Chapter Text
"Order for Batman?"
Batman grunted, coming up to the counter and grabbing his black coffee with four shots. He had asked for five, but the poor worker had said that policy dictated that they weren't allowed to put more than four shots in any one coffee.
That was why Batman grabbed the second cup too, after tipping twenty dollars to the worker.
Taking both cups to the closest table, Batman mixed them together. Taking a long drink, probably a good half of the now eight shots, he disposed of the empty cup and made his way back to the elevators with the half full one.
Batman hadn't liked leaving Tim's room but the boy was still heavily sedated and he knew that he was going to need all of his faculties in case the boy came out of the drug induced sleep badly. Enough experiences with Robin coming out of it, the second Robin especially, made him weary to leave the kid to wake up alone.
And besides, Batman had promised to stay so he was going to stay. He does not make promises lightly, especially promises to civilians that had been shot by criminals that he had not apprehended quickly enough.
Batman had made certain that a nurse stayed right there with Tim in recovery for the few minutes it took to get coffee, specifically one of the nurses that Batman had gotten cleared through Oracle as trustworthy.
Robin had been sent home hours ago. The teenager hadn't gone easily of course, but it hadn't taken him long to start dozing off while they had been waiting for Tim's surgery to finish, slowly slumping against Batman before startling awake only to immediately sink down again.
Batman could imagine that by now the boy would be curled up on the couch covered in blankets with Agent A’s cookies nearby if he should need them. It had been a long night and Batman knew it was always hard for Robin to see kids be hurt, even if Robin himself had handled the situation excellently.
Because he had made the promise to stay with Tim as Batman, he could not have Alfred come here unless they wanted to risk revealing their identities. Nightwing was on his way at least, though he had been caught up in his own mess in Blüdhaven, even though Batman assured him that he did not require backup.
It would be good to see Nightwing again after so long, there was no denying it, even if these weren't the best of circumstances.
Batman had ordered Alfred to contact Janet and Jack Drake the moment he had realised that Tim had been shot, but they had still yet to pick up. According to the manifests that Oracle had looked at, they were still on their way to Australia for an archaeology conference in Melbourne. Even when Alfred gets through to them, it was going to be a whole day's journey back to Gotham at the very least, assuming that there would be an immediate flight available.
Batman was tempted to send the Batplane to go pick them up; if this had been his own child that had been shot then he would have done anything it took to get to their side. Alfred had assured him that it was unnecessary, the Drake's would be successfully contacted soon enough.
"Mr. Batman," The recovery ward receptionist greeted.
Batman gave a grunt and a nod.
"Can you sign my-"
Batman swept past the counter, going straight to Tim's room. It felt strange to see light streaming in through the windows. He had completed countless missions during daytime before, especially alongside the Justice League, but it was always strange to be Batman in Gotham in the middle of the day.
The nurse that Batman had left with Tim twisted towards him, giving a warm smile. She was holding Tim's hand, careful of all the IV's that were giving him much needed blood, fluids and medication.
Batman was glad for it, and he gave her a nod to show that he was grateful. Tim deserved to have someone hold his hand, especially after the day he had had.
"I'll be right outside if you need anything." She said.
Batman nodded again and she left the two of them alone in the room.
The poor boy was still unconscious, surrounded by monitors and drips. Batman watched Tim's chest rise and fall for a few moments, at last able to shake the anxiety that something might have happened to Tim during the few minutes that he had been gone.
According to Oracle’s research, and admittedly Batman’s own awareness of the Drake family as Bruce Wayne, Tim was only nine. Nine years old and yet he had been on the streets in the middle of the night, for what reason they still were unable to deduce. There had been the remains of a camera beside where they had found Tim and while Oracle had offered to check over the SD card to see if it held the reason for Tim’s late night escapade, Batman had chosen to hold off for now.
Tim had been highly protective of it, even in his blood loss induced confusion. If this were a normal case, Batman would not have even thought to hesitate to check its contents but for some reason this felt… Different.
Perhaps it was because Tim was barely older than Dick had been when Bruce had taken him in, even if he was somehow significantly smaller than Dick had been despite Dick having been a gymnast.
