Chapter Text
Tim Drake stared at his hands, covered in blood. Lots of blood. Not his blood. Tonight had gone terribly wrong, which is saying a lot for a bunch of unstable people running around dressed as flying animals.
It has started out with an Arkham breakout, all of the vigilantes in Gotham were involved, called it a family outing if you will. Bruce fighting Joker, Damian fighting (talking to) poison ivy, Jason was rounding up killer croc, Steph and Cass tormenting Riddler and Tim and Dick were trying to get the upper hand on scarecrow. Key word trying.
Tim’s rebreather had cracked after a goon had given him a nasty left hook, and he was in the middle of trying to talk Dick out of giving up his own.
“I don’t even need to breathe, Tim!” came Dicks cheerful voice mid backflip.
They were trying to fight off all of the goons that scarecrow had hired. Its like they had these guys on hold just waiting for the next breakout. They were mainly untrained up the sheer amount of them were hard to work their way through.
“names”, Bruce’s gruff voice cut through the noise.
Tim started to speak, narrowly avoiding a hit to the head (again) “I think you do. Plus its not about breathing, its about inhaling gas” He saw a guy creeping up behind Dick and did a forward flip, knocking him out with a kick.
Dick looked semi-proud of Tim for doing the trick he had taught him during his first few weeks of Robin, and even did a mini round of applause – meaning he clapped his hands whilst rotating them in a circle. It mistake Tim had made once when he took the words to literally and has never been able to live down, although its become somewhat of a family trait that they all do.
“if I have survived one of Jason’s gas attacks I think I can survive this” a light chuckle floated through the air and Tim hesitated for just a moment. His and dick’s relationship was… rocky, to put it lightly. Ever since Dick had threatened to throw Tim in the asylum and ripped away the robin title, HIS robin title, his lifeline, this one-
But Tim couldn’t be mad at Dick, not really anyway. He was hurt, yes, but what had he done? He had abandoned him in the time when he had needed him most. He was too busy throwing a childish tantrum that he has walked out on his brother without thinking twice to go galivanting around the world. Its safe to say that they have not been on the best terms. They haven’t been on bad terms either per se, but there was a constant tension and Dick hasn’t made eye-contact with Tim since his return. The problem was he didn’t know where exactly he stood with him. They weren’t mad at eachother but they were as close as they were before. Everything that Dick had said, that Dick had done. It was still fresh. Although Tim knows that if he apologise he would forgive his brother in a heartbeat. But he never apologised. It was hypocritical, seeing as Tim hadn’t apologised either but when he had found out Bruce was alive, despite everyone saying he was dead. He had to go find him. He had to bring his mentor back to the family. He had tried to plead the case to Dick. Tried to ask for help. But all he got was a threat about getting thrown in Arkham. And so he left. The worst part being that no one had missed him. They didn’t even ask about his collection of new scars. About his missing spleen. Bruce hadn’t even said thank you. Then again he didn’t talk to Tim at all outside of patrol. Like the rest of the family. Tim would be okay with that because no matter what he always had Dick by his side. His brother. But now he didn’t even have that.
“NAMES” comes another grunt, snapping Tim out of his mental spiral.
“J’s gas isn’t toxin and doesn’t cause hallucination”, Tim fumbled, he still unused to having a conversation with him.His attempts at making conversation had been rocky, He stuck to making vague comments and charting if Dicks mood increased or decreased. Plotting it on a graph to look for patterns. The recent statistics have been showing a decease in Dicks mood whenever Tim enters a room, never mind if he speaks or not – but atlas he continues to investigate if he was any chance of mending their relationship. If he can just find the correct combination of words and sentences to use. Dick might start actually talking to Tim. If he was really lucky he might even make eye-contact or do his little half-smile. But that would be pushing it. Right now he is aiming for a conversation that doesn’t involve any anger.
The goons were slowly deceasing, Tim swears he sees a group of them having a water break in the corner of the warehouse, a waterboy running around. But there was still around 20 men surrounding them.
