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By fourteen years old, Tim had grown used to waking up alone in a hospital bed. When he was five and had to have an emergency tonsillectomy, his parents gave their consent and sent their well wishes from a secluded island in Scotland. Three years later, when he broke his arm in a skateboarding accident and had to have surgery to put his bone back in place, it took the doctors nearly twelve hours to make contact with his father’s secretary. For a particularly nasty flu he contracted in the sixth grade, it was Mrs. Mac who had found him unconscious in a pool of his own vomit and called an ambulance.
But waking up to the Batman, in all his brooding glory, looming over his bedside? That was entirely new.
He hadn’t even heard the blurry figure approach, a testament to his pitiful state. Fevered blue eyes blinked in surprise. His tongue was molasses in his mouth, and it took him a moment to remember how to form words. “H…huh…?”
Batman twisted his face- dare Tim say it? Smiled?- and cupped his jaw with one gloved hand. “It’s alright, Tim. I’m here now.”
It's not like Tim had never dreamt about meeting his hero before. It was impossible not to indulge in a fantasy or two when the Wayne manor was so tantalizingly close, always with a light on in the window and smoke coming out of its many chimneys, innocently hiding away secrets he could only fantasize about. But this? Having Batman at his bedside, comforting him through his illness? Only his fever ridden brain could generate something so sentimental.
A shiver ran through his whole body. Every inch of him ached, his skin burning with the unbearable heat. Despite his dim vision, he could see the angry rash on the parts of his body that peaked out from the tangled hospital gown. A blanket was haphazardly thrown over him, shoved aside by flailing limbs and various tubes. His cheeks burned; he never wanted Batman to see him like this, weak and vulnerable as he was.
The man beside him tutted and reached for something on the bedside table. A moment later, something wet and cool was sponged against his face. Tim leaned into the new sensation, relishing in the relief from this infernal heat.
“Talk to me, son. How do you feel?”
The tone was soft, a far cry from the typical growl Batman employed. It wasn’t quite his Brucie Wayne voice either; heavy, but sincere nonetheless. Nothing made sense, everything was harsh and foreign. Still, Tim found himself oddly comforted by the familiarity.
He must’ve taken too long to respond, because Batman was gently tapping his cheek. “Tim? Can you hear me?”
“I… I don’t understand,” he rasped, eyes squeezed tight. “Why are you here?”
The wet cloth had travelled down from his face to start wiping the sweat from his neck. “Because I care about you. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
It hurt, the fondness in his tone. The way he looked at Tim like he was the most important thing in the world. No one ever looked at Tim like that. “What… what’s going on?”
“You’re sick, chum. You’re really sick right now,” it might’ve been Tim’s fevered imagination, but he thought he heard a tremble in Batman’s voice. “You’re going to be okay.”
Tim nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. Even just that little motion was dizzying. His eyes stung; it was too hot, everything hurt too much. He just wanted it to stop.
He barely withheld a little gasp when the tears were thumbed away from under his eyes. A large hand engulfed his, gently leading his thumb to the little button the nurses had taped to his palm.
“C’mon, son. I think you need to sleep,” Batman’s voice was so gentle, so soothing. Tim shook his head and bit back a sob; it couldn’t be real, Batman would never speak to him like this.
The thumb over his pressed a little harder, but not quite enough to trigger the button on the morphine pump. “You’re not well, Tim. It’s okay to rest.”
“I can’t. You’re not real,” Tim whispered, eyes fever bright and unfocused. “I can’t.”
The hallucination pushed his bangs away from his sweaty brow. A soft gasp escaped his chapped lips, the cool air rushing in to soothe his hairline. “I’m here, Tim. I promise, I’m very real.”
He forced himself to jerk his head away from the man’s gentle touch. If he let himself give into his delirious imagination, he wasn’t sure he could ever pull himself back into reality. “No, no…”
A heavy sigh, followed by the gentle click of the morphine pump. Something cool rushed up Tim’s arm, and he immediately began to drift.
The cool washcloth was back on his face, tracing the edge of his jaw. “Sleep, Robin. It’s going to be alright.”
Batman was gone the next time he woke, replaced by the outline of a blurry figure in blue scrubs. The burn had dissipated, replaced by an exhaustive chill that made his bones ache. He shivered and gasped under his breath, hardly able to hold back a whine at the sharp sting of ice beneath his armpits.
“Easy, I’m just changing your cooling packs, Timothy,” an unfamiliar voice cooed. “You’re running quite the high temperature right now.”
