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Tim wasn't entirely sure how he ended being roped into this…whatever this was. He’d only come back to the Cave because he needed some things that only the Cave had. So here he was playing hide n seek with his least favorite people. But then again, Dick’s kicked puppy dog eyes were absolutely lethal.
The only ones playing were Dick, Jason, Damian, and Tim. Steph and Cass were both in Hong Kong on some kind of undercover mission. Duke was off-world with his team, The Outsiders. Babs, of course, was still working in the Library. Bruce was benched for a sprained ankle. And Alfred was making sure he stayed benched, while also preparing a roast for later.
They only had a few rules for this particular iteration of hide n seek. The first was no weapons of any kind (Damian and Jason). No hiding anywhere inside, including the Cave (Dick). And they HAD to stay within Wayne property (Tim). They began their game by drawing sticks to see who was “it”. Whoever had the shortest stick was it. Damian drew the shortest one.
He grumbled but otherwise hid his eyes and began counting to one hundred to give the others a chance to hide. All three of them took off on silent feet knowing that Damian was well-trained in the art of tracking. Dick climbed a nice, sturdy oak tree that he used to favor when he was young. Jason squeezed himself into one of the bushes in the hedge maze.
As for Tim, he made his way to the property line between Wayne and Drake properties. When he was a child, he'd found something like a fox's burrow. It was buried deep within an old magnolia tree. Tim estimated that the tree had been standing for well close to a hundred years. While Tim was toeing the line, he was technically still on Wayne property.
As Tim approached the burrow, it was the one time he was glad that he was still so small. While he was larger than he was as a child, he was still small enough to fit in the burrow. He folded himself inside. It was a little cramped and musty smelling. But. The upside was that it was warmer than outside since it was early January in Gotham, which meant that it was fucking cold. The wind was bitterly cold, the kind that bit into exposed skin and ate into skin and bones and dug into the depths of the very soul.
He knew it would likely be a few minutes before anyone found him or came looking for him. So, he pulled out his phone and changed the screen brightness to the lowest setting and turned the volume off. The cold was making him sleepy, and at some point he must have dozed off.
He woke up stiff and cold. He took off his gloves, and his fingers were blue, which also meant his nose was blue. He checked his phone and realized that he'd been out in his hidey hole for what amounted to two hours. No wonder he was so fucking cold. It would be a miracle if he didn't end up with pneumonia or something. And with his missing spleen, him getting sick was a serious concern.
Not that anyone in his so-called family knew he was missing his spleen.
Granted, it was there in his medical file. Just buried under a whole bunch of other pretentious filler nonsense that Tim knew no one would bother reading, much less even look at. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Alfred probably knew, but then again he knew everything. On the other hand, if Alfred did know, he hadn’t said anything.
He crawled out of his hideaway on legs that were trembling like a newborn fawn. He couldn’t feel his toes, which he figured was a BAD sign. He wondered where his brothers were. He made his way back to the Manor proper and let himself in through the garden door. He took off his shoes since they were both muddy and lightly covered in snow, and he didn’t want to incur Alfred's wrath by tracking mud and snow through his clean house.
As he wandered through the Manor, he made his way to the game room where he heard the distinct noises of a Mario Kart game in progress being played. As he walked into the game room, Time itself came to a complete stop.
Because there in the game room were none other than Dick, Damian, and Jason. They had been joined by Steph and Cass, who had returned early from Hong Kong, and Duke, who was apparently back from his mission with the Outsiders. Even Bruce was sitting in the same room with them, working on his WE laptop.
Three pairs of eyes grew wide in shock. Three pairs of eyes were pleasantly surprised. And one pair grew softly warm at Tim’s entrance. Tim’s body refused to move. It was as if he’d suddenly turned into a block of ice or been locked into place by some of Ivy’s vines. His eyes went wide, and unshed tears pooled in the corners. With a shake of his head, he cleared his stupor before turning on his heels and fleeing.
“SHIT!”
“FUCKING HELL”
“Tt.”
All three of the boys playing Mario Kart took a few seconds to process exactly what had just happened, but once they did, they jumped up and chased after Tim. But those few seconds of delay was all that Tim needed. He ran as only a vigilante trained by both Batman AND Lady Shiva could. He made it up the stairs by the time Dick and the others had even gotten out of the room. By the time Dick raced up the stairs, the elevator was closing on Tim's tear-streaked face. Dick spammed the button to recall the elevator, even knowing that by the time he got to the Cave, Tim would be long gone.
And sure enough, the sound of a motorcycle's engine fading out of the Cave’s tunnel system could be heard as Dick, Jason, and Damian jumped from the upper platform to the lower platform and raced over to the Batcomputer. Dick got there first and contacted Babs to see if she would help track their wayward Bird. She shut them down, hard.
“Why on earth do you think I would help you track him when you obviously fucked up? Oh, and Dick, you better figure out how to fix this,” she snapped, and closed down her video feed.
Dick hung his head in despair before bringing up the trackers embedded in the motorcycles that were assigned to each Bird. Tim’s bike was racing across the pock-marked streets of Gotham, although he quickly abandoned it on the outskirts of his patrol territory. It was there that Dick lost him. After all, Tim was more than an expert at evading the cameras and other tracking mechanisms that had been set up around the city.
Tim, for his part, sped through Gotham like a Bat out of hell. As if there were literal hellhounds chasing him. He ducked and swerved through traffic, not really giving a flying fuck about his safety or caring if he crashed. By the time he reached his Nest at the old Monarch Theater, his head was pounding, his throat was kind of scratchy, and his chest was tight from barely held back sobs.
He didn't even bother going out on patrol. He knew he'd be useless. Instead, he made himself a blend of hot tea that included Darjeeling, Celestial’s Seasonings: Sleepytime Extra with Melatonin, and a Jasmine blend he’d gotten from Cass on one of her trips to Hong Kong. He gripped the steaming cup with shaking hands, and didn’t even bother checking his phone. He didn’t know if he would be more disappointed if there weren’t any texts or calls from his co-called family or seeing the sheer number of missed calls and unread messages.
