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There was a mist that came out with each breath, one that made Tim almost want to sing Puff The Magic Dragon.
Of course, he’d quickly realised that he very much did not know the actual lyrics of said song, apart from something about Dragons and something else about, well, something.
He wasn’t exactly inclined to listen to it either, given how annoying it already was as an ear worm with only part of the chorus running through his head again and again let alone if he had the full melody put into his memory once again, if it had ever been there in the first place.
Tim could wax poetic all day about how he remembered his mother singing it to him as she rocked him side to side in the nursery and that was why he remembered the song now that he lay dying but in truth he had no idea at all if Janet had even come into his nursery let alone sang to him like that.
Well, that was a patent lie; as shit of a Mom as Janet was, he did have some genuine memories of her having come into the nursery but considering the whole currently dying thing he decided that he could be a little melodramatic about his parents parenting skills.
Tim had already tried to flip fully over onto his back, if only to also be as melodramatic as possible about how it was the last time he was going to see stars as if Gotham even had stars in the first place. Of course, he hadn’t quite managed to get onto his back, his vision whiting out when he’d even shifted a little bit.
It had taken an eternity before Tim had mostly retaken control over his pain but his breathing had been harder to even out, his dumb lungs not wanting to do their dumb job for the millionth time in his dumb life.
Even now, the puffs of mist came sporadically, the sounds that came out of him with each one making his head spin even more than the actual pain did.
Tim’s phone lay by his side, having slipped from his pocket when he had tried to bring it out not to play music but to maybe possibly call for a little bit of back up if anyone was available, and while he knew he should try to reach for it once more, the mere thought of shifting too much again made it damn near impossible to actually follow through with the action.
If he moved, the pain would explode and if the pain exploded again then Tim was not only going to immediately succumb to his injuries, but he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from crying. Tim really really really didn’t want to cry right now.
Fuck, his eyes were already stinging but when Tim tried to curl up into a ball, he only managed to shift his leg ever so slightly and that alone was enough to make the tears fall in earnest.
Tim tried to make himself move anyway, channeling the rush of shame into pushing through the pain instead but he could only sob as it made the metal dig deeper into his abdomen. He shuddered, vision pulsing, and a part of him wondered if he really was going to die within the next few moments only for it to drag instead into eternity.
Another breath of mist, this time accompanied by a rough cough that made his whole damn body spasm which in turn made him cough harder. He didn’t need to see past the growing blurs to recognise the taste of iron on his tongue yet he saw the splatter of red on the ground all the same.
Summoning strength that he simply didn’t have, Tim’s fingers ghosted against his phone once again but the cell skittered further away instead. Biting his lip hard, Tim reached out towards it again. And again. And again.
Tim whined because he couldn’t even do this right. All Tim had to do was let go and it would all be over and yet he reached for the phone again instead, at last his trembling fingers catching on the case.
The phone scraped against the concrete, no doubt scratching the camera but Tim couldn’t bring himself to care, bringing it instead to his face.
Tim blinked, the dark mode lock screen somehow still too bright for him.
While he had managed to hold it up off the ground for all of a second and a half, he distantly realised that it must have dropped at some point. Tim watched it, waiting for it to move back towards him only to find that it stayed exactly where it was.
Every breath a rasp, every blink a monumental effort, every thought so sluggish he dimly wondered if he was thinking at all.
The metal in his abdomen shifted as Tim tried to raise the phone and this time he really did think he was going to die because holy fuck how the hell could something feel like that without at least giving him the mercy of ending it all.
If anything though, Tim used to pain to steel himself, managing not only to tilt the phone so that he could see it while resting it half on the ground but even being able to unlock it.
Tim brought up the call function.
The names were little more than squiggles on the screen but Tim didn’t need to read any one of them to know the order that they lay in. Equally, Tim didn’t need to read them to know that he couldn’t actually select any of them.
Tim let the phone drop onto its back once more, his reddened hand still touching the cool screen.
The mist was coming less often now, the breaths themself simply not coming.
There was blood on his phone. He… Should probably do something about that, his Mom would be furious to know that he’d made such a mess. Tim tried to clean it, only succeeding in smearing the blood and-
And the screen had changed.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck, Tim rushed to cancel the call but it was already connecting and god he was such a ridiculous idiot he should have known better than to try to clean the blood, he should have known better than to grab the phone at all, he should have-
“Tim?”