No, no that didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t feverish, he was cold; freezing, in fact. Weak limbs twisted and writhed, attempting to cocoon upon themselves. The thin hospital blanket had been stripped from the bed, along with his cotton gown, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.
“Bat…man…” he whimpered, hardly able to form the word in his stiff mouth. “Batman…”
“Yes, Batman brought you in two nights ago. Do you remember, Timothy? He found you unconscious in the park.”
“No…” Tim could hardly even recall the previous night, let alone the night before that. “No, he- I saw… I thought he… was here…”
The nurse tutted sympathetically and ruffled his greasy hair. It wasn’t half as soothing to Batman’s gentle touch, but he relished in it nonetheless. “You’ve been delirious. Your night nurse was the only one coming into your room last night.”
He closed his eyes tight and breathed deeply. “My mom… is she…?”
A pregnant pause. The hesitation told Tim everything he needed to know.
“I’m sorry, hon. I’m sure she’ll be on her way soon.”
Tim turned his head to the window, biting his lip tightly. He wasn’t going to cry- he wasn’t. It’s not the first time he’s been sick alone and it certainly won’t be the last. He had a lifetime of highs and lows only he was ever privy to; every milestone, every injury, always out of sight of his parents. The loneliness never hurt like this before, had never been so suffocating that he believed it might actually kill him.
The nurse fiddled with his IV just out of sight. “I’m going to talk to Dr. Thompkins about increasing your fever reducer, okay? You just hang in there.”
And just like that, Tim was alone again. He pressed his face into his pillow, letting the hot tears soak into the stiff cotton. The buzzing in his skull was nearly blinding. He fingered the morphine pump, too numb to bother dosing himself again.
A rapt against the window pane stirred him from his miseries. He lifted his head slightly, ignoring the way the corners of his vision darkened at the movement. A rush of cold air swept into the room, and Tim shivered violently.
“Oh, shit. Sorry about that…” The window closed with a harsh thud. The figure turned, muscles distinctly outlined in the tight uniform despite the dim lighting. Next thing he knew, someone was wiping the tears from his face.
“Ah, Timmy… what’s wrong?” Tim blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on Nightwing’s face, just inches from his own.
His breath hitched. “I- I don’t– I don’t understand…”
A soft smile split the sharp jaw below the domino mask. The corner of it had begun to peel off, and Tim found himself reaching out a hand to finger the polyester. The smile grew, and before he knew it the man had peeled off the rest of the mask, now crumpled in Tim’s weak fist.
“You’re lucky I’m done with patrol for the night, I’m all out of spares.” The quip, clearly meant to be lighthearted even in his addled state, fell flat. Dick’s smile faltered. “Are you alright?”
“Dick… I-I can’t see you.”
Instantly, the man’s features drew into a sharp grimace. “What do you mean, Tim? You can’t see?”
No, no this wasn’t right at all. He had spent years carefully organizing his journals and thumb drives beneath the old floorboards of the Drake Manor, far from the prying eyes of the nosy cleaning staff his parents used to employ. He’s kept the secret identities of Batman and Robin like he’d sworn a blood oath, fully intending to take his revelations to the grave if he had to.
But for all his years of silent dedication, somehow the secret must’ve gotten out, because Nightwing had just allowed him to tear off his domino. God, how had he screwed this up so bad? It was too hard to remember, the fever inhibiting his racing thoughts from approaching the finish line. He broke into another cold sweat.
Tim’s face twisted into a wince at the harsh draw of the bedside chair against the linoleum floor. The domino, held in his hand like a lifeline, was twisted out of his grip. “Hang on, I’m getting your nurse.”
Instinctively, he jerked out his now empty hand to enclose around Dick’s wrist. “No, no. Don’t.
“Timmy–”
“Can see you.” Hazy as it was, he could never forget Dick Grayson’s face. Not after that night at the circus. “But I… I shouldn’t.”
Another scraping sound, and Dick was back at his side, tracing little shapes into the palm of his hand. “What do you mean?”
He jerked his head slightly to the side. “’m not supposed to. S…secret identity, and all.”
Dick choked; wait, no, that was a laugh. “I think we passed that point a few months ago, Robin .”
“Robin,” Tim mouthed. What he would give for a glass of water. “Where is he?”
Despite his gentleness, Tim couldn’t help the wince when Dick flicked his finger against his forehead. “Right here, you dumbass. That fever must really be frying your brain right now, huh?”