Tim wasn’t just small, he was tiny. It was like he hadn’t been eating enough, though Batman was certain that when his parents went off on their work trips that they would leave a nanny to look after him. Having been raised by a Butler himself, he understood how caretakers do not necessarily need to be your birth parents to care for you deeply.
In fact, it would be harder to find any child of socialites that haven’t been at least partially raised by employees of the family, it was simply a facet of their lifestyles.
Taking the seat the nurse had been using, Batman reached out. He stopped himself from actually touching the boy’s hand though, not wanting to hurt Tim any more than he already was.
Batman’s jaw ticked. He took a steadying breath, knowing that if he was careful Tim would be alright, and finally took Tim’s hand into his own. It was small, like the rest of him, and it was uncomfortably cold even through Batman’s gloves.
Tim had lost a lot of blood last night, the bullet having pierced multiple organs before lodging into one of his ribs. He had been incredibly lucky, the surgeon had claimed, any longer before receiving treatment and he may very well have lost his spleen, if not his life.
It was hardly lucky that a nine year old had been shot and almost killed when Batman should have been right there to prevent it from happening.
Tim had been terrified last night, no matter how hard Batman could tell he was trying to be brave. He had been near inconsolable just before surgery especially, and Batman did not regret for a single moment shoving his way into the operating theater as soon as he heard Tim crying out in fear and pain.
Batman could only hope that he had offered some comfort to the boy, even though comfort did not make up for the fact that Tim was only hurt because Batman had failed to protect him.
The hand in Batman’s twitched, ever so slightly.
Batman leaned ever more forward, watching as Tim’s head tilted a little to the side then back again. He was stirring. Slowly, but he was waking up all the same.
“Tim?”
Tim whimpered.
“Tim, it’s alright Lad, just rest.”
The sound Tim made then struck Batman right in the chest because he recognised it as what it was; a barely restrained sob. Tim was trying to keep quiet, though for what reason Batman did not know.
He could have very well died last night, being a little miserable now was completely okay, if not expected.
“Tim,” Batman said a little louder.
With one hand still on Tim’s, Batman let the other reach up and touch Tim’s hair. Dick had always appreciated having someone card fingers through his hair whenever he was upset or hurting, and Jason appreciated it too unless he was struggling with physical contact at that time.
Judging from how Tim’s body immediately relaxed, he thought that maybe Tim liked it too.
Dark eyes cracked open but they immediately winced, Tim’s body stiffening once more.
In an instant Batman was up and stalking towards the light switch but Tim whimpered as soon as Batman was away from his side. He turned off the lights as quickly as possible, letting only the sunlight stream through the window, before returning once more to the boy’s bedside.
Tim trembled, but he relaxed a little when Batman held his hand again.
This time, when his eyes cracked open, they managed to stay open for an entire second before they slipped closed once more. He was weak, it was to be expected that he was struggling to wake fully, no matter how much Batman wanted to make certain that he was okay.
“Tim,” Batman said. “Can you hear me?”
Tim’s mouth opened but nothing came out but empty air. He tried again, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling for a few long moments before they flicked towards Batman.
Tim was trying to say something, but it was like his body wasn’t quite listening to him just yet and Batman had to lean in real close to actually hear what it was he was trying to say. But the boy didn’t actually make any sense, all he was doing was promising to clean up.
He was confused, he’d been in pain then shock then surgery, he was simply confused as to where he was and what was happening.
“What was that, Lad?” Batman asked gently, coaxing the boy to full consciousness.
“I’ll clean up.” Tim said a little more strongly. “I promise. I’m sorry, I’ll clean up.”
“Clean up what, Tim?”
“The… The…”
Tim’s head rolled a little, still groggy. He started moving strangely, readjusting on the bed as if he was trying to sit up. Just in case, Batman set a hand on Tim’s shoulder, keeping him lying down. It would not do well to pull his stitches, especially so soon after surgery.
“I’ll clean up.” Tim said. “I’ll clean up all of it, I swear… I’ll clean up all the blood. I’ll… I’ll clean up.”
“Rest.” Batman said.
“No. Gotta… Gotta…”
When Tim’s eyes fully slipped closed once more, they stayed that way, his body slowly losing all of its tension once more.