Although Tim had managed to stifle his sob, he couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his face because that was his Bruce’s voice and Bruce answered the call within a single ring and he just wanted his Dad to hold him but then he remembered himself and he remembered that he couldn’t be so needy like that.
“Is everything okay, Tim?”
Bruce could not know that Tim had messed up again.
Tim’s finger hovered above the red button.
“I’m glad you called.”
Bruce’s voice had changed. Softer. Fond, almost, even though there was no reason for Bruce to be fond of him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Tim blinked quickly, not understanding. He hadn’t said anything, Bruce couldn’t know that something was wrong. Unless Bruce was annoyed that Tim had called alone but that wasn’t annoyance in his tone it wasn’t even a sigh of defeat because Tim always demanded so much of him.
No, Bruce’s asking to help sounded like he genuinely wanted to know how it was he could help.
“Tim. Are you safe right now? You don’t have to say anything at all if it will put you in danger, just know that I will come get you if you need me to.”
Tim didn’t need anything at all, even Bruce wouldn’t be able to reverse just how much blood he’s already lost and yet just knowing that Bruce would have come for him in the end was more than he could have ever asked for.
While he knew that he should hang up, there was no reason to waste Bruce’s time for any longer, Tim instead set the phone fully onto the ground and simply listened to his Dad’s breathing. The fact that Tim could hear it at all meant that Bruce was doing it on purpose, as if giving Tim something to follow along with if he needed to calm down.
Tim was calm, though, even as each of his own breaths became more shallow.
He was calm because even though Bruce wasn’t here, he was still more here than Jack had ever been.
He was calm because there was nothing to be done to save him anyway.
He was calm because he was loved, truely and utterly.
He was watching the air mist in front of him, an old song playing in his head as the phone’s screen dimmed, the call still impossibly connected because Bruce wanted him to be okay.
Someone was humming, the sound soft and warm and loving.
Tim must have forgotten to turn off the YouTube video again, the one that had the sweet lady singing Puff the Magic Dragon as a small fire crackled in the background.
It had been one of Tim’s favourites to listen to on the nights where he couldn’t sleep no matter how hard he tried, at least until he found the videos where it made it sound like there were people talking in the next room over.
The voices would speak of everything and nothing at all but Tim really liked the ones where they talked about all the holidays they went on with their kids, how they would bring their kids all over the whole world with a new adventure every single day because kids deserved to have adventures before they needed to get used to the real world.
This must be a different video though, even from the one with the lady. Whoever was humming now sounded masculine, though it was absolutely the same song.
YouTube must have updated, not just by adding a boy version of the song but because now it almost felt like someone’s fingers were really running through his hair, more real than he could ever really managed to imagine.
Tim was warm, his blanket soft, clothes even softer.
The room was dim but it wasn’t completely dark so it would probably be time to get up to school soon but Tim just wanted to stay here forever listening to that sweet sound.
There was a new sound now, shoes against ground except the ground never sounded like that at home and home’s bed didn’t feel like this either even if the blanket and clothes were definitely absolutely his own.
Tim jolted up, a thousand apologies on his tongue to whichever host he needed to apologise for falling asleep at their event this time except he didn’t even manage to get halfway up before he was collapsing back down again, his vision whiting out.
“Easy, easy,” A voice murmured.
The humming was gone and it was Tim’s fault, everything was always his fault, he should have known better than to disgrace the Drake name again and there was a prickling in his eyes but Tim couldn’t cry, he wouldn’t let himself cry, Dad always said that he’s too old to cry but now he couldn’t stop and he gave off a wrenching sob.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe Timmy, I’ve got you.”
Tim’s head spun because that sounded almost like Robin, the first one not Jason Todd, but it couldn’t be Robin because Robin would never be caught dead dealing with someone like Tim and everything was pain and too much and even though the lights were definitely dimmed above them it was still too bright and there was a quick beeping that made his head spin even faster and Tim was dying, he was dying and Mom was going to be so disappointed in him for making this all about himself again.
“Tim, Sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay,”
There was a rumble then, not so much words as a simple sound.
“No,” The first Robin said. “Give him just a little longer.”
A louder huff of breath now and Tim must be stupid because while he didn’t understand that huff, the first Robin seemed to know without issue what was being said.
“It’s fine, B, he’s just waking up. He wouldn’t want to go under again.”
