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“Hey, Bruce?”
The voice was small, even with Bruce’s foot keeping the door to the restroom open. He didn’t glance back, gaze fixed instead on the painting on the wall even as he focused on every other sense to perceive if there was any danger.
Tim was breathing, even if that sound too was barely detectable amongst the clicking of keyboards and idle conversations. The faucet had been turned off, though there was a drip, then another, falling to the basin.
When Tim did not continue, Bruce gave his own hum in acknowledgement that he’d spoken at all.
“Can you…”
Tim’s voice really was faint. It was wrong, so wrong that Bruce’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. The same heart that Bruce commanded to steady, needing to keep a level head and absolutely not needing a certain Kryptonian to suddenly shatter every window of the building in his rush to get into Wayne Enterprises.
“Do you want me to come in?”
“No.”
Bruce waited for a beat longer, wanting nothing more than to just sweep into the room and take his son into his arms.
Tim was breathing. Another drop of water fell to the basin. Shoe scuffed against tile but even that sound had been small as though Tim had simply readjusted his weight instead of come away from the sink outright.
“Tim? Do you need me to come in?”
The difference was subtle; a like or a need. Of course Tim would not want Bruce to come into the bathroom, he was a teenager who deserved privacy and respect.
“I don’t… I don’t know?”
Bruce shifted, keeping his foot in place between the door and the wall and peeking through the crack into the restroom.
Tim really was still by the sink, his reflection showing that his head was dipped down close to his chin. He was bracing himself against the countertop, the image alone sending undue panic coursing through Bruce’s veins.
He was okay.
Tim was okay.
Maybe a little dizzy still, but he was upright all the same and he even moved his hand away from the sink until he was standing straight. The hand shot back, head dipping lower.
“Tim. I’m coming in.”
It was not a question, it was a warning, one that Tim didn’t even acknowledge. There was a bead of sweat developing on Tim’s brow, the trembling in his legs becoming just that little bit more pronounced.
When Bruce came close, Tim waved him off, the hand once again rushing back to the counter.
“I’m fine.” Tim murmured. “I just…”
“Tim,”
“I’m fine…” Tim said. “Sorry, I’m fine, you don’t need…”
He swallowed roughly.
Bruce’s hand came to rest on Tim’s elbow. Tim tried to shake it off but Bruce only held more firmly.
“Do you feel like you’re going into another one?”
Tim blinked slowly, the words taking an eternity to process. An answer all in itself, then.
“We should get you onto the carpet.”
“No.” Tim said. “No, it’s passing. I’m good. I’m… I’m good.”
“It’s not worth the risk of you hitting anything in here.” Bruce said.
“I’m not going to fall, Bruce.”
“You do not always have control on whether you do or not.”
“Like I said, it’s already passing so just-”
Tim’s voice trailed off. He blinked, and again, what little colour remaining in his face all but drained away.
“Oh…” Tim breathed.
He swayed, then a little further, until he was half leaned against Bruce’s chest. Bruce shifted, intending to pick him up outright but Tim shook his head, eyes squeezing shut.
“Tim, we need to get you somewhere safer.”
“Ssh… shut up…”
“At least in my office, it will be-”
“Stop talking.”
“Tim,”
“I will throw up on you.”
It was all in a single breath, Tim talking so quickly that the words had all but tumbled out. Tim’s face was incredibly warm when Bruce swiped a finger beneath his eye, brushing away the tear before it could fully form.
Tim made a sound, one that had Bruce’s heart aching.
He was fighting against it. Despite everything, Tim was still fighting against the oncoming seizure as if he’d actually be able to stop it from happening.
Bruce pulled him gently away from the counter, hushing him when Tim’s breath hitched in panic or nausea, the need to protect Tim’s head outweighing the want to keep him from feeling sicker.
There might still be a chance to get him to the office, though Bruce would undoubtedly need to carry him there and hope that the episode didn’t start outright on the way. It didn’t matter that all the workers on this floor were well aware of Tim’s Epilepsy, nor did it matter that half of them had already seen Tim go into a seizure during the meeting an hour ago. Tim didn’t need vying eyes right now, he needed time and safety and the office would be far safer than the tiled bathroom.