Batman kept close by all the same, going back to carding through Tim’s dark hair as he watched the boy’s chest slowly rise and fall with every breath, unable to push back the very real fear that he might stop at any moment.
Tim was stable, Batman reminded himself, even if he was weak.
He was stable. He was alive and he was stable and he was going to be okay.
But stable patients could still become unstable very quickly and Batman had been a fool to leave Tim’s side even for just a few moments to get some coffee.
Tim didn’t have anyone here, not with his parents still unable to be contacted and so far still no Nanny able to be reached either. It was Batman’s duty to protect the weak and right now Tim Drake was very very weak.
And, worst of all, he was weak because Batman had allowed him to get hurt in the first place.
Batman didn’t know how long he sat there, waiting for Tim to wake up again. The boy needed his rest much more than Batman needed the reassurance that he was alright and yet he couldn’t help but keep careful watch for any sign that the pain medication may be wearing off or the bags of fluids and blood that were hooked up to him were running low.
He felt the shift in the air even before there was a knock on the door and Batman felt himself jolt forward in an instant, laying his own body above Tim’s to protect him from whatever attacker was trying to come in.
“Easy, B,” A familiar voice said. “It’s just me.”
Batman twisted, finding Nightwing standing by the door.
Nightwing was carrying a tray of coffee in one hand, and only then did Batman remember the abandoned cup by his chair, and in the other arm he was holding a giant teddy bear that looked moments away from dropping to the floor.
“Nightwing.” Batman grunted. “Report.”
“I’m glad to see you too, Broody.” Nightwing grinned.
The grin was off, it didn’t reach Nightwing’s eyes and even though he was wearing his domino mask, Batman knew instantly that something was wrong.
“Report.” He growled again.
Nightwing sighed. He glanced briefly back towards the hallway before kicking the door fully closed. He set the tray of coffees by the bedside before carefully situating the large bear on Tim’s bed, making sure it did not mess with any of the myriad of wires and tubes connected to his small body.
Each of his movements were precise, and if anyone else had been watching Batman doubted that they would have even noticed that while Nightwing had placed the bear right next to the boy, he hadn’t once ever looked directly at Tim.
“Still no word from the Drake’s.” Nightwing said. “Oracle was able to track down a housekeeper called Mrs. Mac but she’s on holiday in Metropolis at the moment and wasn’t even aware that the Drake’s were out of the country. Ballistics show that the gun that shot him was one of the seized weapons from the guys you and Robin faced last night, so at least we know that no one else is in danger from it.”
“And the bad news?”
“Hey, what part of ‘we can’t get his Mom and Dad here’ is not bad news?”
Batman glared at him.
The young man seemed wholly unaffected, like always, and grabbed one of the coffees from the tray and took a long sip, looking straight at Batman. What exactly Nightwing was waiting for, even the World’s Greatest Detective had no idea.
They stared at one another for a few long moments, only broken when Batman glanced towards Tim to make sure he was still breathing even though he could hear the consistent beeping from the heart monitor.
It had been… A while, since they were in the same room as one another. Their most recent argument had been a bad one, though what it had been about seemed less important now.
“How…” Batman said stiffly. “Are you?”
Nightwing’s smile was genuine this time. He rocked back on his heels, leaning against Tim’s bed.
“Good.” Nightwing said. “I’ve been good. Blüdhaven can be pretty crazy, but I think I’ve got the hang of everything now. You know, Littlewing told me you totally went soft last night.”
“I do not do soft.” Batman said darkly.
“Oh, you absolutely do.” Nightwing grinned. “He said it was sweet, even, the way that you bowled over a Doctor trying to get to Tim’s side before surgery.”
“I was mitigating the risks associated with patients panicking when going under anaesthesia.” Batman said. “There is research that proves that stressed patients have worse outcomes. Timothy was stressed. I assisted.”
He hadn’t done enough though, not really. Some hand holding and assurances that he would be right there with Tim did little to help the fact that the City of Gotham had nearly taken another victim last night.
“And the fact that you’re still here, mysterious cryptid that you are, in the middle of the day, has nothing to do with becoming soft?”