The fast beeping became faster because Tim didn’t want to be put under especially because he didn’t know what he was going to be put under. A tree? The ground? A mound of homework that should have been done ages ago because it was due in six weeks time?
“Easy, Tim, easy, just breathe for me Bud, just follow me.”
Tim’s hand was raised, not of his own accord, but before he could snap it away again his palm was set against something warm and familiar.
“Breathe with me,” Dick Grayson said.
When Dick’s chest shifted a little with the exaggerated breath, Tim tried to follow it. His breath caught but he clamped his mouth shut because he couldn’t make a sound, he couldn’t annoy Dick when Dick was being so nice to him.
“Breathe with me, Babybird, you’re okay.”
Dick breathed in deeply. Held it. Let it go.
“That’s it,” Dick murmured. “Great job. Can we try again?”
This time, Dick waited until it was Tim himself who breathed in first before he joined in with his own. Tim’s head spun as he held it but when he let it go again he felt a little more steady.
Tim opened his mouth to speak but he struggled to actually form any words.
“Rest.” Bruce said firmly.
“B, I’ve got it.”
Another grumble, shoes shuffling back again but the moment that Tim tried to sit up again Bruce was all at once rushing forward instead, a hand setting on Tim’s shoulder and keeping him mostly laying down.
Bruce’s own mouth was a firm line because he was angry that Tim was wasting his time again.
No, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t, Tim told himself, but fear.
Batman doesn’t get scared, he must be in control at all times but this wasn’t Batman in the the room right now but Bruce Wayne and Tim knew all too well that Bruce Wayne can become utterly terrified when it comes to the safety of Dick, Jason and Damian.
And besides, even if it was Batman not Bruce here, Tim has seen more than anyone else just how fucking scared Batman can get even if no one else could ever even imagine it.
Not bothering to try sitting again, Tim tried to curl up into a ball instead, exhaustion tugging at him.
Bruce didn’t need to stop Tim this time because his own body did it for him and he was jolting forward as pain lanced through him and he was on a street and he was bleeding and he was dying and he was alone except he wasn’t on a street, he was on a bed, a bed that slowly became more recognisable as the acute pain became more of a strong throb.
Tim couldn’t stop the whine that escaped him because holy fuck did it still hurt.
While he couldn’t curl fully, Tim was still a little more comfortable on his side. Dick was sitting across from Tim’s bed, though he was so close to the edge of the chair that he might as well be hovering over it.
Apart from the three of them, the hospital room was empty, the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed as far as they could go as if they’d known that the usual lights would be too much for Tim to tolerate.
The blanket laid over him was indeed his own, not a weighted one but instead a light warm one that made him feel almost like he was being hugged. To Tim’s flash of fear, he realised that there was an IV taped to the back of his hand but the moment that he thought about reaching for it he cursed himself out and instead focused on curling and uncurling his hands in the blanket.
There were monitors around him too but Tim refused to look at them just like he refused to even fully register that there were electrodes on his chest that were detecting his absolutely not racing heartbeat because he was absolutely not freaking out because he was fine, everything was fine, everything had to be fine.
With Dick now fully in front of Tim, Bruce’s shadow still was cast over him from behind.
The shadow shifted and Tim evened out his heart beat to a completely steady rhythm because although he was glad he couldn’t see either disappointment or fear on Bruce’s face right now, Tim still knew to keep his vitals as even as possible.
Shoes scuffed the ground once more, the usually silent man make an awful amount of noise as he came towards Dick’s side of the bed too but before Bruce could even make it to the foot of the bed, Tim was flipping over to the other side instead.
Pain slammed into him and Tim’s heart rate picked up for two whole beats before he managed to steady it once more. Even so, shame settled deep into his soul because he should have never let himself slip at all; Batman has tolerated outright torture without his breathing or heart rate ever changing and Tim couldn’t even handle a little bit of pain.
“Oh Bud,” Dick breathed.
A hand cupped Tim’s cheek, the thumb wiping the tear he didn’t even know was there away.
“I’m sorry.” Tim croaked. “I… I’ll stop crying, I will, I just…”
His lip trembled, his whole body shivering despite the warm blanket.
“Tim,” Bruce said. “We have lessened your pain medication. If you need more, you need to let me know.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Tim.”
“I don’t.” Tim said.