Bruce’s arm wrapped around Tim’s back but before he could sweep up his legs, Tim crumpled outright.
The choice made for them, Bruce guided Tim fully to the ground, already shrugging off his jacket. Tim was already unconscious, muscles quickly stiffening even as Bruce tucked the jacket beneath his head.
With a too practiced movement, Bruce slipped his phone from his pocket, instincts alone opening the app that Tim himself had designed. The timer set, the seizure worsening, all that was left to do was soothe Tim as best he could.
“I’m here, Tim.”
I’m here, son.
“Everything is alright, I’ve got you.”
I will never leave you.
“Just let it happen, that’s it, you’re okay,”
I can’t protect you from this. I can’t protect you from this. I can’t protect you from this.
Tim’s small body shuddered, a dreadful sound being torn from him as his joints over extended and his muscles quaked. Tim’s head bent back too far, eyes half opening but lacking any awareness at all.
It might run long.
It might run long and Tim might have hit the tile after all and there might be any number of terrible things happening to his already frail body and there wasn’t a fucking thing Bruce could do except card fingers through his hair and hope that he wasn’t feeling any of it.
One of Tim’s legs shifted, curling closer to his chest as though his body wanted to make itself smaller still.
As though, even now, Tim was still fighting.
“I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m here.”
The timer was still counting up and Tim was still so stiff and it was going to run long and he was going to be hurt and Bruce never wanted any of his kids to hurt again and it was going to keep going and the seizure will never stop and none of this will ever stop.
And then it stopped, and so too did Bruce’s heart.
Tim’s finger twitched. Curled. The hand moved outright, shifting against the cold tile, until it was twisting so that the lower arm was up off the ground.
Bruce clasped the hand, pulling it to his lips before he even registered that he was doing it.
Tim moaned, his eyes cracking open. The snapped closed, Tim’s entire body flinching away from what Bruce could only assume was the light.
Bruce launched up onto his feet, slammed a fist into the switch at the door, plunging the world into darkness. He shot back to his son’s side, uncaring of the flash of pain in his knees from where he’d hit the ground.
It hadn’t been complete darkness after all, Bruce’s eyes already adjusting to the much dimmer glow of the back up lights.
“Tim? Tim, can you hear me?”
Tim’s breath hitched.
Fuck, another seizure, it was going to be another seizure and-
And Tim’s eyes were sliding open. It was slow, as though his instincts had warned him that he might be blinded all over again. Even when they were open though, and even in the low light, Bruce recognised the emptiness within.
“Tim.”
He was breathing, Bruce reminded himself. He was breathing and he was waking up, it was just going to take a little more time.
Time.
Bruce’s focus snapped to the phone, to the timer that was still ticking up and up and up and it had exceeded five minutes. It had exceeded five minutes but Bruce didn’t know when the seizure had ended and he should know, he should have been paying closer attention, he needed to know if Tim needed to go to hospital regardless of if he wanted to or not.
Maybe he needed to go regardless; he’d had two seizures after all.
But those two seizures had been an hour apart and Tim had returned to his full cognition between and he’d been fine, he’d been fine but now he was on the ground again and maybe he’d hit the tile, maybe he’d had an absence seizure before this tonic-clonic one and maybe Tim really was hurt and maybe-
Tim curled with a whimper.
“Tim? Lad, answer me.”
It was too early to expect a response, of course it was still too early, but Bruce needed one. He needed one. It was more than a want, Bruce needed to know that his son was okay.
Tim wasn’t okay.
He lurched, hard, vomit spilling onto not only Bruce’s jacket but his shoes too.
Tim stilled, his eyes blowing wide and Bruce already knew that his head was going to snap back, that his muscles were going to stiffen, that Tim’s body was going to be wracked with jolt after painful jolt. He knew that his boy was going to suffer and yet all Tim did was give a weak smile.
“Told you.” Tim mumbled.
It took a moment to realise what Tim meant, Bruce’s mind only latching onto the fact that Tim had spoken at all.