“p-lease you obviously haven’t been held down and farted on”, Dick narrowly misses a hit to the face but preforms a cartwheel, kicking two men on the way. Tim can see why Bruce stole him from the circus. He can hear grumbling on the other end of the line, although he isn’t sure if it was from Bruce or Jason. A few seconds later an evil cackle travelled through the coms and Tim got his answer.
“I was trained by one of the escapees in the circus”, Dick continues, ”She used to lock herself in a tank of water and have to unlock her cuffs to get out! She taught me a bunch of tricks on how to extend breathing and such. So if one of us were to hold our breath, I would have a better chance”
Tim wanted to hold his breathe. This is the longest Dick had talked to him in the past 6 months. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. I mean if you wanted to be technical, he was talking on the open com and not directly to Tim, but it still counted in Tim’s books. The moment was ruined by the sounds of the hiss of gas getting released. Tim immediately shut his mouth and looked around for the source. Scarecrow was stood on a railing above them, holding an empty canister in his hand. Fuck. Not good. He took another surveillance of the area and found that there were no conscious goons. Good. It was always harder trying to fight of fear driven people. Tims lungs were starting to burn and he started frantically looking for a way out, he would rather pass out from lack of air then inhale this toxin. Ok think. He couldn’t hold his breath for much longer, so he either had to search one of the goons for a rebreather, or try and run outside, where there wouldn’t be as much toxins and he could breathe relatively safe. Tim didn’t have to worry for too long because Dick suddenly appeared in front of him. When did he travel across the room? He had an annoyed look on his face and was mumbling under his breath, searching his utility belt. Dammit. It was one step forward and two somersaults back. Dick was comfortable enough that he would talk with Tim present, but now all of that work was gone. A burning sensation started behind his eyes and Tim knew it wasn’t from the gas.
Dick was mad at Tim, he could see it in the obvious furrow of his brows and the way he stopped making jokes. Dick always made jokes, it was a constant, he made jokes when Tim had be stabbed, and when there was an alien invasion and that one odd time where Jason was delivering bags of heads to Bruces doorstep. The point is, Dick was mad at Tim because he has messed up once again and now Dick had to swoop in and save him. He was a burden, an inconvenience, a- OW.
There was a sharp pain in Tims arm where an anti-toxin was injected. When did dick get a needle put? He waited a few seconds before finally daring to take a breath in, the toxin was clearing out of the air and the anti-toxin would take care of the rest. If anything, Tim would have a mild dose in his system, but the antitoxin was probably clearing it out right this second.
Maybe he could fake a freak out tho, last time he got his with the gas was about a year ago. He had seen his parents and their disciplinary methods. Along with Bruce from his early days, when he had just lost Jason and Tim had convinced (blackmailed) Batman into letting him be the third Robin. His training had been harsh, along with the comments on how he was never enough, never living up to the legacy of the robins before him. That was the Bruce that Tim feared. And the gas had made it so real. They were all three surrounding him, taunting him, getting closer, until suddenly arms wrapped around him.
Dick had stayed with him the entire time. Whispering reassurances and hugging him in a way what made him feel completely covered but not trapped. Alfred had brought them food and they didn’t leave the med bay until morning. He is sure that Dick knew the toxin had worn off but he didn’t say anything has Tim crawled closer.
It was the third hug that Tim had gotten and he had gotten many more after that. As if that was the go-ahead for Dick to smother him in hugs everytime he visited from Bludhaven.
But they stopped now. Long before their fight. They had slowing been decreasing and becoming less frequent. And when the brat showed up? They stopped completely.
Tim had seen him being affectionate with everyone else. Even hugging Bruce despite the fact he was still yelling at him for disappearing and leaving the Batman mantle to him. He was the human equivalent to an octopus, wrapping his limbs around anyone he can. But not Tim. Never Tim.
Which is why Tim debates faking symptoms. He can make up some lie about seeing Ra’s Al Ghul. And then maybe, just maybe, Dick would hug him.
Fingers snapped in front of his face and Tim realised Dick was trying to get his attention, his eyebrows getting more furrowed by the second. Soon they would merge and become one vertical line. His mouth was moving, was he saying something? How long had he been talking?.