He couldn’t waste it but he also really didn’t want to return to the darkness either and he never wanted to ever be on medications at all but everything was hurting and it was hard to focus on anything except for the burning in his abdomen.
“Timmy,” Dick said. “I know you don’t like the meds, but it’s okay if you do want some. You won’t be in trouble, we just want you to feel okay.”
“I’m okay.” Tim said.
For some reason Tim was out of breath just from speaking for a short amount of time. His eyelids felt heavy too but he didn’t let them slip fully closed without reopening because he needed to prove to both Bruce and Dick that he really was fine. They could go now, he didn’t need them here by his bedside.
Better yet, he didn’t need to be here in this bed either.
Tim tried to rise but his body simply couldn’t.
“Slow, Tim.” Bruce said sternly.
“B.” Dick warned.
Bruce took in a deep breath. Held it. Released it.
Tim blinked slowly, not understanding why the man that could be completely silent if he so wished had instead decided to take in yet another deep loud breath, hold it once more, before finally letting it go.
When Bruce spoke again, it was far softer.
“Tim. Do you remember what happened?”
Blood pooled all around Tim as the contacts on his phone fading in and out.
“I’ll have the patrol report in by dinner.” Tim said.
“You were not on patrol.” Bruce said.
Tim knew that.
Of course he knew that.
Well… Actually, that might explain why everything hurts so fucking much because if he’d been hurt as Red Robin his armour would have been able to protect him a little better compared to his street clothes.
“I know what happened.” Tim said instead.
“Tim,” Dick said. “If you need to rest,”
“I don’t need to rest.” Tim said.
Trying yet again to sit on his own strength only made pain tear through him and Tim was all at once balling his fist and slamming it down onto the bed. When that wasn’t enough to smother everything, Tim kicked out his legs but the pain stopped that instantly, making new tears pour down his face.
Tim cursed, waiting for Bruce to decide to drug him anyway like Jack and Janet would have if he was acting so childishly over something so trivial as pain and frustration but Bruce simply stayed nearby as Tim went through his stupid temper tantrum. It was utterly ridiculous that he couldn’t do something so simple as sit up and he had already wasted too much of Bruce and Dick’s times and Tim should have never called Bruce in the first place, he should have just let himself die.
Tim stilled.
“Bud?”
“I don’t want to die.” Tim said.
“The Doctors were saying that you’re actually doing really well, all things considered. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I don’t want to die.” Tim repeated, his voice cracking. “You have to believe me, please, Dick, I didn’t do it on purpose, I just, I needed to, I-”
“Whoah whoah, Babybird,” Dick said. “Just breathe for me, Bud, it’s okay. No one is saying what happened is your fault at all. You were just trying to keep people safe, yeah?”
Tim’s eyes burned as he nodded.
Bruce let out a huff and for a moment Tim thought that he was just going to turn around and leave but then Tim’s bed was dipping and while it made pain lance through him his mind latched onto the feeling of Bruce’s warmth beside his leg.
When Bruce shifted a little bit, Tim had to grit his teeth as the pain flared but he made certain that even Bruce wouldn’t be able to tell except it was Bruce who outright flinched, instantly going to stand once more and Tim’s heart raced because Bruce never flinches and it was all Tim’s fault and Bruce was upset with him and everything was hurting and spinning and he was dying and there was blood, there was so much blood and there was a hand on his knee.
There was a hand on his knee.
There… There was a hand on his knee. It was a big hand, warm, familiar. Safe.
“Tim.” Bruce said. “Look at me.”
Tim couldn’t, of course he couldn’t, because he was stupid.
“It’s okay if you need to look to the side instead,” Bruce said. “But I need to know that you’re listening carefully to what I have to say.”
Now Tim really did look at him, if only to stare because what the hell was Bruce talking about, of course Tim needed to look him in the eye because Jack always said that Tim needed to look people in the eye no matter how hard it was to do so.
The hand on his knee squeezed, just a little, just enough that Tim found that he could breathe better.
Bruce would not force him to look him in the eye, not when he is Tim. It may be different as Batman and Red Robin, but even then the eye contact only mattered when it was pivotal to the mission’s success.
Without needing Bruce or Dick to exaggerate their breathing again, Tim himself took in a deep even breath, held it, let it go. He did it again, then a third time. While the pain did not fully go away, his lungs no longer screamed and his head did not spin nearly as much. Even so, he took in one more deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “I didn’t mean to get hurt this time. I promise.”