“Never mind that,” Bruce said. “How are you feeling? Are you cold? Hot? I can get you anything that you need, is your shoulder aching? I can-”
Tim shifted, gingerly pulling away from the sick. When he tried to sit up outright, Bruce set a hand on his shoulder to keep him on the ground.
“B.” Tim huffed.
“Are you still nauseas? Dizzy? Do you feel like-”
“Like I’m getting interrogated? A little, yeah. I’m fine, Bruce, just, y’know,”
Hurting, in pain, in agony, and there was nothing Bruce could do, there was never anything Bruce could do.
“Tired.” Tim said finally. “So can you stop spiralling and just let me sit up?”
“I am not spiralling.”
Maybe Tim had hit his head, maybe the vomiting wasn’t from the seizure but from an illness. Any illness could ravage Tim’s body, just like how any seizure could be the one that changed everything.
“Bruce.” Tim said. “Seriously. I’m fine. I know where we are, who I am, who you are. I even know that I had another seizure, just like how I know that it was long enough between this one and the one earlier that I’m all good to not get checked out.”
“You should get checked out.”
“You should get your hearing checked.” Tim countered. “Maybe your sight too, because I am clearly fine. Wait, speaking of sight, why are only the emergency lights on?”
Tim’s gaze roved to the light switch by the door.
“Huh.” He said. “They’re in the off position so you’re the one that did it. No power issues then.”
“Tim.” Bruce rumbled.
“Just proving yet again that I am fully cognisant and fully myself, thank you very much.” Tim said. “Though, you should probably stop that timer before any of the others freak out.”
The timer was still going. Fuck. Making certain not to move too suddenly because Bruce could do everything calmly. He was absolutely calm and his heart was beating steadily in his chest and not lodged in his throat. All was well and all was calm and Bruce switched the timer off, already lamenting not knowing the precise amount of time Tim had been seizing for.
Bruce went to input the information he did have about the episode but Tim swiped the phone from him and changed something.
“Tim.” Bruce warned. “The records need to be accurate.”
“Yeah yeah,” Tim said. “They also need to show that a certain somebody was there throughout the whole episode keeping me safe. Here, smile.”
Bruce stared at the phone’s camera, not blinking at the sudden flash of light.
“And what was that for?” Bruce asked dryly.
“You still have coffee on your lip from earlier.” Tim said. “Now, instead of the others freaking out over nothing worrying that I had a long seizure, they can enjoy tormenting you. Much more fun for all those involved, me especially.”
“How do you know that it did not exceed five minutes?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tim said. “The fact that paramedics aren’t already busting down that door? Don’t pretend you don’t have half of the city’s crews on speed dial.”
Bruce grunted.
“Three quarters, then.” Tim said.
Tim could have hit his head on the tile.
On the countertop.
He could have had an absence seizure while Bruce had waited outside or he could have sustained internal injury that they will never know about.
A shaky hand touched Bruce’s elbow.
“Dad. I’m okay.”
Bruce could only manage a grunt.
“I would be even more okay somewhere a little more comfortable than here, though.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to move.”
“Bruce. I’m getting a little sick of going in circles about this. Can you just help me up?”
Tim could not stand on his own strength because he really was injured and Bruce really should have contacted emergency services but now it might be faster instead for Bruce to take Tim to the hospital himself.
Before Bruce could grab onto his son, before he could whisk him down to the elevators or the stairs or anywhere that would get Tim to help faster, Tim pushed himself up to his feet.
He wavered, knees buckling before stabilising, Bruce instantly up on his own feet if only to keep Tim from falling.
Tim’s head pressed against Bruce’s chest, his breathing shaking.
His whole body shaking because something must be wrong. Something that Bruce has missed, something that Bruce should have been able to prevent.
Fingers curled into Bruce’s shirt.
“I’m okay.” Tim mumbled. “Just… got a little lightheaded.”
“Tim,”
“It’s already passing.”
But he’d said that before too; before when he had immediately gone into a seizure.
Tim took in a slightly deeper breath. He straightened, pulling away from Bruce’s arms. Instead of relying on Bruce to keep him upright, Tim balanced himself on the counter.
