forcing himself instead to feel the pain, feel the sadness, feel the agony knowing that just a few weeks ago this same little brother who had been holding him so gently had almost bled out on this floor.

When Dick finally felt able to raise his head fully, he saw that Damian was still a few feet away.

Damian’s head was bowed, gaze locked onto the ground.

“Damian,” Dick said. “I’m sorry.”

Damian clicked his tongue but then his breath caught.

“Damian,” Bruce tried instead.

Bruce’s fists were still clenched tightly but as Dick watched, he forced them to loosen.

His every footstep was stilted but when he knelt down in front of Damian, there was nothing but grace.

“Damian,” Bruce said again. “Are you…”

Bruce seemed to be at a loss for words but so was Dick.

Damian’s eyes were glistening, in a way that he would ordinarily never allow to happen, let alone outside of the safety of the manor.

“It is…” Damian’s voice shook, unsure. “It is okay to fall apart.”

“Yes.” Bruce said evenly.

“Then,” Damian said. “Father, allow yourself to fall apart. I shall be here to pick up the pieces.”

For as brave as Damian was trying to be, Dick saw that he was trembling.

Dick pushed himself fully up to his feet, gently touching Tim’s arm in gratitude as he passed him.

Damian looked small, even with Bruce kneeling before him.

“You’re okay?” Dick asked gently.

“No.” Damian breathed, the admission in and of itself monumental. “But I will be.”

“We all will be.” Jason said.

Dick tugged Damian into his arms. He felt Bruce’s hand briefly touch his back, moving away as if burned. Then the hand was back, and soon enough Bruce’s arms were fully wrapping around the both of them.

There was clicking against the ground, Jason being careful with how he shifted his weight, for once in his life actually listening to the medical advice he had been given.

Tim came too, without reservation, without feeling the need to hide the tears that had started falling down his face.

It felt warm, their arms wrapped around each other, even as long cooled blood stained the floor around them.

It felt right.

They were okay.

They were all okay.

There was a sound, a rock skittering across the ground and as one they moved towards it, ready for a fight.

Julio Alves stood there, already offering a half wave, his nurse scrubs covered in a jacket.

“Oh yeah,” Tim said. “By the way, Alves is here. I kind of needed a ride."

“Hey, um, sorry, I just…”

Batman stood tall, looming above each of them and Dick fought to not roll his eyes.

“I just wanted to say,” Julio bounced a little on his heels. “The paperwork was fully signed and everything, Tim is medically cleared so long as he finishes the antibiotics at home. So, uh, yeah, that’s all. Oh, and Dick’s paperwork was going to go through in the morning but given that he absconded, I kind of just rushed it through. You know, didn’t want to get into trouble or anything.”

When no one spoke, Julio decided that apparently it was his task to fill the silence.

“Oh,” Julio Alves said. “And yeah, don’t worry about the whole Damian Wayne calling Batman Father thing, I promise not to tell. Then again, it’s not like it’s very hard to work out. I’m pretty sure most of Gotham General already knows given the whole Batman sitting vigil by Red Robin’s side anytime he gets admitted the same way that Bruce Wayne does when Tim is- And I’m going to shut up now.”

When Jason turned to Dick, Dick elbowed his brother right in the ribs.

“We’re not making him a vigilante.” Dick said.

“We could kill him instead.” Tim said brightly.

“Or,” Batman ground out. “Each of you will go home this instant and rest, unless you want your own vigilante privileges revoked for the next century.”

“Oh please,” Dick said, trying for a grin. “You’ll have us back on within a week, except for maybe Jay. Sorry Jay.”

“I’ll show you sorry you lame ass, Golden Boy.”

Dick nudged Jason and Jason nudged him right back and maybe it didn’t feel completely right just yet, maybe there would always be some part of him that was stuck in this room holding his dying baby brother.

But maybe things were going to be okay after all, because as long as they were all together like this then everything was going to be just fine.

So long as a certain nurse practitioner doesn’t spill their secrets, of course.