Over the next few days, it became harder and harder for him to avoid them. Bruce was showing up to the office more and more, although it was obvious he had no clue exactly what had happened between Tim, Dick, Jason, and Damian. Dick hadn’t gone back to Blüdhaven yet, and Tim pretended not to see Nightwing out when he patrolled even, or especially if, the black-and-blue clad vigilante attempted to make contact. Jason hadn’t killed anyone since, which didn’t necessarily say anything. But Damian…Damian was the biggest change. He hadn’t been on patrol, not once. Which…what. Damian never missed patrol, not unless Alfred benched him for health-related concerns. And as far as Tim knew, Damian was neither sick nor injured.
But in all honesty, Tim had other problems. His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass AND sandpaper at the same time. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat. Which also meant that his head felt like it a heavy-weight wrestling champion had taken a sledgehammer to the inside of his skull. His body couldn’t decide if he was freezing or or sweltering. And logically, he knew that meant he was probably running a fever, but he really didn’t give five shits.
When he walked into his office, Tam gave him a look that said he’d better explain or Tam would probably kill him. And then she really looked at him and frowned. “Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. What the hell are you even doing here?” She hissed as she shoved him back out the door and towards the elevator.
“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. You take your ass right back out of here and march straight back home,” she scolded as she manhandled him back the way he came. Unfortunately for Tim, she shoved him right into Bruce's chest.
The older man instinctively grabbed at the weight that had been pushed into him, and Tim, who hadn't quite been firing on all cylinders, melted into safe-family-dad that was Bruce's strong arms enveloping him. Bruce realized something was very wrong with his third son when Tim didn’t immediately try to pull away OR blush in embarrassment for being held at the office.
“Tam, do you know what's wrong with him?” Bruce asked softly, hoping not to disturb Tim as the boy leaned further against his side.
Tam sighed and then pinched the bridge of her nose. She pursed her lips for a moment before responding, “Whatever it is, it's NOT related to the family business. This…this is strictly personal.”
Bruce looked down at the boy who was doing a good impression of a limpet and frowned. None of the other boys had told him what had happened the day that Tim had run from the Manor. And now he had a feverish Tim on his hands.
“Thank you, Tam. I'll take him home and make sure he gets taken care of.”
“See that you do, Mr. Wayne.” Then, she turned and went back to her desk.
Bruce leaned down and placed an arm behind Tim's knees and the other supporting his back and scooped him up into a princess carry. Tim's head lolled onto Bruce's chests, and the older man could feel the heat coming from his son.
“Oh, Tim,” he whispered. He wanted nothing more than to run a hand through his son's hair, but he didn’t exactly have a free hand.
He walked purposefully towards the elevator that only he, Tim, Tam, and Lucius had access to, the one that would take him directly to the private parking garage. Tim moaned as he was slightly jostled as Bruce moved, but otherwise, it seemed as though once he was in Bruce's arms, he'd given up fighting and knew he was safe.
Bruce was glad that he'd chosen the black Mercedes sedan. It was top of the line, but also unobtrusive and would go unnoticed as he drove through Gotham back to Bristol. It allowed Bruce to open the door without fumbling for the keyfob. He shifted Tim to his shoulder so that he could lay the front seat down. Once the seat was fully reclined, he gently placed Tim in the car and carefully buckled him in, making sure the belt buckle didn't constrict Tim’s airway.
Once Bruce sat down behind the steering wheel, he took a moment to calm himself down. How had Tim managed to get himself into such a state? Not wanting to risk a phone call and waking Tim up, he sent a brief text to Alfred explaining that he was coming home with Tim who was apparently sick. He snapped off a second message to Lucius, even though he suspected that Tam would report to her father what happened.
Bruce white-knuckled the steering wheel the entire drive. Occasionally, Tim would let out a pitiful moan or whine. His face was flushed with fever. Bruce wondered how things had gotten to this point. A text from Alfred nearly had caused him to swerve off the road and cause an accident.
Because. What. The. Absolute. Fuck. Tim.
Then, again, it was there. In his medical file.
The boy was missing his spleen.
Bruce guessed it happened when Tim was on his quest to retrieve him while he'd been lost in the timestream. Bruce cursed silently. Because this…this was no longer just a fever. Alfred reassured him that he would have Dr. Leslie waiting for them upon arrival. Bruce was, once again, thankful for Alfred's presence in the Manor.
When Bruce pulled into the long driveway for the Manor, Alfred was waiting and opened the gate immediately. But then, there was another problem. Bruce spotted all of his kids, pseudo and official, waiting for them, as he pulled into the garage. He trusted Alfred to be able to corral them long enough to be able to get Tim into the Cave.
Bruce had to bite back a sigh. He parked the car in its appropriate spot and climbed out and nearly sprinted around to Tim’s side. He was grateful that Alfred was able to keep everyone at bay from swarming the car as he pulled Tim’s limp form from the vehicle.
Dick looked heartbroken to see his little brother so frail. Jason clenched his jaw, and his eyes flashed green, knowing that he was, in part, responsible for Tim’s condition. Damian was stiff and stood slightly behind Jason's bulky form. Cass and Steph were horrified to see Tim so weak. Duke looked like he was about to throw up from whatever he was seeing.
Bruce carried Tim as though he didn't weigh anything, and perhaps he didn't. To Bruce, who could dead lift 350lbs and could easily carry up to 400lbs, Tim, who definitely didn't weigh anywhere NEAR 400lbs, was easy for Bruce to carry.
Bruce led the gaggle of his children, with Alfred and Dr. Leslie Thompkins following behind, down to the Cave and gently and carefully laid Tim down on one of the waiting medical beds.
Alfred and Leslie immediately jumped into action. Leslie was pulling out the portable x-ray machine to take pictures of Tim's chest. Alfred was placing an IV line. As soon as one of them finished one task, they immediately moved to the next task. They moved seamlessly like a well-oiled machine. Alfred only regretted that it was, unfortunately, something that they’d had to do more often than not.
