Chapter Text
The rush of ice cold floods Tim's veins, it seemed like the sea was adamant on pulling him to the sea floor as desperate bubbles clouded his vision. He flails his arms and legs a couple of times before muscle memory kicks in, from the relentless training of the one and only Batman, but also because his biological son is unconscious and sinking at a faster rate than him. Bruce would kill him if he didn't save Damian. He would probably been exiled from being Red Robin and maybe be executed. Tim relaxes his mind, he swims towards the younger Robin and grabs him by the collar of his suit and starts beelining for the surface. Tim's muscles protest after suffering through six hours of patrol along with a drug bust gone side ways, a explosion from the cargo warehouse at the harbour, flung them into the sea. But with the power of adrenaline and Tim's stubbornness, he breaks through the water's surface, making sure to hold up Damian as he hears a small subtle gasps, before he slowly drags them both onto the nearest shore line.
Tim's heart pounds like thunder, he saviours every last deep breaths he takes while wiping the slightly burning sensation from his eyes as sea water spills out of his nose. He feels light gashes of cuts and bruises around his torso and arms, but external injuries were the least of his problems. He feels for the left of his upper abdomen, a rough scar traced from the side to slightly under his ribcage. His immune system is gonna have a field day with this one. He looks over to Damian, he wants to punch him so bad for taunting the suspect who legit had a detonator in his hands and was clearly not shy about destroying the warehouse along with everything and everyone inside.
As Tim recalls Damian called the detonator guy a "pussy bitch" which probably was the last straw for any criminal. Tim being "highly responsible" snatched Damian by the cape, slightly strangling him in the process intentionally or not before breaking out of a window and landing in the deep dark sea.
He side eyes Damian who slowly wakes up, coughing up the remaining water stuck in his lungs. cough cough cough.
"You're such a dumbass Damian." Tim says with his teeth grinding, he slicks his hair back looking at the drops of water falling onto the sand.
"It's not cough my fault cough that the guy was a cough pussy bitch." Damian taunts
Out of the corner of his eyes Tim sees the bright light of motorbike, he and Damian stand up at the same time, calculating whether it was another incoming threat.
"You guys look like absolute shit!" a familiar deep husky voice says from a distance. Like Tim's day can get any worse.
"Red Hood! Take us back to the manor at once!" Damian half whines, he sounds exactly like a sickly victorian child.
"Don't order me around demon brat! Now get your asses here." Jason gestures holding up a spare helmet. Tim sighs as he trudges to through the sand, cold wind sweeps over his entire body as he shudders, as his teeth chattering away.
"There's no way we can all fit." Tim sighs, he looks at Damian who stole the final extra bike helmet and now sitting behind Jason. He looks absolutely exhausted, Tim can see his eyes fluttering close.
"Do you wanna walk back then?" Jason remarks, patting the final spot on the motor bike. ERGH fine... Tim accepts reality and sits on the final spot, sandwiching Damian who’s fully asleep now. He wraps his arms around Jason making sure Damian wont fall off the motorbike on the freeway. The winds blow at him at a hundred fifty miles per hour as a chill ran down his spine, ontop of the water trapped inside the suit, the wind exaggerates the extent of evaporation further dropping Tim's internal temperature. He's sure his lips are turning blue as he takes an opportunity at a stop light to blow a warm breath into his palms. But ultimately it does nothing to relieve his agony.
"Jason drive me to Drake manor" as Tim shakes Damian awake who grumbles something intelligible. The door of Wayne manor opens, out comes Alfred who carries Damian who’s still soaked and Bruce who checks on Damian, brushing back the bangs of his only biological child, his eyes visible soften. Tim feels a slight tug of his heart strings. He makes eye contact with Tim.
"Why don't you stay for the night? it's already 2 in the morning. We can get you dry clothes" Bruce offers, he stays at the doorway of the manor, the light pours out onto the pavement.