He had done that earlier too, he’d held himself up on the counter as his own body betrayed him. It will betray him again, maybe not right now in this moment but the nature of Tim’s condition means that it will all happen again.
And again.
And again.
The medications only helped reduce the more severe episodes, the small changes to Tim’s lifestyle could only do so much to his exposure to too many triggers.
Water cascaded into the basin. Tim splashed some up to his face, cleaning away the sick and sweat. Some colour was seeping back into Tim’s skin but he was still pale, he was still shaky. He was still utterly exhausted given just how sunken his eyes were.
Tim turned off the faucet, drying his hands before he leaned back against the counter. His arms crossed lightly across his chest but then they dropped back down instead, settling on the counter as if he really did need it to keep him on his feet.
His gaze wandered to the jacket, then to the floor, finally settling on Bruce’s soiled shoes.
Tim’s shoulders dipped low.
“Sorry.”
“Tim,”
“I really didn’t mean to do that, I just…”
Tim swallowed, his head dipping lower still.
“Tim, I’m not going to punish you for something you could not control.”
“But I-”
“I am not Jack.”
Tim’s head shot up so quickly that his pallor drained again, his grip on the counted tightening.
“Don’t say it like that.” Tim snapped. “Like, like he did something wrong, like every time he was trying to help me learn an important lesson like cleaning up or-or being polite that he had overstepped or he had-”
“Tim.” Bruce said. “Slow down.”
“You’re the one who just said shit about my Dad.” Tim said fiercely. “Acting like you’re so much better or whatever.”
“Tim.” Bruce said again. “Slow. Down. Take a moment, listen to my actual words. You are not in trouble. You do not need to apologise for anything. I should not have mentioned Jack, I apologise for that.”
“You apologise?” Tim scoffed. “Bruce Wayne is apologising. Yeah, sure, that’s totally believable, it’s not like you’re trying to manipulate me against him.”
“This is just the after effects of the episode,” Bruce said. “It’s making you irritated and unfocused.”
“Irritated? You’re the one that-”
“Tim. I did not mean to mention Jack. What he did or he did not do while raising you, none of that matters right now.”
“Well maybe it does matter, ever think of that?”
Bruce opened his mouth but not a single right word came to his mind. He stayed quiet instead, watching carefully for any sign that Tim might fall.
“Maybe it does matter.” Tim said. “Because where the fuck was he when all this began? Where the fuck was he today, last week, where was he every single time I just needed my Dad?”
Tim’s hand pressed up against his face, not to keep himself from vomiting but to keep himself quiet as the first sob broke though.
Bruce reached out towards him but he let the hand fall again, unsure if Tim ever wanted contact from him again.
“Where was he, Bruce? I needed him. I kept on convincing myself that I didn’t, but I did. Of course I did. I needed him and he wasn’t there, but you? I thew up on you and you stayed.”
The tears were falling steadily now, Tim’s chest hitching.
“Why did you stay?” Tim croaked.
“You’re my son.”
I will never leave you.
“Hey, Bruce? Can you just… can you just hold me? Please?”
Bruce closed the distance within an instant, wrapping his arms around his boy just as his own father once had. Bruce pressed his lips against the top of Tim’s head as Tim cried harder, guiding him away from the counter as Tim’s legs threatened to give way.
He held Tim, hushing him and loving him and protecting him. There was nothing he could do to protect Tim from the condition that plagued his body, nor could Bruce protect him from the dangers of the world around him. But maybe, just maybe, Bruce could protect him from the loneliness that had already ruled too much of his life.
Too much of both their lives.
Bruce held him, held him and soothed him and waited with him until the worst finally passed.
Threading fingers through Tim’s hair, rubbing circles into his back, Bruce held his son close to his chest, to the heart he had once tried to lock away completely.
It was Tim who eventually pulled away, an exhaustion running deep in his gaze. There was something else in his eyes too, though, something that told him that Tim really was going to be okay after all.
Tim needed him, yes, but Tim wanted him too, which somehow felt all the more special.