Bruce stood off to the side watching them with a frown. His son shouldn't need all of the things that Alfred and Leslie were hooking up to him. With every new monitor and machine that they placed on him, his worry grew. Theoretically, he knew what asplenia entailed. But seeing it threatening his son was a whole new ballgame. He could hear his children crowding into the doorway of the medbay behind him.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred called, pulling Bruce from his thoughts.
“Yes, Alfred?” Bruce responded.
“Master Tim is growing restless. He's asking for you.”
Bruce was by his son's side as if he'd teleported there. “Tim, sweetheart. I'm here.”
Tim groaned and then cracked opened his blue eyes. They were clouded and unfocused until they locked on Bruce's face. “B'uce,” he slurred.
Bruce carded his hand through Tim's sweaty hair, even as a shiver ran through Tim's slight body. “Tim. Sweetheart,” Bruce repeated.
“Where?” Tim began before a dry, hacking cough interrupted him. It came from deep in his chest, and even Bruce could hear the boy's chest rattle as he gasped for air between coughs. Leslie and Alfred frowned.
“Bruce. His x-rays show Multi-focal pneumonia. I'll have to run some labs to know whether it's viral or bacterial, but for now, I'm starting him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic that will have to be given at a higher dose due to his asplenia, and Ribavirin, an antiviral, just in case, as well as a fever reducer. I'm opening his IV line to push as much fluids as I think he'll be able to tolerate for the moment. Did you know he was missing his spleen?” Leslie said in a no nonsense tone. Tim’s eyes tracked to the doctor and then to the IV in his hand, even if they were glossy and slightly unfocused.
“Fuck you mean Timbo doesn't have a spleen?” Jason spluttered.
Bruce caught the moment it registered that the boy realized he was in the Cave. Panic, unfettered panic, flashed across his face before he began thrashing in the bed, attempting to throw himself off the cot. Bruce called for Dick or Jason to come help restrain Tim so that he couldn’t hurt himself.
The two oldest of Bruce's sons rushed into the room. Jason took a place at Tim’s feet, and Dick threw himself across Tim’s chest. Tim screamed obscenities at them, and even though they came out garbled and slurred, there was no denying their meaning, nor the heat behind it.
But the two brothers didn't flinch as they worked to get Tim restrained. Even when his insults turned to tears and pleas. Even when Tim begged for them to let him go. Because after all, they didn't need him. They didn't really care about him. He wasn't family. He was just the replacement…the pretender…the imposter…the one who wasn't wanted…the one who wasn't good enough.
And Tim was a good boy. He knew his place. That's why he was trying to leave. And that's why everyone always kept leaving him. And no one ever stayed.
As his words left his lips, each of the family members flinched. Dick, because once in what he thought was a private conversation with Bruce, had admitted that he didn't think Tim was a good enough Robin. Jason because he often called the younger vigilante his “replacement”. Damian because he’d called Tim both pretender and imposter often and without prejudice. And lastly Bruce because in a fit of rage, at his lowest point, he'd screamed at Tim, telling the teenager that he didn't want another son and that Tim would NEVER replace Jason.
“Oh my,” Alfred stated as he drew up a mild sedative. He hated to sedate the young Master, but Tim’s feverish state was only causing him harm. The butler instructed Bruce to hold the arm with the IV, and as his pseudo-son did so, carefully pushed the medication through the IV port.
Tim’s flailing slowly petered off as the medicine took effect. Once Tim was peacefully sleeping, the three older vigilantes stepped back and finally breathed a small sigh of relief. His brows released their pinched look although his cheeks were still flushed with fever.
Bruce never realized just how young Tim looked when he was sleeping. His face was usually creased with worry lines or his brows creased when he was deep in thought. But now, looking down on Tim, those lines soothed themselves out, as if he no cares in the world.
But.
Now, they had bigger problems. Because Tim’s feverish state caused him to be delirious, and he'd started hallucinating. Neither Alfred nor Leslie could keep his fever lower than 102. But with his fever, that also meant that Tim was combative and resistive to treatment. Tim's arm with the IV has to be specially restrained in a padded cast to keep Tim from pulling it out.
They also had to resort to placing an NG tube because Tim couldn't keep anything down and would also try to bite anyone attempting to feed him. If he wasn't biting the fingers of the person feeding him, he would clench his jaw so hard that it had to be pried open.
If Bruce didn't know any better, he would almost swear his son was suicidal. At least passively. He didn't have any track marks indicating he'd been cutting. There were no other signs or markers that Bruce thought he missed. But Tim was fighting them on his care.
So, they made a rotation of who would stay with him and who would go out on patrol. No one was happy. And Gotham knew when its vigilantes weren't happy. The city held its breath because the last time one of the vigilantes was Unhappy was right after the Second Robin had died, and Batman was crippling and nearly killing common thugs, let alone the actual rogues.
This time, the streets were almost…peaceful…if it could be called peace. There were still a few bold spirits that dared to tempt fate, but they were few and far between. Not even the major players had dared to break out of their respective hellholes, like Arkham, Belle Reve, or Blackgate.
Tim would cycle between shivering and sweating. In between his hallucinations, he would beg for his family to let him go back to his Nest. Because he could take care of himself. It was heartbreaking. But each time, someone would attempt to soothe him. It was about 50/50 on if it worked or not. Occasionally, he would lean into the touches like the touch-starved kid he was. And other times, he would yelp and flinch away from them as if the touch hurt him.
On those occasions, no one knew quite what to do. They didn't want to risk hurting Tim any further, but they couldn't leave him alone and risk absolutely causing him to injure himself. It was truly a Catch 22 situation. Bruce hated to see his son so…frail.
It took nearly a week for the cycle to finally break. Tim's eyes fluttered, and he did more than groan or cough. He tried to reach up and pull the mask off, but strong and gentle hands stopped him. He garbled out a weak protest.
“Tim, Sweetheart. The mask has to stay on. At least for now. Once your oxygen level stays above 93%, then it can come off,” Bruce calmly explained, while rubbing soothing circles on the back of Tim's hand.