“I am ensuring that Tim does not have a bad reaction to the medication. As you mentioned, his parents have still yet to be fully contacted, I simply-“
“It’s okay, B, I’m just teasing.”
Nightwing readjusted, finally looking straight at Tim for the first time since he had entered the room.
He took another long drink of his coffee before letting out an even longer sigh. Nightwing didn’t like seeing kids hurt any more than Batman or Robin did. It was part of the reason why he was still in the hero business, after all it had already taken from him. Dick Grayson was simply unable to tolerate the idea of people getting hurt if he could have saved them.
Tim’s eyes flickered and if Batman surged forwards, it was only to make sure he didn’t accidentally pull out an IV.
Nightwing’s own movements were slow, calm, smoothing some hair from the boy’s face.
“Hey there,” Nightwing cooed.
While the two of them had their difficulties with one another, especially recently, Batman could never not be proud of how gentle Nightwing could be with those who needed it.
Tim made a sound that made Batman’s chest ache. Tim was still struggling to wake, his hand trembling until Batman reached out and held it once more. By some miracle, Nightwing did not even tease him about it. The young man simply set a hand low on Tim’s leg, running circles on it to give something for Tim’s slowly waking consciousness to latch onto.
Tim whimpered loudly, his lip trembling.
“The pain medication must be wearing off,” Batman grunted. “I will-“
“Give him time.” Nightwing said. “He’s almost back.”
Batman sat stiffly, waiting, his too large of a hand still dwarfing Tim’s. Tim’s fingers curled a little, nails digging into Batman’s gloves. His legs readjusted too, even if his breath caught when he apparently pulled at his wound.
“Wow, Tim,” Nightwing said softly. “You’re doing a really good job, do you think you can open your eyes for me?”
Tim sucked in a slightly deeper breath and then another, his eyes at last cracking open. He blinked, nearly falling back asleep immediately, but then he readjusted again, dark eyes fully opening. They were glassy and unfocused, from pain or exhaustion Batman didn’t know.
“Dick?” Tim whispered.
Nightwing tilted his head, lip quirking into a trademark Nightwing smile.
“No, Bud, my name is Nightwing.”
“Dick…” Tim said again.
It was like the boy was still out of it, his voice husky from sleep.
“Dick called me Bud… It’s official. I can die happy.”
Batman would have been more amused if he wasn’t immediately running through every possibility. Either Tim was even more confused and tired than Batman had thought, and was simply mistaking Nightwing for Dick Grayson, or he knew for a fact that Nightwing was Dick Grayson.
But that was impossible. Tim was only a child, there was no way that he could know their secret identities, not after so many years of Batman being incredibly careful about every single interaction that he or his boys and girls did while in uniform and outside of it.
Batman let go of Tim’s hand, his chest not at all aching when Tim made a disappointed sound, and went into the corner of the room.
A finger pressed to his communicator, gaze still locked on the small boy as Nightwing tried to coax him into having something to drink.
“Oracle.” Batman barked.
“You need me to check that SD card after all?” Oracle replied immediately. “Way ahead of you Bats, and what I found is actually pretty interesting.”
Batman hummed.
“What?” Oracle said. “No reprimand because I looked at them when you told me not to look at them?”
“Focus, Oracle.” Batman said lowly. “What did you find?”
“Little Timmy’s been following you and Robin.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Oracle said. “He’s like a real stalker for a nine year old too. There’s some pretty nice photos, and a totally awesome one of Robin tripping over a cat that I have definitely saved as blackmail. Anyway, there were only images that had been taken last night on the card so I did some digging and had Robin duck into the Drake’s place and- oh don’t give me that eye roll B, you would have done the exact same thing.”
How Oracle had known that Batman rolled his eyes, he did not want to know.
“Turns out he’s been following you guys for a while now. And by a while, I mean years.”
“He is nine.” Batman said.
“And yet he has photos dating back to Robin I. His Batgirl one’s are pretty good I have to admit. He even has a pretty cool action shot of Nightwing punching you right in the face.”
“Is it possible that he had taken the camera from someone else?”
“Like I said, the SD card only had last night’s photos. The rest I got from specifically the computer that was in Tim’s room. Unless someone literally planted evidence in a kid’s bedroom, Tim’s been following us for a long time.”