"Make your choice Timbo." Jason casually says. Tim has his dad after all why would he need to stay the night? He can definitely find the old medical box he used while he was training as Robin. There's no no need to bother Jason nor Alfred and especially Bruce.
"It's alright, my dads is waiting at home." Tim tries to excuse himself climbing back onto the motorbike.
Bruce hesitates for a moment "Well. Okay then, just come by tomorrow to finish the report. I want to know how you and Damian are drenched in water." He waves goodbye to them and returns into the manor.
After five minutes they arrive at Drake manor, the atmosphere changes dramatically from warmth to the same coldness of the sea. His body wants to return to Wayne manor, but his mind pulls himself back into reality. His home is not at the Waynes, he has a perfectly good father that treats him well.
"You should've just accepted Bruce's offer Tim." Jason says with an unusual seriousness, as he shakes his head slightly. Tim decides to just ignore that comment and walk towards the front door. He still feels a presence behind him, like Jason was observing him like a exhibition. He rings the door bells once... then twice... then thrice... GOD this is embarrassing... He stands there waiting for a door that'll never open, like being a stranger to your own house.
Tim knows that the bell doesn't work, it hasn't in years. Since Jane died Jack has never been the same, not that Tim's parent were ever loving or nurturing. But Jack developed a drinking habit that would knock him out cold at night, not even the sound of a blaring fire alarm would wake him. He just wants Jason to leave him alone and not watch him climb to his window using a tree in his backyard.
"Ummm I think my dads asleep. He's a deep sleeper... You can go now Jason..." Tim says awkwardly his body still shivering, he looks back at Jason who’s leaning against his bike, his eyes glowing slightly with a radiant green, his expression deadpanned.
"Alright alrght" Jason throws up his arms defensively, he climbs back onto his bike revving the engine so loud, Tim flinches and covers his ears.
Well... that just woke up half the neighbour hood, other than his dad who’s probably black out drunk on the couch. He makes his way to the tree in his backyard, climbing the branches using nothing but muscle memory from constantly sneaking out to take photos of Batman and Robin. He opens the window carefully, and suddenly his whole body slumps down onto his carpet, not a single fibre of his body wants to move. He's exhausted, yet the shivers wouldn't stop as he feels a sharp pain around the area where is spleen is missing. Fuck... no no no he needs to shower.
Tim involuntarily lets darkness engulf him in the dead of night, suit still soaked with sea water and domino mask peeling at the seems.
Tim wakes up with a sudden jolt, his body feels like he's been through hell. His joints are on fire, his torso ached like no tomorrow and worst of all his head pounded. He feels the room spin the moment he tries to get up, Tim shuts his eyes closed waiting for some kind of balance. He hears a high pitched ringing in his ear. A rush of panic courses through him, realising his suit was still on, allowing Tim to rush into his bathroom to peel off the half dried dense body amor and garments. Tim feels a sense of imposter syndrome, as he turns the temperature button to close to steaming hot water, this was his first taste of comfort in approximately twelve hours. Damn... I hope i don't get hypothermia.
His scar throbs similarly to his head, like someone is squeezing the life out of his brain. Suddenly, he remembers what Bruce said yesterday while he was half delirious.
"Don't forget to submit your report tomorrow, i want to know who you and Damian fucked up the drug bust." that's probably what Bruce said along the lines of. He quickly stuffs his suit into a duffel bag swigging it onto his shoulders and heads down stairs.
As he climbs down the stairs Tim hears the sound of clunking glass bottles, the floor was littered with wine stains and beer bottles Jack left last night. Tim rubs his temples willing himself to just ignore Jack and head to the Batcave to submit his report as fast as possible. But its his biological dad. His dad. Tim sets down the duffel bag onto a nearby counter and starts picking up the empty bottles, he hears his dad groan in discomfort, he's laying down on the couch beer bottle in hand loosely as his blanket is half on the ground. The table is covered in spilled bottles of vodka or tequila and a few bottles of gin. Tim picks up the half fallen blanket from the ground and lightly covering his dad.