“No, I’m not…” he flexed his hand, not entirely sure what he was reaching for. “I think you’re confused…”
Dick squeezed his fingers. “I think you’re the confused one, right now. Just take it easy, okay?”
A distant part of Tim still couldn’t quite piece together why Nightwing was in his hospital room, mask off, calling him Robin. He wondered where Jason Todd was, but his sickness hadn’t robbed him of all his inhibitions yet, because even Tim knew it was a bad idea to ask about that.
Dick’s hands moved up his arms, rubbing the goosebumps that had formed on his grey tinged skin. Red splotches stilled marred his otherwise clear dermis, and they burned with a new ferocity every time Tim looked down. Still, the rubbing motion was soothing, and Tim leaned into the touch.
“You gave B quite the scare, y’know. Collapsing on patrol like that.”
Oh, that would explain it. He had gotten hurt while following Batman and Robin along on one of their cases. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. His wrist still ached in the poor weather from the time he slipped on a fire escape. It didn’t justify why Nighting was in his hospital room, though. The holes in his theory were gaping, but Tim brushed them aside. He was too comfy now to get worked up.
“‘m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Tim. It’s a right of passage for all Robin’s to give B a heart attack at some point.”
Tim cracked a sleepy smile. “Yeah?”
“Remind me to tell you about the blow torch incident when you’re feeling better, okay?”
“M’kay…” he was drifting again, lulled half to sleep by the man’s light tone.
Dick continued, “We can make a whole weekend of it. Come by my apartment, take a break from the lockdown B and Alfred are gonna have you on. We can watch all the Night Court you want.”
Eyes half lidded, Tim quipped a smile.
“You… you hate Night Court…” How did Tim know that?
Dick opened his mouth to respond, only for the hospital room door to swing open. There was the sharp clearing of a throat, and Dick suddenly looked abashed. “Oh, crap.”
Tim lazily turned his head. In the doorway, a tall woman in a white coat loomed, giving off an obvious air of displeasure. Dr. Thompkins gave Dick a hard look, steely grey eyes flashing. “You’re not here.”
“I’m not,” Dick agreed, face full of sincerity,
Well, that explains that.
Dr. Thompkins’ face morphed into something unreadable- was that sympathy?- and moved to Tim’s side, now fussing with something out of sight. Not-Dick ruffled his hair, not taking his eyes off the doctor.
“Tim, I’m going to put you on some stronger meds for the next few hours. Hopefully we’ll have an antidote synthesized by then.”
Tim nodded. Antidote? He didn’t remember being poisoned, but clearly his recollection was more than a bit faulty. Maybe a symptom of the poison was hallucinations.
He opened his mouth to ask, only for Not-Dick to rudely interrupt. “I should be leaving. You’re going to be okay, Tim?”
Tim turned his head away from Not-Dick. He’s not there, he’s not real.
Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him with an unbearable delicacy. “Hang in there, yeah? Pain in the ass little brother.”
The window opened with another rush of cool Gotham air, and Not-Dick was gone as swiftly as he’d appeared, a figment of his fevered imagination. In his stead was the Gotham landscape. From his vantage point, Tim could see that the sun’s morning rays were just beginning to cusp the parapets of the sprawling city.
A brief tug on one of the lines snaking up his arm brought him sharply back to attention. Dr. Thompkins had moved on from his IV, probing the base of his jaw with a professional gentleness. She tutted. “Honestly, coming in and out of windows. You boys think this city is your playground.”
Tim hummed in agreement, too tired to really comprehend what she had said. Not real, Dick- Nightwing- was never here. You’re just sick, Tim. Sick and confused.
A blanket manifested out of nowhere, tucked around his legs just up to his thighs. “You poor boy. I wish there was more I could do,” she shook her head, seeming to ground herself. “Go back to sleep, Tim. It shouldn’t be much longer now.”
It was easy to give in; the dryness in Tim’s eyes forced them shut, and he slept without another thought.
The haze had grown insurmountable. Tim’s eyes fluttered weakly, unable to focus on any particular shape. Shadows hung like a net above him, just out of reach of his heavy fingers. He was tied to the mattress, any movement inhibited by pure exhaustion. The ice in his limbs was damning, crystallizing his bones and threatening to destroy him from the inside. He thrashed out uncontrollably, vainly attempting to dislodge the ice from within.
Abruptly, the cold developed a new sharpness, burning every inch of his skin. There was an awful, animalistic screaming- was that him?- drowning out the hushing sounds above him.