That was impossible. Batman would have noticed a child following him on patrols, at least a child that Batman himself hadn’t sanctioned to follow him. He would have never risked Tim’s safety, at least Dick and Jason had had training and body armor when they got into close proximity with criminals and villains to keep them protected.
Last night was proof in and of itself that it wasn’t safe for Tim to be doing what he is doing, now lying in a hospital bed connected to wires and machines because he had been shot and nearly bled to death in an alleyway.
Batman was going to have to nip this in the bud, before Tim put himself in danger again.
“Oracle.” Batman grunted. “Get some sleep.”
“Have you slept, Mr. Dark and Broody?”
Batman grumbled.
“Exactly.” Oracle said, all too pleased with herself. “But for what it’s worth, Agent A made me take a nap already.”
“Good.” Batman said.
“But Batman?” Oracle’s voice had changed, becoming tight. “Go easy on him?”
He would do whatever necessary to make certain that Timothy Drake does not follow them on Patrol again, even if that involves making the boy upset. It is his life, and the lives of others, that was in danger.
When he approached Tim’s bed once more, the boy was looking no less coherent. His head kept tilting side to side, mumbling things that Batman could not quite make sense of, like cleaning up blood, and making sure that the generator was working.
Regardless, Batman needed to make this abundantly clear.
“You are not to follow us again.” Batman said as lowly as he could.
“B,” Nightwing said. “He’s still out of-“
“Timothy Drake.” Batman barked. “You are not to-“
Tim burst into tears.
“Now you’ve fucking done it.” Nightwing snapped.
“He is putting himself in danger each night that he goes out.” Batman shot back.
“Yeah, well, he’s just a fucking kid and now you’ve scared him because you are an absolute-“
Whatever Nightwing was going to say was cut off as blood sprayed from Tim’s mouth.
Instantly Nightwing positioned Tim so that he was on his uninjured side, as careful of the IVs and monitors as he could be in his rush, managing it just in time as Tim brought up more blood.
At the same moment, Batman’s hand had shot out, knocking against the emergency alert button. With Nightwing still keeping Tim on his side, Batman brought a bed pan up to Tim’s mouth.
The monitors were screaming, alerting to the fact that Tim was decompensating, if that wasn’t obvious enough with the fact that he was throwing up blood. Tim trembled, even as Nightwing rubbed soothing circles into his back.
“Easy there, Tim, easy,” Nightwing mumbled. “You’re going to be alright…"
Tim lurched forward but it was more of a dry reach than anything else. Terrified eyes locked with Batman’s and it was like Batman had been struck in the chest.
“I’m… I’m…”
Tim’s voice was as shuddering as the rest of him was.
“It’s okay, Tim.” Batman said.
“I’m sorry.” Tim said, tears pouring down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, I’m so sorry.”
The confirmation that Tim in fact knew Batman’s civilian identity hardly mattered now.
Batman knew that he should care more, secret identities were vitally important to keep not only themselves but their friends and families safe too, but it was the realisation about what Tim was apologising for that seemed to matter more. Tim’s gaze, as panicked as it was, was not focused on Batman’s face but on the small amount of blood that Tim had gotten on Batman’s suit.
Batman should say something, use this moment to scare Tim from ever going out at night again. But Tim was already crying and he was already terrified. Maybe Batman should instead assure Tim that even though it had been foolish to go out in Gotham late at night, it did not mean that he needed to apologise for something as uncontrollable as throwing up blood when he was obviously incredibly ill.
He should say anything, really, to give Tim something else to focus on until the doctors and nurses got here, anything other than the blood.
He needed to say something.
But Batman didn’t say anything at all. He simply watched as Tim’s eyes slipped closed, his body stilling, and stepped out of the way so that the medical personnel could tend to him.
Nightwing was still perched on Tim’s bed, refusing to back away even as he became surrounded by Doctors and Nurses.
Batman tugged at Nightwing’s arm hard, needing to bring Nightwing out of the room completely so that they were not impeding on Tim’s care. Nightwing did not go easily, something that he shared with his successor as Robin, but all at once the fight left him and he ducked his head low, letting Batman drag him from the room.