Jack stirs for a moment opening his eyes slightly, "Who... who are... oh! Timothy" he slurs out. Tim feels a slight pull at the corners of his mouth, this being a while since Jack had said his name.
"Timothy, buy me more liquor from the store.That brand I like- where is it from... ah! from Wayne industries... give your old man some freebies would ya. And Timothy wash your face, you look like a corpse" Jack says with one eye open, with a subtle smirk. While Tim is the heir of Drake industries, he's also one of the executive directors at Wayne industries. Despite Jacks request, Tim was still pleased that he actually remembered his work position.
"uh... sure dad." Tim half whispers. At least he wasn't throwing a fit and breaking things because Drake industry stock fell 2%.
Tim grabs the duffel bag and decides to walk to the Wayne manor on foot, it takes about fifteen minutes about ten blocks down anyway what's the worse that could happen! He realises as he steps out the door that it’s the middle of summer, the pavement could probably fry an egg in a pan. The sky has not a single cloud in sight, the sun directly shines on Tim as he stumbles through a straight path down a slightly down hill angle. Whats the worst that could happen? Right where he sees Wayne manor, Tim spots a familiar figure who waves at him. Who...Who is that? In his dazed mind he decides to wave back not looking at a huge plot hole in front of him.
OW! SHIT!
He makes contact with the ground right then and there, scrapping his knee cap and landing face flat on the scorching pavement. Ow... Ow...Owwww. Tim moans in pain. He tries to get up as nonchalantly as possible but ended up looking like a elderly citizen trying to get up. The figure is fast approaching closer now, Tim can see her blonde hair in the sun, with her training attire and purple sport shoes.
"Tim! Are you okay?" Steph questions as she helps Tim get back onto his feet. She holds the duffel bag for him as well.
"OW... sorry I just misstepped." Tim tries to hide the obvious grimace, judging by how his knees were still shaking.
"I think we gotta get to the medical wing Tim. Let Alfred patch you up." She observes the growing red scratches on Tim's knees and elbows as dots of blood surfaces.
"I don't think that's necessary it’s just a small scratch anyway." Tim fake chuckles, this is the must aura loss he's experience in his entire life next to when Jason beat him up at Titians tower.
Steph traces her eyes from his knees to his elbows and to his face, "Tim... I think you should... WOAH what happens to you! you look like absolute shit!" she shouts too close to his ear.
"Three people have said that to me in the past twenty four hours." Tim deadpans, does he really look that bad?. They walk slowly to the front of Wayne manor, where they were greeted with Alfred's cooking, the aroma from the kitchen permeated throughout the manor, the smell of warm chicken soup and fresh homemade wafer biscuits.
"mmm thats some nice chicken soup." Steph calls out, catching the attention of Alfred who looks like he is ready to send the bowl of soup into Bruce's room. Is he sick? Bruce is sick?
"Good afternoon, master Tim and miss Brown. I assume your suit needs washing after yesterday?" Alfred nods, setting the duffel bag onto the counter and enters Bruce's room.
"Is Bruce sick or something?" Steph asks, as they both walk up the stairs to peer into Bruce's room.
Tim sees Damian snuggled up in blankets on Bruce's personal bed, with a wet towel covering his forehead while Bruce spoon feeds the hot chicken soup his son, blowing every single bite to make sure its been cooled down. He feels his heart ache. Has Jack ever cared about him like that? Been on his bedside before? He tries hard to conjure any memory, but it comes out blank. Bruce carefully brings a mug up to Damians mouth, cautious about it dripping down Damians chin and shirt. "Slowly..." the gentle voice of Bruce was almost foreign to him, the Batman where the criminals of Gotham cower before his presence can be the same as a loving father?.
"Damn Dami how'd you get sick!" Steph walks into the room prompting Tim to be dragged along with her as Bruce focuses his attention from Damian to them.
"Steph, Tim." Bruce nods in acknowledgement. Tim tries his best to hide behind Steph realising he should be entering the report from last night.
