Chapter Text
Life was going absolutely great for Dick Grayson right now.
Well, no. Not really, because somehow, all the people that came off patrol tonight ended up either sick or injured.
Most cases, it would be okay. Because Alfred would tend to their wounds and illnesses, but unfortunately, the butler was off in England, visiting his own grandchildren.
So currently, they were left with the grappling realization that if someone didn’t step in, they might have to miss patrol for a few more nights. A few nights too many.
;- ————————————— -;
“Baby bird, you need to eat.”
Dick stood over the armchair, hands on his hips with most of his weight on his left leg. “But I don’ w’nnaaaa.” Tim groaned, shifting the pile of blankets as he sunk deeper into the leather cushion.
“Uh uh uh! You are going to eat, whether you like it or not.” The older pointed an accusing finger at the bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup that sat atop the table next to the leather armchair currently occupied by a bundle of blankets and comforters.
Tim grumbled, poking his head out from the covers. He looked terribly red, with an ice pack sitting on his head. He stared at Dick, trying to give him the Batglare™. However, in his feverish state, the younger more-so looked like he had just watched you kick a puppy.
After a few moments of an awkward staring contest between the two, Tim reluctantly gave in. Begrudgingly pulling his arms from under the blankets to do grabby-hands. The universal sign for ‘give me’.
Dick lifted the bowl from the table, the warmth of it seeping into his cold fingers. As much as he wanted to just drink it all up to soothe his sore throat, Tim needed it more.
After watching Tim finish the meal in roughly ten minutes, there was an uncomfortable silence for a bit. “Ar’ you sure you’re okay?” The younger blurted out, looking at the older, expectant for an answer. “Yeah, I’m fine, Baby bird. What makes you think that?” Dick asked, his voice low and comforting.
“You keep makin’ these j’rking movements.” Tim explained, demonstrating what he presumed Dick to be doing. Sucking in his belly and expanding his throat and then quickly returning to normal. “Looks like y’ur holding in a cough.” He sniffled.
Dick froze, he hadn’t even noticed that he was doing that. It had just seemed like an unconscious movement. Speechless, he just diverted his gaze to the floor. “..But you would tell us if y’ur not o’gay, right?”
“Yeah, I would.” Dick looked up at Tim, his face unreadable. “Now get some rest— you need it!” He said, standing up to gently ruffle the latter’s hair. Making his way towards the doorway.
“But really, tell us if you’re sick too.”
…
Dick's hand paused on the back of the armchair instead of the doorknob, like he had planned.
"...I'm not sick."
Tim gave him a long look, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Even with a fever, his detective skills didn’t go without use.
“There.” Tim stated simply, Dick looked at him with a puzzled look on his face.
"Y’u hesitated."
"I was thinking."
"’bout what?"
"Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows." Dick said with a smirk.
Tim's lips flattened into a thin line.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"No, you're not."
"I absolutely am."
"You sound funny."
Dick instinctively cleared his throat. Bringing his hand to his heart as if he was insulted.
"I've been talking all day."
"Mhm.” Tim hummed, clearly not believing a word.
"I have!” Dick said defensively.
"Mhm."
"I've had to yell at Jason twice."
"...Only twice?"
"Three times," Dick admitted with a sheepish smile. "I forgot about the one where he told me that he would rather die than eat the soup I made for him.'"
Tim let out a tiny, wheezy laugh that dissolved into a cough. Dick was at his side immediately, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades until it passed.
"Easy, there.” He sighed tiredly.
Once Tim caught his breath again, he leaned back against the cushions with an exhausted sigh.
"You didn't answer."
"I did."
"No."
"I said I'm fine."
"'S not an answer."
Dick reached over to straighten the blanket that had slipped off Tim's shoulder.
"It is."
"Nope."
"It literally is."
Tim sniffled loudly before squinting up at him.
"...You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing."
"What thing?"
"The..." Tim waved a hand vaguely at Dick's face. "...the almost-cough thing."
Dick hadn't even realized he'd done it.
Again.
His throat had started to itch halfway through the conversation, and he'd instinctively swallowed it back.
"...You have a vivid imagination."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You definitely do."
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t, don’t.”
Tim crossed his arms beneath the blankets as much as the mountain of comforters allowed.
"I know your tells."