“We have all done things without our armour on instinct.” Bruce said.
“You say that like this wasn’t an instinct.” Tim shot back, unable to keep his anger from flaring. “I didn’t hurt myself, it was an explosion. I didn’t do this.”
“You went into an incredibly dangerous situation with no armour.” Bruce said.
“To help people,” Tim insisted. “Like Dick said. Like you would have.”
“This isn’t about how I would have handled the situation.” Bruce said. “This is about you, Tim, and the fact that you could have died last night.”
“But I didn’t, and even if I did it’s not like I did it on purpose because I don’t want to die, you know that, you know I’d never do something like that, Bruce, you need to know that.”
Even without the monitor betraying him, Tim already knew that his heart had started rabbiting once more because he hadn’t tried to hurt himself, of course he didn’t, he didn’t want to die, this wasn’t depression or anxiety or whatever the fuck Bruce thought it was, he wasn’t suicidal, he was just trying to save some civilians from the bomb and something had gone wrong and he had been thrown backwards even before he registered the explosion and he’d been trying to go home, he had been, but at some point he must have fallen and there was blood, there was so much blood, but this wasn’t because he’d wanted to hurt.
“Timmy,” Dick said, his voice tight. “I really think you need to rest, you’re going to pull your stitches.”
But Tim didn’t care if he pulled his stitches because this hadn’t been his fault, he didn’t want to die now and he certainly hadn’t wanted to die then it’s just there was so much blood and he couldn’t push himself up from the ground and the hand on his knee was squeezing again but there was a new hand too, one that was cupping his cheek.
Tim leant into it before he could stop himself, the sob catching in his chest.
“Tim,” Bruce said. “I am not saying that you actively attempted suicide. I am saying that your recklessness could have-”
“Please, Bruce, it wasn’t on purpose. It was instinct, I swear.”
“Even so,”
“This isn’t what you think, please, I wasn’t trying to kill myself, actively or passively. You need to believe me, please,”
“Son,”
“Please. Please, I, I don’t need the meds again. I’m not depressed, I’m handling everything, I swear.”
“Tim,”
“I don’t want to die. I don’t, I really don’t, and I’m sorry that I got hurt and I’m sorry that you’re wasting your time here again but I won’t apologise for trying to save people.”
The hand on Tim’s cheek shifted until it ran through his hair. His own words fell away with a sob and he curled up, ignoring the searing pain.
“All I was going to say was that I would like you to see Dinah again.” Bruce said.
But Tim’s was already shaking his head because he was fine, everything was fine. If he was depressed, he wouldn’t be crying like this, if he was depressed, everything wouldn’t be hurting like this.
Tim’s darkness always became apathy.
This was different. This was simply pain because he had gotten physically hurt. This had to be different.
“It will take time for you to recover from your injuries,” Bruce said. “I suggest you take that time to check in with yourself and fully work out if there was some deeper reason why you thought that deactivating a bomb without any armour was a good choice to be making.”
“It was to save people.”
“Tim. I’m not denying that you helped those individuals,” Bruce said firmly. “But I also need to know that you are safe.”
“I’m safe now.” Tim said. “With you.”
Bruce’s shoulders dipped then, his dark eyes growing glassy. Bruce’s fingers were still carding through Tim’s hair and it was taking every bit of energy that Tim had left not to bawl his eyes out at the sheer gentleness of it all.
“We’re not at the stage where we need to consider further support,” Bruce said. “Especially inpatient support. At the moment, the priority is recovering physically from your wounds, then we can discuss sessions with Dinah.”
And Dinah will decide that Tim is so messed up in the head that she was going to throw him in Arkham and lock away the key.
“Tim.” Dick said. “Breathe, Sweetheart. I know this is all really hard right now, I do, and I know that you need sleep more than anything else, but we’re just bringing this up because we care about you and we want you to be okay and we need to make sure that as you’re recovering you do not put yourself into any more dangerous situations.”
A vindictive part of Tim screamed at him that he should point out Dick’s own lack of self care and survival instincts but the rest of him just wanted to go home.
This room was caving in on him with too many noises and lights and smells, even with Bruce and Dick right here to keep the roof from falling fully onto him except it was Bruce and Tim who were implying that he’d hurt himself on purpose, Bruce and Dick couldn’t be trusted except he just wanted them to hold him, he needed them to hold him.