“Nnh,” Tim mumbled, shaking his head. And then clearly, “Off!”
Bruce heaved a sigh. “Would you prefer a nasal cannula?”
Tim considered the offer for a moment before nodding. Bruce reached and turned the oxygen off while he switched out the face mask for the nasal cannula tubing. He fitted the cannula under Tim’s nose even though Tim tried to pull away, but Bruce's large hand was able to hold his face firmly in place. Bruce had to fight off a grin (it wasn't funny, but Tim acting like a petulant five-year-old was slightly comical) as he turned the oxygen back on.
“How long?” Tim rasped.
Bruce pondered the question. He knew what Tim was really asking. “You've been down here for a little over a week.” Tim grunted in dissatisfaction. “Tim,” he said softly, as tears threatened to spill out of the corners of his son's eyes. Then, he reached down and gathered his boy in his arms as Tim shook apart in his arms.
Bruce’s eyes slid over his other children as they quietly slid into the medbay. Dick, Jason, and Damian were in the front, guilty looks on their faces. He still hadn’t gotten the whole story about what had happened that day that Tim had all but flown out of the Manor.
Tim seemed to realize that they had company because he stiffened in Bruce’s arms. His eyes widened when they settled on three of Bruce’s sons, he pulled away and attempted to throw himself off the bed. If Bruce hadn’t been holding him, he would have succeeded. As it was, it was only Bruce’s arms still slightly supporting Tim that prevented utter disaster.
The machines still attached to Tim started blaring their alarms, which only caused Tim to flinch further and to try to make himself smaller. It broke Bruce’s heart because he used to do that…back when he was still Robin. Bruce also knew it was a remnant leftover from Tim’s treatment at the hands of Jack and Janet Drake.
Bruce drew a breath because he knew that he was about to force a very complicated conversation from his children. “I need to know what exactly happened that caused…all this,” he said in the silence as he waved his arm to indicate Tim’s condition and the alarms on the machines.
Dick’s mouth opened and closed several times, like a fish out of water. Jason’s eyes began flashing green. Damian clenched his jaw. But none of them spoke up.
Tim was the one to break the silence. “I had come to the Cave for supplies. Dick…” He was interrupted by several hacking coughs. Bruce watched as his oxygen dropped a few points.
This encouraged Dick to take over as he never could stand to see his little brothers in pain. “I asked Timmy to play hide n see with me, Jay, and Dami. Our rules were simple. We had to hide outside but stay on Wayne properties. Damian started out as ‘it’, and we played a few rounds. We never found Tim. Eventually, the three of us ended up inside playing Mario Kart.”
Bruce was furious. Because it didn’t take a detective to put together what had happened. “You left your brother OUTSIDE. IN GOTHAM. IN THE WINTER.” He didn’t yell. But his voice definitely indicated that tone of “I’m not mad, just disappointed." All three of them recoiled as if Bruce had physically struck them.
“It sounds bad when you put it that way,” Jason grumbled.
“Perhaps because it is BAD,” Bruce countered. “It’s no wonder that Tim got as sick as he did, especially considering he’s missing his spleen.”
“Ra’s has it in a jar. On a shelf. In his office. Creepy fucker,” Tim muttered.
Multiple pairs of eyes locked on him.
Because I beg your finest fucking pardon. WHAT.
“Timmy, what do you mean Ra’s has your spleen in a jar?” Dick wailed.
“Tt,” Damian scoffed but looked distinctly uncomfortable.
The others had various reactions that was basically the equivalent of “what the fuck, Tim”.
“Ahem,” Alfred coughed politely. It caused everyone to go quiet. “I believe that Master Tim is still recovering,” the butler admonished softly. This made those who had managed to cram into the medbay quickly clam up. Because no one stood a chance against Alfred. “When the Young Master has recovered more, he can tell us the story. For now, everyone but Master Bruce, Out.”
There was some grumbling that accompanied Alfred's order but compliance was a given. Soon the medbay only had Bruce and Alfred, although the aforementioned butler busied himself checking Tim’s monitors and medication levels to see if anything needed to be adjusted. Once he satisfied himself that everything was satisfactory, he left to clean something somewhere in the Manor, although he reassured the occupants of the medbay that he would be back shortly with refreshments.
Bruce turned back to Tim, who was attempting to make himself smaller on the bed. Again. Bruce reached and took one of his son's hands and rubbed calming circles on the back of his hands.
Neither said anything for a few minutes. Then, Bruce drew his son's attention to him. “Tim. I…I've made a lot of mistakes, especially concerning you. And I'm not proud of them.” Bruce paused to make sure his son was looking at him. “But I want you to know that you will always, ALWAYS be my son. And I will always be proud of you. No matter what. I hope that someday you'll be comfortable enough to tell me about your adventures while you were searching for me.”
Tim suppressed a nearly hysterical giggle because calling him searching for clues to retrieve Bruce from the timestream “adventures” was fucking hilarious. It made it sound like some quaint DnD or RPG quest given to him by either a Dungeon Master or NPC. It certainly didn't sound like the harrowing, life-threatening ordeal that culminated with him losing a VERY vital organ to an insane immortal with control issues. And then, having that same insane immortal kick him out of the 80th story window of Wayne Enterprises.
“Tim, Sweetheart. Trust me when I say I WILL be talking to your brothers about this. Nothing about this is ok. You ended up very, very sick because they essentially forgot about you. But…” Tim practically wilted under Bruce’s stare. He rushed to reassure him. “You’re not in trouble. I just wish you would have actually told someone about your missing spleen, instead of burying it in layers of misdirection and mind-numbing filler in your medical file.”
“I…I…ok,” Tim whispered, looking down.
“Oh, Tim.” Bruce abandoned his chair and carefully maneuvered his larger frame around Tim's smaller one. The bed creaked a little, but it was rated up to 600 pounds, and they were nowhere near that, even with their combined weight.