“It’s just an ice bath, Timothy. You’re going to be just fine.”
But he wasn’t, it was already too late. Every instinct in his body said as much, desperate for the pain to just stop, no matter the cost.
Everything shifted again and suddenly he was swaddled in a thin blanket, arms bound to his sides. Something heavy was on his forehead, and whatever relief it initially offered quickly rescinded.
A large figure loomed over him. Distantly, Tim registered he should be afraid, should call for help, but he simply didn’t have enough energy.
“Pull it together, pretender,” the voice was rough, angry even.
Tim barely found it in himself to put words together. “Hood,” he rasped. “Jason…”
The figure bristled, arms reaching out. Tim squeezed his eyes shut; when no devastating blow came, he opened them to find a bundle of red cradled in the strangers arms. Bright green irises met his bloodshot eyes.
“No more dead Robins,” was all the man said, before disappearing within Tim’s dimming vision.
The world had shifted by the time Tim slid back into awareness. He was propped up, swaddled in a thick green blanket he recognized from his bedroom in the Drake Manor. The window had somehow migrated to the other side of the room, casting the furniture in the soft glow of afternoon sun. Tim leaned back, head lolling against the pillows.
An IV line still fed into his hand. He eyed it with disinterest, trying in vain to recall when it had been inserted. The past few days were hazy, already slipping away from his working memory. He could still feel the ghost of hands on his face, feeling his forehead and wiping away his sweat; hear the distant voices soothing and shushing him as he cried, but nothing beyond that. He lazily fingered the white bandages securing the line to his hand, anxiety buried by the suffocating weight of exhaustion.
Calloused hands curled his fingers away from the bandages. He looked up, ignoring the dryness in his eyes.
“Careful,” his hand was carefully tucked into Bruce’s large ones. “You shouldn’t play with that.”
“Bruce…” It came out more as a whisper than he intended, and he began to cough on the dryness of his own mouth.
A spoon appeared next to his lips and he greedily accepted the ice chips. Exhaling sharply, he tried again. “You… you’re here.”
Bruce muttered something Tim couldn’t quite make out. Something about the damn hospital policy. “Yeah, Tim, of course I am. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”
Tim blinked in confusion. He was certain that Bruce’s low rumble had been one of the voices he made out in his earlier haze. “How long…?”
Bruce squeezed his fingers, mindful of the IV line. “Nearly a week. You’ve been pretty out of it.”
Tim could believe that. Everything still felt hazy and dreamlike, as if he had just gotten out of a too-hot shower. “Am I sick?”
A grave nod. “Poison Ivy hit you with a dose of toxin, something no one had seen before. Batman found you in the park just outside Old Gotham, remember? He had no choice but to bring you into the hospital while he worked on synthesizing an antidote.”
Patrol, following Ivy into the thick folds of the overgrown park, roots snagging on his uniform boots. The feeling of sickness creeping into his lungs, collapsing to the ground, struggling to procure his rebreather. Blue fingers desperately fumbling his comms, slurring his words as he begged for aid.
“Ah,” was all Tim managed, closing his eyes. “Ivy?”
“Back in Arkham. Batman and Nightwing managed to wrangle her two days after you were admitted.”
Tim nodded in satisfaction. He didn’t think he had it in him to chase down Ivy any time soon. “Good.”
The duo sat in silence for a bit, Tim lulled by the rhythm of the heart monitor. Even though the delirium had dissipated, he still felt bone exhausted. But something nagged at the back of his mind, unwilling to allow him to fully rest.
Bruce cleared his throat. “Tim, there’s… there’s something we need to talk about.
The tone was heavy, the same one he used to bark his orders in. Robin, report. Tim straightened, moving to sit up.
A hand to his shoulder kept him rooted to the mattress. “No, no, you stay down. Just- just let me speak, okay? You’re not in trouble or anything.”
He swallowed uneasily, but settled back down. “What is it?”
Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his chair. If Tim didn’t know any better, he’d say the man looked nervous, anxious even. “Well, as you might remember, the hospital had to call your parents.”
Tim’s eyes widened, something finally clicking in his brain. He half threw himself out of bed, pulling himself into a sitting position. “My- my parents-!” he gasped. “Are they–”
His head swam, and next thing he knew he was lying back down, Bruce’s hand firmly on his chest. “-Tim, just stay still.”
His breath came in pants. “My mom and dad, did they–”
“I’m sorry, Tim,” his voice was genuine, pained as if his heart truly ached for the boy. “I even called them myself. They said they would try to cut their trip early, but…”
Despite himself, Tim’s stomach sank. “But they couldn’t.”