Dick smiled.
"My tells?"
"You bite the inside of your cheek when you're hiding something."
Dick immediately stopped biting the inside of his cheek.
"...I wasn't—"
"And you won't look at me."
Dick's eyes flicked back to Tim.
"There."
"You had to think about it."
"I did not."
"You literally looked at the ceiling first."
Dick blinked.
"...Did I?"
"Uh-huh."
"Huh."
Tim let the silence stretch.
"You always fuss over everyone else."
"I do not."
"You made Bruce sit down for six hours when he had the flu."
"He had a hundred-and-three degree fever."
"You tucked Jason into bed just earlier. And you had him in bridal carry.”
"He had a concussion, and he has a cold.”
"You carried Damian upstairs because he twisted his ankle."
"He was limping."
Tim raised an eyebrow.
"My point."
"My point," Dick countered, "is that all of those people actually needed help."
"And you don't?"
"I don't."
Tim stared.
Dick smiled.
Tim continued staring.
"...You're doing the smile."
"What smile?"
"The fake one."
"I have lots of smiles."
"The customer service one."
Dick gasped dramatically.
"I'll have you know every smile is genuine."
"'Kay."
"It is."
"'Kay."
"You don't believe me."
"Nope."
Dick sighed through his nose.
"You've gotten way too observant."
Tim gave a sleepy shrug.
"Spent too much time watchin' you."
Something soft flickered across Dick's face.
"...Yeah?"
"You take care of everyone."
"I try."
"'Cause you don't like askin' for help."
Dick opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Tim noticed.
"You do that too."
"Do what?"
"Start talkin'... then stop."
"I didn't know I had so many habits."
"I know 'em."
There was another quiet stretch between them.
Holy stalker tendencies, Batman. Dick busied himself by adjusting the ice pack on Tim's forehead, replacing the now-lukewarm one with a fresh cold pack from the cooler he'd brought in earlier.
Tim hissed quietly as the cold touched his skin before relaxing into it.
"...Thanks."
"Anytime."
Dick reached over, brushing a few sweat-damp curls away from Tim's eyes.
"You should really sleep."
"'M not tired."
"You've yawned five times."
"...Maybe six."
"Exactly."
Tim's eyelids were already drooping despite his protests.
"You gonna check on Jason next?"
"Yep."
"And Damian?"
"Mhm."
"Damian?"
"He'll complain if I don't."
"He'll complain if you do."
"Also true."
Another tiny smile tugged at Tim's mouth.
"...You're gonna eat too?"
"Of course."
"Promise?"
Dick answered a little too quickly.
"Promise."
Tim frowned.
"...That was fast."
"What?"
"You answered too fast."
"I can't win with you."
"Nope."
Dick laughed quietly, though it came out rougher than he'd intended. He covered it with another quick clearing of his throat.
Tim caught it.
"...See?"
"See what?"
"Your throat."
"It's fine."
"It doesn't sound fine."
"I've just been talking."
"For, like... ever?"
"Pretty much."
Tim sniffled again, eyes half-lidded now.
"...You're warm."
Dick blinked.
"What?"
"When you changed my ice pack." Tim reached out sluggishly, his fingers bumping against the back of Dick's hand. "Your hand's really warm."
Dick resisted the urge to pull away.
"The kitchen's warm."
"You weren't in the kitchen."
"...I've been carrying soup."
Tim gave him a look that somehow managed to be both exhausted and deeply unimpressed.
"...That's a bad excuse."
Dick chuckled.
"Maybe a little."
"Mhm..."
Tim's eyes finally drifted shut.
For a moment, Dick thought he'd fallen asleep.
Then, barely above a whisper—
"...You don't have t' be okay all th' time, y'know."
Dick's smile faltered.
"...I know."
"You can... let us help too..."
The words slurred together as exhaustion finally won.
Within seconds, Tim's breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep.
Dick stayed where he was for another minute, absentmindedly smoothing the blanket over Tim's shoulder one last time.
"...Sleep well, Baby Bird."
Only once he was certain Tim was asleep did Dick allow himself to quietly press the heel of his hand against his throat, swallowing around the ache before forcing another smile onto his face.
Slowly, he made his way towards the doorway.
He would be fine. Fine like every other time he did this.
…Right?