Instead of staying in the hallway, Batman led Nightwing up one of the staircases to the rooftop.
While it certainly felt strange to come into the sunlight, when Batman saw Nightwing take in a shuddering breath he knew that he had been right in that the familiarity of being on a roof would do Nightwing good to get his head on straight again.
There was an added benefit too, by some miracle they were alone up here with no hospital staff taking a break outside for the moment, meaning they could speak plainly.
“Tim knows who we are.” Batman said.
Nightwing whirled on him.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Nightwing snapped. “The kid was coughing up blood right in front of you and you’re worried about identities?”
Batman stood unmoving by the door, not turning his head even as he watched Nightwing pace.
“If our identities have been compromised,” Batman said.
“Oh, fuck off B.”
“Nightwing, this is serious.”
“Yeah, it is serious. It’s serious because last night I had to hold Little Wing as he shook in my arms because he nearly had a fucking kid die right in front of him, the very same kid who just started vomiting blood.”
“Robin performed admirably. He kept Tim calm and-“
Despite the risk of someone coming up to the rooftop, Nightwing pulled his domino mask off and threw it to the ground. Batman watched him, refusing to acknowledge his immediate discomfort as if just by taking off his mask Dick Grayson was in considerable danger.
Then, after a long moment, he tugged down his own cowl too.
“Dick,” Bruce sighed. “What’s this really about?”
“What, a dying kid isn’t enough for me to be pissed off?”
Bruce did not answer, nor did he need to.
Dick ran an agitated hand through his hair, his body trembling.
“Jason, he…” Dick swallowed roughly. “He’s just a kid too. He’s a pain in the ass, sure, but he was shaking B. The only thing that kept him from coming here himself, was the fact that he cried himself to sleep. I promised that I would come here in his place. But, seeing the kid like that…”
“Made you see Jason in his place.” Bruce said.
“I know it’s stupid.”
It wasn’t. Bruce knew he should say as much and assure Dick that it was a completely reasonable reaction, one that Bruce himself had had the first time he saw Tim after his surgery, but he could bring himself to say anything.
Dick was anxious, probably had been for a few days now and had been avoiding letting himself feel whatever it was that he needed to feel right now, and yet Bruce couldn’t just get the fuck over himself and comfort his son.
Dick didn’t want comfort from Bruce anyway, he had made that very clear in their most recent fight.
But the young man was biting his lip hard, in the same way that he used to, and every part of Bruce yearned to reach out and hold him, protect him from the horrors of this world. He didn’t, waiting instead for Dick to be the one to break the quiet between them.
Dick started to pace, each step heavy, nothing like his usual smoothness.
This wasn’t just about the last twenty four hours after all. Dick had been off for several days, maybe more, and it wasn’t until everything had come crashing down around him that he had let himself actually confront it.
While Bruce had done the same more times than he could count, he had once thought that Dick was better than him at expressing his emotions before it got to this point.
All at once, Dick’s movements stopped. He twisted slowly towards Bruce, his eyes watering.
“I know Jason can handle himself.” Dick said, voice raw. “I know. But for some stupid reason I keep having nightmares that something’s going to happen to him. So when I checked his location last night and saw that he was at Gotham General… B, I was fucking terrified.”
Bruce stepped forward, and then again.
He gave Dick every chance to move away, every chance to start yelling at him again, every chance to declare to the world just how much he hated Bruce Wayne.
When his arms wrapped around Dick, his son stiffened but it was only for a moment. He melted into the embrace, digging his chin into Bruce’s shoulder as his own arms wrapped around Bruce. There was still a shake to Dick’s body, still tense from too many sleepless nights, but Bruce kept Dick steady and on his feet.
“Jason is safe.” Bruce said softly. “And so are you. Nothing is going to happen to either of you, I promise.”
It was bold words, and Bruce knew it, but he still meant them sincerely. There was not a thing in this world he wouldn’t do to protect his boys. They may not be his through blood, but they were his children all the same and Bruce needed Dick to know that.
“Bruce?” Dick croaked.
“Yes, Dick?”
“Is Tim going to be alright? He’s just a little kid.”
Bruce held his son a little bit tighter, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“We’ll be right there with him,” Bruce said. “No matter what.”