Tim turned so his face was smooshed into Bruce's chest. “I…I was handling it. I was taking antibiotics like I was supposed to. I didn't want to be a bother. I can take of myself.”
Tim’s body began shaking in silent sobs as he fell apart in his dad's arms.
“You're so strong, Tim. But. You never should have had to be. I don't doubt that you can take care of yourself, but it's my job as your parent to ensure that someone was there to be strong for you.”
Bruce held his child until the shaking and sobs slowly subsided. He knew he had failed his children, and it had never been more apparent than holding his third child who has struggling to breathe.
Outside the medbay, three of Bruce’s other sons were having the equivalent of an existential crisis. Because they knew that they had fucked up, and there was no excusing what they’d done. And they weren’t entirely sure how to make it up to the third Bird.
Sure, he'd mostly forgiven Jason for the Titan's Tower incident. And he and Damian were civil, at best, especially considering the little Demon Brat no longer resorted to throwing physical weapons at Tim. But Damian still threw out verbal barbs and insults whenever he thought he could get away with it.
“We have to do something to make it up to him,” Dick whispered as he pulled his brothers away from the medbay. Jason and Damian reluctantly followed.
The three of them found a dead-end tunnel and plopped down on the floor. None of them particularly cared that it was both cold and damp.
“What do you suggest, Dickiebird? I would be surprised if the Baby Bird even wanted to have anything to do with us after this. You saw how he did his damnedest to avoid us the last few days.”
Dick blew out a breath and ran his hands through his hair. Because that…that was the million dollar question now, wasn't it? And he didn’t have any clue. He was normally the one the others turned to to make things right. The one they came to for advice on how to fix things. He wasn't the one on the other side of things being broken.
“In the League, we did not apologize,” Damian said with a sniff. But there was a red hue to his cheeks because even as he said the words, he realized how very wrong they were.
Damian sniffled before curling up into a tight ball with his head resting on his arms which were wrapped tightly around his knees. Dick and Jason sandwiched him between their larger bodies.
“Oh, Dames. We'll work it out. Somehow,” Dick said soothingly. He didn’t offer any other platitudes, knowing that Damian wouldn't receive them well.
They sat there till their legs went numb from the cold before the youngest spoke up again. “Mother told me that Dra…Timothy…had Father's favor. That in order to secure my space, I had to dispose of my competition. That he was nothing more than an interloper. I believed her. For the longest time, I believed her.”
The silence was heavy with things unsaid. Because both older vigilantes knew just exactly what that admission had cost the younger Bat. That didn't excuse his actions; just gave them a frame of reference.
“Our first step is going to be to apologize to Tim. And then, we'll have to prove that we mean it,” Dick stated with finality.
The other two nodded. They didn't know how they were going to accomplish apologizing to Tim, but they knew that they were in the wrong. They knew it was going to be a long road. They got up from the damp cold ground and made their way back to the main part of the Cave. Tim was asleep again when they got back. By habit, all three of them glanced at the monitors to check his numbers and were satisfied by what they saw. Bruce frowned at them when they entered the medbay, but he also didn’t chase them out.
Tim groaned and stirred awake, again. He blinked before noticing his company. He stiffened but at least he didn't flinch. That was an improvement. But none of them said anything as Tim's eyes tracked their movements, but they made sure to keep their hands visible at all times, which did seem to relax the third Bird.
“Hey, B. Can we talk to Timmy for a bit?” Dick asked.
Bruce narrowed his eyes at the group before looking down at Tim for confirmation. The boy on the bed nodded with a careful nod.
Jason dragged a chair over as close to Tim’s bed as possible. Dick threw himself over Tim’s legs while Damian took another chair. He was a little further away but still within arms’ reach. He carefully reached out and took Tim's hand, the one without the IV. Tim seemed shocked that the youngest actually wanted to initiate touch that didn't end up with Tim being stabbed or hurt. Tim caught the flash of regret on Damian's face but didn't say anything.
“I would like to start off by apologizing. I know that right now you may not believe me, and Richard has informed me that that's ok,” Damian paused for breath. Tim blinked at him, surprised by his sudden torrent of words that didn't contain threats or insults. “Understand that if you wish, I will sneak into Nanda Parbat, and recover your missing organ from Grandfather.”
Dick looked at his youngest brother, horrified. “Dami, no!” He exclaimed.
Jason guffawed. “Demon Brat. Yes!” He said with a snort.
The second oldest reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. He let out an indignant squawk and batted the offending hand away. The tips of his ears were pink. Tim looked on, a little dazed. Like what even was he seeing.
“Timberley. I happen to know that your favorite soups are chicken noodle, potato, chili, and minestrone. So, be prepared to get sick of them. Not…sick like sick in the sense that already are…but sick in the sense that you…I'm gonna shut up now,” Jason trailed off.
Tim reached out with his IV hand, and Jason met him halfway. “As long as you don't put any shrimp, lobster, clams, basically any type of shellfish, in my food, it'll be fine,” Tim replied softly.
“Wait…why no shellfish?” Dick questioned.
“I'm allergic,” he replied nonchalantly.
The three brothers looked at their fourth brother in utter shock. Because WHAT?!?! How had they never known that Tim was allergic to one of the main staples of their diet. It was no wonder he refused so many dinners. Alfred likely knew, but then the butler knew everything.
“Timbit! You're not gonna be able to walk anywhere for a few days. I'm going to carry you everywhere,” Dick said with a shit-eating grin. “Gotta motherhen you to death.”
All four of them smiled. And then Tim started coughing, which led to him gasping for breath. The pulse oximeter started blaring for attention since the coughing spell caused both his oxygen saturation to drop below the recommended threshold and his heartbeat spiked above the threshold. It was a truly shitty situation; one that had been entirely preventable. One that they were determined to prevent from happening in the future.
Alfred materialized in the medbay to silence the blaring alarms. Tim’s coughing was under control, and his breathing had returned to normal which also meant that his pulse was slowly returning to normal as well. Tim whined that he was bored to “death” and was sick and tired of being sick and tired and could he “pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top” move up to the Manor. Alfred raised his eyebrow, thoroughly immune to all of the Batkids’ bullshit and their kicked puppy eyes. Even when, or especially when, they pulled out all the stops and upped it to Puss-n-Boots level of eyes.