"I'll finish the report right away." Tim blurts out, making himself blush. He sees Steph trying to hold in her laugh.
So he just darts out the room.
In the Batcave he feels even more dizzy than this morning, as if his body is fight for its life. Tim refuses to be sick. He refuses. He balances himself by pressing against the chair's arm rest and slowly sits on the chair, needing to close his eyes for a few moments to make the room stop spinning. He's already made some notes before coming to the Wayne manor about the events of last night on a note pad. He pulls it out flipping it to the page to find what looks like to be squiggly lines or gibberish. Damn... what was I on about? It feels like the memories of last night flew by him, drawing up blanks except for remembering the feeling of being smudged underwater and the coldness of the motorbike ride. Bruce is gonna really kill me this time.
"Hey! little wing!" He hears a joyful shout from the entrance of the Batcave. No doubt that's Dick. On a normal day it would be the highlight of the day, as he occasionally comes back to Gotham once in a while. Now it sounds like another layer of headache.
"Whatcha doing? I heard you and Damian went to the water park yesterday by what Jason described!" Dick grabs the chair by the top and spins the chair a couple of times, making Tim's stomach churn, feeling the bile rise up into his throat. IM NOT GONNA VOMIT ON MYSELF.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Time out!" Tim snaps, kneading his eyes shut as he wills himself not to let yesterday's dinner out.
"Awww such a party pooper Tim!" Dick huffs looking over Tim's shoulder to see what he's up to.
All Dick saw was the login page to the bat computer and a bunch of scribbles on a note pad that Tim is currently trying to decipher.
"Is this evidence from a super villain? Like a riddle puzzle or something?" Dick wonders, but he's pretty sure it's a drunk mans hand writing.
"uh... No... it's mine." Tim says shyly, he gives up by placing his notepad back into his pocket.
"You gonna write a report? or find a finger print?" Dick hesitates to ask, as Tim has been just sitting there staring into basically nothing. His hands stiff and frozen in mid air as he tries typing something with the keyboard. The bat computer still on the login in page, the curser on the password bar.
"You okay there Timmy?" Dick ruffles Tim's hair, earning him with a muffled groan of displeasure. Normally Tim would shift away as fast as possible...
"Um you stay here alright." Dick says with a hint of worry in his voice. Must be the coffee? Dick thinks.
Tim feels like his body is on fire, from his toes to his head. What burns the most is the scar on his abdomen, the veins in his temples pop out as Tim tries to let the pain past. The scraps on his knees makes him hyperaware as dirt still stuck onto his wound, not to mention the injuries from last night. He feels sweat dripping from the sides of his temples.
"Tim?" Bruces voice snaps Tim out of it. Dick stands next to him.
"Yes? Bruce. I'm just trying to write the report from yesterday." Tim says quickly, eliminating any accusations of him being lazy and trying to procrastinate his report.
"Tim, that's not what I meant. Are you okay?" Bruce looks over Tim's shoulders, he sees the bat computer unmoving despite Tim having his fingers ready to type on the key board.
"You forgot the password didn't you." Bruce deducts. That's the world’s greatest detective for you.
"Um... noooo. no I didn't" Tim tries to dispute, he feels tears welling up from his eyes threatening to spill.
"Tim look at me." It was a command he couldn't ignore.
Tim spins around on his chair, making him even more dizzy. Tim takes a sharp inhale making a sss sound, before facing Bruce. The first thing Tim registers was Bruce's face softening, just like with Damian. He was expecting to be told off for not writing the report fast enough.
"Tim... You're unwell." Bruce's eyebrows furrow. Shit... I'm making him worry for nothing.
"No... I'm fine. Just slept a bit rough last night." he tells an obvious lie. He sees Steph enter the Batcave wondering about the commotion.
"How'd you get these" Bruce gestures to the scraps on his knees and elbows. "These are fresh. Tim."
Steph butts in and answers for Tim "He tripped on his walk to the manor, stepped into a pot hole." He's gonna kill Steph. But his body decides to not move a single inch from his seat.