“-ay? Red Robin? Are you okay? Damnit”, he was looking Tim up and down, checking for other injuries. Back to code names it was. He had been so close. So close. He was gonna have to start his plan (labelled: plan get my brother to talk to me again because we are incapable of holding an emotional mature conversation and apologising. Or P.E.M.B.T.T.T.M.A.B.W.A.I.O.H.A.E.M.C.A.A for short) all over again.
Tims mind started to clear and he realised he was yet to answer, “yes- ah… yes I’m okay. Sorry. Um… Got foggy for a second”, he has decided again faking fear gas poisoning. To scared that Dick would just leave him behind or get really mad. After all he got his rebreather broken because he was too slow to block a hit, he should have know better. “scarecrow ran out the left doo-“
He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Dicks eyes widened and suddenly Tim was shoved to the ground, the impact with the floor jarring his shoulder and making his head fuzzy again.
Then suddenly all at once his thoughts and awareness got sucked back into his head like a vacuum. It all registered at once. The goon crazy on fear gas. The gunshot sound. The panic in Dick’s eyes. Dick-
Tim scrambled up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and flinging himself towards Dick. He held onto his shoulders flipping him over, and then Tim froze.
Dick was sickly pale, the blood completely escaping his features and making him look more and more like a corpse as the seconds ticked past. If the growing puddle of blood was anything to go by he could assume the bullet had nicked an artery, or an organ. If it was his spleen then him and Tim could be matching. Tim tried to hold the wound, make the blood stay in his body but no matter how hard he pressed down the blood kept escaping around his fingers, spilling over and coating his entire suit. The blood felt like lava where it scorched across his skin, a burning reminded of just how quickly it was emptying out of him. What had happened? Logically Tim knew that a goon had woken up and most probably breathed in fear gas, which is not a good combination with holding a firearm. Scanning the room he can see the man rocking back and forth, muttering. But it doesn’t make sense why Dick pushed him out of the way. Why had he done that? Tim is scared he will never find out.
He took a deep breath and tried to think with a clear head. He had to get Dick back to the cave. But he had to get this bleeding under control first of he wouldn’t even make it outside the warehouse.
“Dick? Dick can you hear me?”, there is only silence in response, the entire warehouse was silent. Save for Tims frantic breathing. It should be worrying but Tim can’t hold back the sick twist of relief that he wouldn’t have to hear his brothers cried of pain the whole trip home. He tears off a piece of his cape and holds it to the wound, but it takes a few seconds for the material to become soaked through.
Everything clattered as he tried to find the gauze stash in his belt, pressing it to the wound and ignoring how quickly it soaked up, immediately reaching for another.
There was a screech of tyres as the batmobile pulled up outside and Tim doesn’t remember calling for help but it’s possible Babs had been listening in and sent help.
Heaving Dick across the warehouse and into the car felt like hours, and yet the drive to the manor lasted seconds, Tim had set the car to auto drive and focused on getting the bleeding to stop. Because why won’t it stop
.
There is a flurry of movement as soon as the car pulls into the cave and the doors open.Alfred is tending to Dick, stabbing him with a bunch of needles and reading off numbers at such a speed Tim cant even process them.
He stands to the side, useless. He knows that if he tried to help he would only get in the way and Alfred needed his whole attention on Dick right now.
Tim wants to turn away when Alfred starts to cut away at the suit to look at the wound but its like he is stuck in a trance. He can feel the acid burn at the back of his throat but he refuses to leave his brother. He thinks that if he looks away for even a second that Dick is going to slip away forever. So he stands there and waits.
He waits until a bandage is wrapped around his middle. He waits until the beeping of the heart monitor lands in a steady rhythm. He waits until Alfred finally releases a breath and starts to clean up the bloody surgical tools. He waits until he is sure that Dick is going to be okay, for now, and only then does he slump down the wall behind himself and let the tears fall. Carving a route along the rusted blood on his face. How did it all go so wrong?