Eventually the butler/grandfather relented and allowed Tim to be disconnected from most of the monitors, provided that he kept the oxygen, oxygen monitor, and that someone stay with him at all times, unless he was in the bathroom. Tim conceded with a pout, but it meant that he got to leave the medbay.
Dick suppressed a frown as he swept his younger brother up in a bridal carry. Somewhere deep down, he knew that Tim had been losing weight. And now, here in his arms, it was apparent, that it was to an unhealthy degree. Dick could kick himself. As the eldest, it was his job to take care of his little siblings, and holding Tim, it was becoming increasingly clear he was failing. Tim reached up and flicked his brother between the eyes.
“Ow, you little shit. What was that for?” Dick said with a laugh. He couldn’t rub the spot, but it was implied.
“You think too loud. It’s not your job to take care of me, if I didn’t want to be taken care of,” Tim whined. Then, he laid his head back on Dick’s muscular chest. Jason snorted because…fair.
The younger teenager was just beginning to doze off by the time they reached the movie room. They piled around Dick and Tim being careful to arrange Tim so that he was semi-upright and not laying flat. Laying him flat was just asking for a coughing spell. At least, both Dr. Thompkins and Alfred had concluded that he could be weened off the IV antibiotics and switched over to just oral pills.
But…a normal course of antibiotics was one pill twice a day for about seven days. However, nothing about Tim’s case was NORMAL. Not only did Tim have multi-focal pneumonia, which meant that multiple areas of his lungs were infected versus a single lobe; he was also dealing with multi-pathogenic pneumonia, both viral and bacterial. Additionally, Tim’s lack of a spleen was severely problematic. It had been why he spent so long cycling between fevers and the ups and downs down in the Cave. It also meant that he would be receiving both a broad spectrum antibiotic, now that he’d been stepped down from the IV, and a longer course of said antibiotic.
Dick settled Tim on the couch and then promptly rolled him up in all of the throw blankets. He looked like one of those very pissed off cats in those videos you see on YouTube of people rolling their kittens up in towels or blankets and the end result is all you can see of the kitten is their face and head. Tim scowled angrily up at Dick, who laughed and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.
Jason sat down on his other side, and two of them squished their younger brother between them. Tim huffed in mild displeasure, but there was no real heat in it. Damian, surprisingly, sat on the floor, between Tim’s legs, putting weight on the older boy’s lower legs. Tim thought sluggishly that it felt rather nice. Dick chose Spirited Away because he knew that it was one of Tim’s favorite movie, or at least, it had been at one point, and he didn’t think Damian had ever seen it.
A soft snore caught their attention, but instead of drawing attention to it, they merely turned the volume of the movie down, and Jason got up and pulled a few more blankets in from another room. Bruce walked in about twenty minutes later to find all of his boys asleep in what appeared to be a cuddle pile. He checked Tim’s temp and was glad to note that it was still below fever-grade. He made a mental note to have Alfred check it with a thermometer when he came in to give Tim his next round of antibiotics, just in case.
Bruce sat down on the armchair and quietly worked on some things for WE, realizing yet again, just how much he’d pushed off on his son. The girls drifted in, and Duke came in, hair dripping slightly from a shower after his day patrol. Occasionally, Tim would twitch and cough, but it wasn’t enough to wake him. His vital signs remained steady, even if his oxygen dipped a little lower due to the lower respiration rate.
But as with all things, this, too, must come to an end. And it ended much like it started. With a gasp and an alarm. And in a family full of vigilantes, it was a wonderful way to wake everyone up and for everyone to come awake reaching for weapons. Everyone else except Bruce and Dick relaxed once they realized they weren’t in immediate danger.
Poor Tim, however, devolved into a coughing fit. It was one of those that sounded like he was literally trying to hack up a very vital body part. You know one that was necessary to living called a lung. The cough sounded like he’d been smoking thirty packs of cigarettes a day for the last forty years, even though he was only seventeen. Which also had the unfortunate side effect of spiking his heart up above the threshold of 130 beats per minute and dropping his oxygen saturation below the threshold of 93%. Both of which were the cause of the alarm.
The other thing of note was Tim felt like he’d just completed a full triathlon with no preparation of any kind and then gone fourteen rounds with Bane hopped up on two different kinds of Venom AND Killer Croc at the same time. He was also sweaty as hell; the kind of sweaty you get when your body finally declared war on the foreign invaders AND fucking won after weeks of war. And now, he was sweaty, icky, gross/getitoff/showernow.
Tim flailed trying to get out of the blanket he’d been swaddled in, but Dick was faster. “Not so fast, Timbers,” he said with a laugh, and swept up the entire Tim-burrito into his arms. Tim squawked as Dick carried him bridal style, blanket and everything, to the nearest guest bedroom that had an ensuite. It just happened to be the room that Babs used whenever she spent the night. The one in which the bathroom had built-in handrails and a shower chair.
Alfred appeared behind them carrying a clean set of clothing and a basket of bathroom essentials. Dick set Tim on the closed lid of the toilet and unwound the Tim blanket wrap. He looked more like angry kitten all wrapped up. A spicy, feral, kitten who wanted to spit at Dick but was unsure that doing so would get him in more trouble.
He helped his second younger brother pull everything but his boxers off and then ruffled his hair. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” Dick said with another hair ruffle. Tim grumbled and then stood on wobbly legs as he adjusted the water temperature from mildly boiling to lava.
But Tim was thankful for the shower chair, or he’d have brained himself attempting to stand throughout the duration of his shower. And that…that would have just been embarrassing as hell. It was bad enough that he’d had to rely on someone to help him get in and out of the shower because his legs felt like he was a newborn foal. Or like they were made of jelly. Faceplanting in the shower would have made him want to crawl in Jason’s grave. Literally.
