Work Text:
Tim always hated galas.
It didn’t matter how many of the damn things his parents dragged him to, how many he attended with the Wayne family once he was taken under Bruce’s wing, he couldn’t stand them.
They were too noisy, too busy. All of those bodies packed in so close together it felt like he was suffocating. Lights reflecting off of every stone in people’s jewellery blinded his eyes causing him to squint and rub his eyes so hard he would see spots of colour dancing in his vision for hours after the fact. People would have one too many drinks and end up slurring their words, stumbling everywhere, often bumping into Tim and it made his skin crawl. It was exhausting trying to maintain polite small-talk with someone who could clearly no longer remember which way was up.
He had learned how the game was played from being dragged into these events as a kid. He learned to smile at the right moments, timed his laughter so it didn’t seem so out of place. He would anticipate what kind of things other guests might say to him, and plan out rehearsed responses in his head to use at a moment’s notice. Thankfully, he was protected from most of the talking by his parents when he was very little. But he couldn’t have been older than about ten before his parents started pushing the responsibility of maintaining their reputation on his shoulders.
So he started talking. Observing. What jokes landed, what didn’t hit quite right. Tim learned to read people. What kinds of things to say to one rich snob was not the same as things to say to another. Each kind of person had their own virtues and vices, weak points and blindspots that Tim either picked on ruthlessly or avoided. He got disgustingly good at playing the game and it almost scared him.
That didn’t change very much when he joined the rest of the bat-family. Each of them maintained their cover in their various roles, having learned how to paint the perfect picture when they were little. The same dazzling smiles and forced laughs, made Tim feel right at home. None of them particularly enjoyed it, but it was a necessary evil to make sure they could be the protectors of Gotham.
Although he didn’t enjoy them, Tim had built up quite the resilience to these events. It took a lot for him to crack under the pressure. So, when he did…
It wasn’t good.
Look, in Tim’s defence, he thought he could handle it. Sure he was running on nothing but pure caffeine and sleep deprivation, but when is he not? He had had patrol the night before this gala, meaning he couldn’t sleep, and he had been working on cases in the cave all day meaning he didn’t have time to eat either. So when he entered the wing of the Wayne manor that was being used for tonight’s celebrations and his head started pounding like he owed it money, he didn’t think much of it. He did what he usually did; ignored it.
Ignoring his body’s complaints was old hat to Tim. So of course it didn’t register when the tag at the back of his shirt itched his neck, the way the fabric dragged against his skin when he moved, the ache in his shoulders from how much tension he held there. He didn’t notice his ears started to ring with the sound of other people’s laughter, glasses clinking, music, footsteps, shuffling, tapping, voices-
CRASH!
The tower of champagne glasses shattering on the floor was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Tim. He didn’t even think about what he was doing, he moved on autopilot. He legged it out of the hall, out into the foyer, and straight up the stairs. His vision was blurred, and he struggled for breath, feeling like the oxygen wouldn’t stay in his lungs no matter how hard he tried. He leans back against a wall and slides to the floor, gripping his hair as he desperately tries to get himself under control.
Stop panicking. Evaluate the situation.
But how could Tim do that when he felt like he was being burned alive? His entire body was on fire, aching and his chest cried out for air. He was suffocating.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
He yanked at his hair and hit his head to try and get it to slow down, stop panicking overtime. It felt like he could hear his heart thumping right in his ears, and it was too loud too much too much-
Then he felt a pressure in between his arms and his torso. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something was pushing its way in the small space, forcing Tim to uncurl himself. Once he was sitting with his legs out straight, and his arms by his side he felt a steady weight on his lap and pushing into his chest.
“Huh-?”
Then he felt something licking his face.
“Ew! What-”
He finally opens his eyes, and he finds Titus sitting in his lap. He blinks a few times, before lifting his arms to pet him.
“Oh, hello Titus.”