"My... My dad is gonna clean the wound today. And... and... he said he was gonna buy me some pain killers" Tim says as the last resort. Bruce and Jack never had the greatest relationship, but he could respect a man for raising Tim, even if in reality Tim was left alone for the majority of his childhood.
Tim glances at both Steph and Dick, looking at each other with anxious expressions. Shit... I wasn't convincing enough.
"Alright Tim. I'll let your dad handle this, but you're off the roster for tonights patrol. You can rest here before your dad goes home." Bruce says before he grabs a medical trolly with sanitising equipment and kneels down to clean Tim's knee with a alcoholic pad and cotton swob. Tim would've burst into tears if it weren't for Dick and Steph being in the room.
Tim rings the door bell of his house, he rings it two times before he hears "WHAT!" from inside the house. Jack is not in a good mood.
"Dad? I'm home..." he takes off his shoes careful to not bend his knees too much after Bruce bandaged it up, though he did steal some of the beers from the fridge at Wayne manor.
"WHAT TOKE YOU SO LONG." Jack screamed as he snatched the bag of drinks out of his hand. Tim visibly flinched back, his dizziness and coordination still at the lowest despite being coaxed into eating a pain killer, Bruce insisted on.
" I... I was-"
"SHUT UP" Jack threw an empty bottle near Tim shattering it close to his head, as one glass fragment scraped across his cheek drawing a small amount of blood. Tears spill from his eyes, his vision goes blurry and his legs take off faster than his mind processes. He dashes up stairs before slamming his bedroom door closed, locking the door knob for good measure. He runs straight for the bathroom and throws up his dinner from yesterday, he feels like he's choking, his throat tight and unyielding. The room is spinning even more intensely as he looks down onto his knees and realises the band aid Bruce plastered came off.
No no no no...
Tim tries desperately to reapply the band aid, it seems the stick part of plaster was soiled by the damp bathroom floor. He removes his shirt as some vomit landed onto the middle and collar, then throws it into the bath tub. Tim openly sobs, clasping his hands on his mouth to avoid Jack from further complain about noise or rather he didn't want to provoke Jack anymore.
He flops onto his bed, face straight into the pillow as more tear spill relentlessly. He checks his forehead temperature with the back of his hand. Shit... I've got a fever.
Suddenly there's a knock outside is window, it might've just be the wind, although it sounded heavier than usual and has a voice to it.
"Hey Timbo! Open up!" he sees Jason dangling on the tree branch, hissing at Tim to let him in.
"Not right now Jason." he turns his head to the window. He's way too burned out to socially interact with anyone, much less after bawling his eyes out.
"I've got medicine from Bruce. He's gonna be pissed if you don't take them!" Jason knocks again a little harder this time.
"Fineee ugh." He lifts off his bed. His arms ache like crazy.
Jason climbs in and takes in Tim's room, he could smell the remnant of bile and vomit, observing a new cut on Tim's cheeks and a rather strange scar that stretched about a few inches up to the bottom of his ribcage. When did... When did that happen? Was it his fault?
"uhhh Tim... When did you get that scar on your abdomen?" Jason questions, setting down the supplies, Bruce instructed to give Jack Drake the medical supplies but it seems he was totally drunk from the way he slurred every single sentence telling him to "fuck off". How did Bruce respect Tim's dad is his question.
"Oh uhhhh, welll i was doing something stupid... i- i was rock climbing!" Tim reasons, quickly rummaging through his closet to find another shirt.
"It wasn't my fault right? You don't have to lie." Jason looks down, unable to look Tim directly.
"No... Jason it wasn't when you uh attacked me." Tim struggles to put on his shirt, ending up needing to sit down on the foot of the bed to regain his balance.
"So where did it come from? I know you don't do rock climbing, I stalked you before Timbo"
"umm It's It's from Ra..." Tim says softly, almost like a whisper, apart of him denying the truth.
"WHAT!?" Jason's eyes widen and his jaw drops.