“This is for your own good, Tim.” Bruce said. “I have already contacted Dinah, we can discuss having an assessment to decide on next steps, if any, that we need to take.”
“I called you, didn’t I?”
The fingers in Tim’s hair stilled.
“That has to count for something.” Tim said.
Tim hadn’t called last time, and the fact that he had called this time proved that he wasn’t suicidal and he didn’t need to see a shrink again and he didn’t need to take meds again and everything was fine because he called.
“Tim,”
It was Dick who had spoken, not Bruce.
Bruce was still frozen, his eyes blown wide and his mouth a little open as if a statue.
“What?” Tim demanded.
“We found your phone.”
“I know it was covered in blood but we can clean it and-”
“Tim. It was at the blast site. It couldn’t turn on, let alone make a phone call.”
“Then I went to a phone booth.” Tim said.
But even before Dick shook his head, Tim knew that wasn’t the case either.
“You lost a lot of blood.” Dick said. “It’s not uncommon to experience hallucinations.”
“But I called.” Tim said, his lip trembling again. “I called. I swear, I remember calling, you picked up and I was so happy because Dad never would have and I, you, it was… Everything was okay, Bruce, because it was like you were right there.”
“You…” Bruce’s voice was faint, his eyes still glazed. “You tried to call me. And I didn’t pick up.”
“No,” Tim said quickly. “You did, you always do,”
“Bruce.” Dick said. “There wasn’t a call. This wasn’t your fault. It was blood loss, Tim. Regardless, you’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.”
But that wasn’t all that matters because Bruce was looking so lost and it was all Tim’s fault and Tim was stupid and a waste of space and he was wasting their time and he-
And he was breathing deeply. He held it, let it go. Breathed deeply. Held it. Let it go.
“I didn’t want to die.” Tim whispered. “And I still don’t. It’s just…”
Swallowing the lump in his throat was as impossible as getting the words out.
“I just…”
Bruce was moving again, though the fingers in Tim’s hair were far slower now.
“Rest, Son.” Bruce said. “We will discuss things when you are a little more settled.”
“I’m settled.” Tim shot back.
Just as quickly as the anger had risen back up it fell away again, replaced with utter shame and disgust because he was being ridiculous and he needed to be better than this and he should be fully capable of standing up but he couldn’t so much as sit and now Bruce and Dick were wasting their days by his side, again, and they needed to go, he needed to be alone.
“Don’t go.” Tim begged. “Please. I, I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be alone. I won’t hurt myself, no matter what, but I, but you, please, I-”
“Shh, Babybird, we’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not depressed.” Tim said quickly.
“We’re not saying you are,” Dick soothed.
“Bruce is, he thinks I did this to myself. He thinks I wanted to die.”
“No.” Bruce ground out. “I thought you were going to die.”
Tim’s breath caught, watching as the out of place tear rolled down Bruce’s cheek.
“I thought I was going to lose my Son.” Bruce said, his whole body trembling. “I thought I was too late.”
The again was unspoken and yet Tim knew that this wasn’t even about him, it was about Jason and he should be furious that even now Jason would always be the one that Bruce wanted except Bruce wasn’t crying for Jason, he was crying for Tim.
Nothing was making sense and everything was hurting and Tim just wanted to disappear back into the darkness but he didn’t want Bruce and Dick to disappear too and he just wanted it all to stop, he needed it all to stop.
“Tim.” Bruce croaked. “I cradled you in my arms. You… You weren’t breathing. Like last time. I thought… I thought you were never going to come back to me.”
Tim had come back to him, both now and that day that Tim couldn’t bear to think about anymore.
There were tears on Tim’s face too, from pain or exhaustion or relief that Bruce genuinely cared about him, he had no idea.
“I’m sorry.” Tim said. “I’m so sorry.”
Tim tried to sit but his core muscles simply couldn’t hold his weight but they didn’t have to because Bruce was already tugging Tim up into his arms and it hurt, it hurt so much, but it was so right too because his Dad was holding him and everything was going to be okay.
The kiss pressed to the top of his head was gentle, lingering long after as if Bruce couldn’t bare to move away even an inch.
Tim should be the one to move then, he should remind Bruce that Tim wasn’t worthy of this kind of attention, not like Dick, Jason and Damian were, but that line of thinking was so wrong because of course he deserved it, Bruce was Tim’s guardian just as much as he was for the other boys.