Tim tries to move Titus off of his lap, but Titus refuses to budge, stubbornly remaining where he is, resuming to push his head into Tim’s chest. Tim sighs affectionately, and pets the oversized lap dog that has been imposed upon him. With enough pushing, Titus gets Tim to lay down on his back, before settling some of his weight over Tim’s entire torso. Somehow, Titus knows the exact right amount of pressure. Not too heavy to give Tim trouble breathing, but just heavy enough to keep Tim feeling grounded and secure. Tim continues to pet Titus as he stares at the ceiling, slowly coming back to himself. Titus licks away the tears on his face, and simply exists with him which Tim could not be more grateful for.
He isn’t sure how long he stays there with the canine, but his little bubble is disturbed when he hears a voice.
“Ah, that’s where you went. Titus, at ease.”
Titus looks over to where Tim assumes Damian is, barks at him, and resolutely remains once again exactly where he is. Tim finally gains the wherewithal to turn his head towards Damian, who is walking towards the two. He is shocked when Damian simply sits down next to them, and reaches out to pet Titus.
“He will move when he feels you have returned to your normal heartrate.”
Tim frowns.
“He… he can tell that?”
Damian raises an eyebrow.
“Of course he can. He was trained to.”
“Why would you train a dog to read people’s heart rates?”
Damian pauses for a beat. Had it been anyone else, they wouldn’t have noticed. Tim did.
“Titus is trained in many tasks. One of them is deep pressure therapy, which he is performing on you now.”
Tim frowns once more, looking back at the canine, who is simply looking back at him. Tim turns his head back to Damian.
“Deep pressure what?”
Damian tuts.
“Pay attention Drake. Deep pressure therapy. It aims to regulate the body and nervous system by applying pressure, as the name would imply. Titus sensed your nervous system was dysregulated, and thus acted accordingly.”
“He-”
“Titus is not only trained to help us out in the field, but he is also a trained service dog. He can assist with increased heart rate, seizures, fetching and retrieving small objects, tracking people, and in the worst case, finding others if assistance is needed. That should cover all of your questions.”
Tim remains quiet for a few moments, processing this information. He pets Titus in silent gratitude before speaking once more.
“Has he always done this?”
Damian once again pauses before responding.
“Not exactly. He started with me. It was a kind of intuition he had. So I trained him in his tasks. He then was able to use that training when Father was in distress. He quickly mimicked this with both Todd and Grayson afterwards.”
Damian doesn’t look at Tim when saying this, a fact which Tim finds telling as it is strange. Vulnerability does not come easy to any member of the bat family. But when it happens, eye contact is the first thing that is abandoned. Damian isn’t looking at him.
Damian feels vulnerable.
Tim acknowledges that fact to himself, storing it away in a safe place in his mind.
“Well… thank you Titus.”
Tim pets him once more, and Titus huffs, nuzzling his nose into Tim’s neck. Tim laughs from the way it tickles.
“And… thank you, Damian.”
Damian snaps his head towards Tim.
“For what?”
“For training Titus. For being here.”
Damian huffs, but Tim can hear there is no malice in it.
“You are insufferable.”
Tim only grins.
“Damian, Tim, Titus.”
Tim turns his head and sees Bruce walking towards them.
“It got a bit chaotic there. Are you all alright?”
Damian stands.
“Indeed, Father. Titus alerted to Tim’s distress and performed DPT. I found them like this some time ago.”
Bruce nods, before crouching down on the floor, gently stroking Titus.
“Tim?”
Tim nods.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I didn’t know Titus was trained to do this.”
“It came as quite a surprise to me too.”
They remain in silence for a little while, until Bruce speaks again.
“The guests have all left, now. Alfred is making hot chocolate. Do you both want some?”
“Acceptable.”
Tim smiles.
“Yeah, sounds great.”
Finally, as if sensing the plan to move, Titus gets up off of Tim, walking over to Damian. Damian pets Titus and the two begin to head off down the stairs. Tim sits up, and Bruce offers his hand to help him up to his feet.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Tim nods.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Titus really helped.”
“Good. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
Tim nods.
“I know. Just… not tonight.”
Bruce nods.
“Okay.”
Tim smiles once more, and the two make their way to the kitchen together, Tim feeling much steadier and calm.
Tim knows it won’t be the last time he’ll get overwhelmed like that. But he feels a little better knowing he is being looked out for.
By all of his family.