He stayed in the shower until his fingers started wrinkling from being in the water for so long. As soon as the water shut off, Dick was in the bathroom with a warm towel. He wrapped Tim up and helped dry him off. It was a good thing that being vigilantes that they didn’t have a lot of body shyness. They couldn’t afford to be body shy in their line of work. They’d all seen each other in varying states of nakedness at some point or another. Dick didn’t even bat an eye. He did help steady Tim as he got redressed in a clean pair of boxers and worn sweatpants, and a Wonder Woman t-shirt (obviously stolen from Jason, the pants had probably been stolen from a younger Dick, if he remembered correctly).
Once Tim was dressed again, he was rewrapped in his blanket-burrito. Different blankets than what he was carried into the bathroom in. Mostly because he’d begun shivering from the slight chill. But at least Dick could tell that they were genuine chills rather than the fever induced chills from before.
They were back in the same room as before, but everyone was more or less awake. They seemed to be waiting for Tim and Dick to return. They rearranged themselves so that Tim was between Cass and Bruce and Damian was between Dick and Jason. Duke and Steph were left to take seats wherever they chose. Babs called in on her computer from the Clocktower. Tim frowned. This was beginning to look distinctly like an intervention, and Tim didn’t like it.
“Tim, sweetheart, I want you to know that you are NOT in trouble. But you said some very troubling things while you were in the medbay, and we would like to discuss them,” Bruce said with a cough.
“I…um…ok,” he replied looking down and fidgeting with the corner of his blanket. He’d managed to work one of his arms free.
“Let’s start with the fact that Timberooni here has no fucking spleen,” Jason snarked.
“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred reprimanded primly.
“Sorry, Alfie,” he replied without remorse but also thoroughly chastised at the same time.
“But Jason does have a good point. How did we know nothing about it?” Dick asked.
Tim looked around the room hoping that someone would save him from this particular conversation. “Are…are you sure you want to know?” He asked in a small voice. A chorus of resounding “yes” answered him. He heaved a sigh.
Because it was NOT, in fact, a happy sigh.
“It started when I saw a picture of Mordecai Wayne in the Lower East Wing. When you really looked at it and have spent as much time with Bruce as I have, I knew it was him. Not some long-lost relative who looked like him. Not Great-grandpa Wayne. Bruce. And everyone here thought I’d finally snapped. And yeah, sure, I can see where they might have come to that conclusion.
First Kon. Then Bart. Then Steph. Then my…Jack. Then Bruce was presumed dead. And this was after I’d already lost Janet. I was just a grieving boy who didn’t know how to cope. But no one even gave me the chance to explain. The final straw was coming down to the Cave and seeing Damian in MY Robin costume. Not a new design. MINE. And Dick said that he needed Robin. That I needed a break. Because if he had to, Dick was going to have me committed. Either somewhere in Metropolis, or if push comes to shove, Arkham.”
“FUCKING WHAT DICKHEAD?!?!” Jason growled, his eyes flaring green.
“I NEVER said Arkham, Baby Bird. NEVER. Never even implied Arkham. And I’m sorry I made you think that,” Dick scrambled to correct that misunderstanding, holding up his hands in surrender. Gods, why did he always mess things up. First with Jason and then with Tim.
“That doesn’t excuse Tim finding Damian in his Robin outfit. Did you learn nothing from Bruce, when he pulled that shit with me? How it felt when you found me in YOUR Robin outfit?” Jason snarled.
Something warm and snug wiggled down into Tim’s chest and took hold. Because someone was fighting for him. He was worth fighting for. He and Jason didn’t exactly have the best of starts, if you ignored how they actually met. Robin had rescued a scraggly kid dangling from a fire escape. Apparently said kid had taken a bad tumble and only the raggedy strap of his backpack was the only thing keeping him from being a bloody stain on the concrete five stories below.
Jason’s attack on Tim during Titan’s Tower had long since been talked about and mostly forgiven. Tim still occasionally flinched around Jason, if the older man moved too fast or made too loud of a noise. But they had gotten to the point where they worked well together. Which made what happened while playing hide n seek all the more heinous. At least in Jason’s eyes.
Dick made a sound like a cross between a whoopee cushion and deflating balloon. Because deep down, he knew that Jason was right. He’d wanted to make Tim his Nightwing to his Batman, but then Damian had demanded Robin, and Tim had come in at the wrong time before Dick had had the chance to explain. And it had all gone downhill from there. And then Tim had disappeared. For nearly a year, and no one even knew if he was alive or not.
Looking back, Dick should have put a stop to a lot of Damian’s behaviors long before this night. Bruce too. But Bruce had only been around for a few months before he went missing. And then Dick had had to step up. In the process of taking care of one brother, he’d nearly lost another. Even after the death of a third. He truly was doomed to repeat history.
“<ahem>” Tim coughs. Both Jason and Dick look up at him, breaking their stare-off. “Anyways. I thought Dick was going to send me to Arkham, and Damian was all but Robin. Bruce was alive. And Dick, with just a few words had convinced the entire Justice League that I was delulu. I evaded all of the cameras in Gotham, which isn't hard when you’ve helped repair or code most of them. And disabled or removed all of my trackers. I knew that Superman didn’t know my heartbeat well enough to track me. Only Kon knew me well enough for that.
I started off in England, made my way to Paris. That…that was NOT fun and is something I would rather not discuss right now. Just know that several of my aliases are wanted by Interpol for smuggling, art theft, bribery of officials, multiple counts of identity fraud, and one count of espionage in four different countries, and trespassing on the royal family of Spain’s private property. Probably breaking and entering, though I don’t know if that can be proven. And possibly assault, again don’t know if that can be proven since I was in costume and also running away from assassins at the time.”
“Damn, Baby Bird. Is there anything you didn’t do?”
“Run for president of Nigeria,” Tim replied deadpan.
This set off all of the family’s laughter. Because he was right. Even Alfred’s mouth quirked up in a slight smile.