Even before Bruce had officially taken Tim in, there had been a bond between them, one that Tim had known at one time he had deserved.
Blinking quickly did nothing to stem the tears but it didn’t matter because it was Bruce now that was humming and Tim was safe, he was safe and he was loved and he deserved it and everything was going to be okay.
“Bruce?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I… I didn’t do this, but…”
The sheer thought of having sessions with Dinah again should terrify him, and in truth it did, but so too did the possibility that his mental health had dipped so low again without him realising.
It wasn’t as bad as it had been, of course it wasn’t, but he could remember a time where he did not have shame constantly hanging over him and there had been a time where he didn’t feel like crying and maybe it was all just because his body had gone through a lot and had lost a lot of blood but maybe there was something deeper after all.
Tim had been skipping meals again. Not many, just a few.
He’d been doubting if Jason was actually listening to him when he should have known that Jason did care to hear what he had to say.
He hasn’t touched his skateboard for god knows how long, even when some of his friends asked if he wanted to go out to the park together.
He wasn’t as bad as he had been, but that didn’t mean he was fully okay.
The explosion and all that came after, that was it’s own thing, but there was something else too that had been niggling at the back of his brain for a little while now. The feelings of unworthiness had come back, the panic attacks, the sleeplessness that then turned into wanting to sleep entire weeks away.
“Bruce? I don’t think I’m okay.”
Dick let off a sigh, furious at Tim for wasting Bruce’s time except Dick wasn’t furious, he was upset and worried.
“I am glad that you feel like you can tell me that.” Bruce said evenly, a rehearsed line.
It was a lie, Bruce hated him, except it wasn’t a lie. Rehearsed, yes, but only because Bruce himself sometimes struggles to find his words and right now he needed to fall back on instructions he’d been given years ago.
“And,” Bruce said. “I am glad that you called me.”
“Even if I just imagined it all because of blood loss?” Tim scoffed.
“Yes.” Bruce said. “Because it means that if you did have your phone on you at the time, you felt safe enough to call me. I really appreciate that, Tim, I do.”
Tim wondered if he should tell Bruce that his finger had simply slipped, tell him that this was all some big mistake, except his finger hadn’t slipped. He had tapped onto Bruce’s name, he had wanted to call his Dad to come get him and Bruce had, even if the call itself hadn’t been real.
“It’ll be alright, Timmy,” Dick said. “We’re get through this, together.”
Tim tilted his head a little from Bruce’s chest.
“Can I go home?”
“Not yet.” Bruce said. “You will need to be admitted for a few days.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“We know,” Dick said. “But you’re not going to be alone. B and I are staying tonight. Jay’s coming tomorrow and so is Babs, and then the others will be here too and if anything you’re going to be sick of us by the time you get discharged.
“No.” Tim said.
He shifted a little again, breath catching as the pain flared.
“I won’t get sick of you.” Tim said to Dick.
Dick’s grin was wide and wicked, his eyes lighting up in amusement.
“Is that a challenge, Babybird? Because if it’s a challenge, you should remember that I won’t lose.”
Tim gave off an uneven laugh that turned into more of a yawn.
It was Bruce that shifted now and while for a terrifying moment Tim thought that Bruce was going to force him to fully lie down back on the bed again so that Bruce could walk away and never come back, instead Bruce just made it so that he was fully in the bed with Tim laid on his chest.
The fingers were back in his hair, carding through it gently.
“Rest.” Bruce said.
Tim hummed, eyelids already drooping.
“Hey Bruce?” Tim mumbled. “This is going to sound really stupid but… Was the dragon a toy?”
Once again, the fingers stilled as Bruce mulled over Tim’s words.
It was Dick who made the connection first, his laugh making Tim wonder if he should have said anything at all.
Bruce was still apparently processing but Dick took mercy on him.
“Puff the Magic Dragon.” Dick said. “He was humming it in his sleep earlier when you were talking to the doctors. So, when he stopped, I started humming it instead.”
“Oh.” Bruce said. “I… I could sing it. If you want.”
The offer was stilted and rough and it was Tim who laughed then.
“I’d never torture you like that,” Tim said. “This is enough.”
Nestling up against his Dad’s chest, Tim felt warmer and safer than he ever had been with Jack.
"Can I sing it then?" Dick said.
"No." Tim and Bruce chorused.