“Once they heard the antidote had worked, they- well, they decided there was no need to expedite their current travel plans. They, ah, sent you a gift basket though.”
The man gestured to one of the bedside tables, where an extravagant basket of sweets sat. Tim’s nauseated stomach churned at the thought of all that sugar, and he ignored the bright wrappers in favor of the card sticking out of the bunch.
“Our sweet boy,” Tim read aloud, feeling increasingly numb. “Get well soon! Love, mom and dad.”
He turned the card over, willing the printed font to say something, anything more personal, and threw the card down in disappointment.
Turning back to Bruce, he inhaled sharply. “That was… thoughtful of them,” he forced out.
Bruce’s mouth opened and closed silently. Seemingly at a loss for words, he settled for tucking the basker under the table, out of sight. “I’m sorry they weren’t here, Tim. Leslie told me you kept asking for them. I really did do everything I could to get them to you.”
Tim shrugged, half wishing he could sink back into his delirium and forget this conversation ever happened. “It’s okay, B. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s really not okay, chum. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. You-” he swallowed heavily, like there was something particularly large in his throat. “You were pretty rough for a while there. A few more days, and you might’ve…”
“But I didn’t,” Tim spat out bitterly. “And I’m fine now.”
Bruce muttered something under his breath. “I should’ve been there, at least. I couldn’t- the hospital wouldn’t let any non-family members into the ICU. I tried to get your parents to petition for permission, but-”
“But you were there,” Tim interrupted, briefly pulled from his numbness by his surprise. “I-I remember hearing your voice.”
Bruce’s face twisted into something Tim eventually realized was a smile. “No, they wouldn’t let me in. I did manage to get Leslie to take your case, though. She told me that you thought you saw Batman visiting you through the window.”
Despite everything, Tim found himself grinning shyly. “And was I?”
“Well, I have it on good authority that Batman’s taken a special interest in your case.”
Tim’s hand snaked out over the blanket with a newfound boldness, taking Bruce’s in his own. “Thank you, Bruce.”
“Don’t thank me for this, Tim. It never should’ve come to this.”
He shrugged. “Still. Was Nightwing here too, or was I just delusional?”
A playful scoff. “You know Dick cares a lot about you, chum. He’s coming by to visit once he gets off from work.”
“What about…” Tim trailed off, trying to scrounge up the memory of the large man with a deep, angry voice, eyes flashing green. No more dead Robins. “Nevermind… I’m just glad you’re here now.”
Bruce was stroking his hair, something he had begun to do in passing displays of affection. “They moved you to the general ward this morning, after your fever broke. You’ll probably be here for a few more days of fluids and observation.”
“Okay,” after everything that had happened in the past week, Tim wasn’t particularly anxious to return to the empty Drake manor, with its drafty hallways and dreary lighting.
As if somehow reading his mind, Bruce inhaled sharply and added, “Tim, you’re not going back to your house.”
His eyebrows shot up into his sweaty bangs. “What?”
Bruce closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “That’s not- I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was- well, Alfred’s already prepared a room for you in the manor.”
“Ah,” Tim vaguely wondered if his temperature had shot up again. It felt like it, what with the heat in his face. “No, I don’t- that’s really not necessary…”
The large man’s expression hardened. “You’re still recovering. You’re fourteen, you need someone to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself,” his tone sharpened instinctively.
“I know you can,” and, oh- why did Bruce look so sad? “But you shouldn’t have to. Please, just for a few weeks. Until you recover your strength.”
“...okay,” he acquiesced, despite himself. As humiliating as it was, the thought of a house full of people with three warm meals a day was too tempting. “I’ll go home with you.”
Bruce exhaled in relief. “Dick and I already stopped by your house to grab anything we thought you’d need.” Ah, so that’s where his blanket had come from. “We can even get Leslie to come to the manor for your follow up instead of bringing you back out into the city.”
“Mm, that’d be nice…”
Bruce gave his dark hair another fond ruffle. “You’re going to be okay now, Tim.”
“Are you going to stay?”
“Until they kick me out,” Bruce smirked. “But maybe Batman will stop by again if patrol goes well.”
There was a horrible ache in Tim’s chest, and he forced down all thoughts of that awful gift basket out of his head. When he spoke, his voice was laced with more emotion than he meant. “Thank you, B. Really.”
“It's nothing, Tim. I’ll always be here for you.”