“Anyways, I was chasing leads on how to prove and/or get Bruce back. He’d left them all over the world. Eventually, I ended up attracting the wrong kind of attention from Ra’s. He offered me ‘help’. At the time, I wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse. Being held at gunpoint kind of does that to a person. Their names were Prudence Wood, Zeddmore Washington, and Owens. They took me back to The Cradle.” Damian sucked in a breath. Tim and Damian locked eyes. Damian knew the importance of The Cradle.
“Ra’s offered me everything he had at his disposal. The catch was that I had to go on missions for the League for a few months. He even temporarily placed me in charge of a faction.” Silence sat heavy in the room. But if they could forgive Jason’s heads-in-a-duffle-bag incident, and if they could forgive Damian’s background, then surely, they could forgive Tim’s desperation.
“But apparently, I’m some kind of assassin magnet. We were in the desert and were ambushed by a man who called himself The Widower. HE was sent by the Council of Spiders, an opposing assassin group trying to take out the League. We were in the way. Owens and Z were DOA. Pru had her throat slit, and I was impaled through my spleen. Somehow, Pru and I made it back to The Cradle. I woke up, and Ra’s was monologuing at me, and there was a Pit, and I don’t really remember a whole lot, other than pain, and Ra’s threatening to throw me in the Pit, and losing my spleen.
Then, Tam was there. And Pru defected. And it was a whole thing. Ra’s last words to me before I blew up his bases were that he would make me regret ever double-crossing him. When Tam and I got back to Gotham, I had to emancipate myself so that I could legally take over WE. Then, due to a legal loophole Mr. Atwood-Baxter found, Tam and I had to get at least engaged, if not married. Before anything could come of that, Ra’s showed up in Gotham, and tried to take over WE. That’s when he kicked me out of the 80th story window.
Too bad for him, he was too late. WE’s future was secure, and there was nothing he could do about it. And I knew that Dick would protect Damian. Batman’s legacy would continue through the two of them.”
Dick made that same deflating balloon noise. Because he’d just realized something. “Timmy. Timbert. Tim-a-lim. Did you know I was going to be there to catch you?”
For a brief moment, Tim considered lying and telling Dick that “of course, I knew you were there; you’re my brother.” But then his brain short-circuited. Plus, he was tired. Not just physically tired from being sick. Emotionally and mentally exhausted. “Uh…I plead the fifth,” Tim mumbled.
“NO!” Dick wailed.
Because that meant that Tim either hadn’t known that Nightwing was close enough to reach him. OR he had known that Nightwing was flying but not close enough to reach him in time. Neither was a GOOD option, and both showed just a touch of suicidal ideation that Dick did NOT want to entertain. And it seemed like the rest of the family had realized it too.
Dick threw himself on top of his little brother, being mindful of squishing him too much. After all, Tim was still coughing and still had a slight wheeze whenever he breathed too deep. And according to Dr. Thompkins, both would likely stick around for another few weeks, even after Tim was no longer technically sick. It was something that even normal people had to deal with; let alone those who were immunocompromised.
Alfred came in with Tim's medications, both his antibiotic and his breathing treatment. Tim took the antibiotic without protest but looked at the nebulizer machine like it was going to suck his very soul out. While Tim didn’t whine while breathing in the literal lifesaving medication, he certainly made his displeasure known. Dick and Jason were quick to take “blackmail” pictures. Not because they were happy that Tim was sick. But because for once, he couldn’t or maybe just didn’t want to hide his facial expressions while he was wearing the face mask. There was something, almost cathartic, about seeing Tim being able to so freely express himself. And the oldest two wanted to be able to remember Tim’s expressiveness.
Night came, and eventually, everyone except Bruce had to leave to get ready for patrol. They were reluctant to leave, but Bruce reassured them that he would keep them informed if Tim’s condition worsened or changed. Tim was losing the fight with sleep, even though he no longer had a fever. Once Bruce was sure his son was asleep, he put away his tablet and gently gathered the boy in his arms to carry him up to bed.
Bruce knew that he, and the others, had made many mistakes with Tim, but it seemed like they’d made up. He was glad for it. But now, they were on the long road to make sure that Tim didn’t push himself too hard and make himself worse. After all, he had a habit of doing just that. Of trying to prove that he was useful.
It would take some time before Tim would be able to unlearn that particular mindset. It was just the push he (and everyone else) needed to finally start therapy. Bruce’s first session with Dinah had been moderately successful. And Dick had agreed to attend the next one with him.
As Bruce used his shoulder to push open Tim’s door, he shuffled Tim to one side so that he could turn on the bedside lamp. Sick-Tim didn’t like being in the dark. That was likely a holdover from him being left alone by his parents Jack and Janet. The blanket and sheet were already turned down and waiting. Thank you, Alfred.
He laid Tim down and went to pull the covers up around his shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to his head. As he pulled away, a hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve.
“Stay?” Tim looked up at him with glossy, sleepy eyes.
“Of course,” Bruce replied and crawled into bed with him. Tim sighed contentedly.
As Bruce listened to Tim’s breathing slide into that deep breathing that signaled sleep, even if it was occasionally interspersed with a rattle or a cough, he wondered how he got here. The hiss of the supplemental oxygen spread through the room. Bruce carded his rough hands through his son’s hair. Tim snuggled up to Bruce’s warm body and sighed again.
Bruce laid there in the dim light of Tim’s room, listening to the sounds of Wayne Manor settling around them. He woke briefly when his other children came in after their patrols. Bruce was jostled and woke briefly as each of his other children joined them. Jason slid on Tim’s other side. Dick slid in next to Bruce. Damian slid in between Tim and Jasons’ legs. Steph and Cass were curled at the foot of the bed between Dick and Bruce. Somehow, even Duke found his way into Tim’s bed before he started his day. Even Titus, Damian’s dog, and Alfred the Cat could be found scrunched into the bed.
Alfred, the human, stood outside the door and took a picture, a small smile on his lips. He turned to make his way downstairs. It wasn’t quite time to begin breakfast for his dysfunctional family, and on this specific occasion, he didn’t think they would mind being delayed just a bit. He would let them sleep.