Chapter Text
It was a sunny day in Gotham.
Of course, seeing as such a thing was a rarity, Tim felt morally obligated to take advantage of it. One of the tigers at the Gotham City Zoo had just given birth to a cub, and Damian had been dying to go see it. So, being a good big brother, Tim agreed to take him with Steph and Cass volunteering to come along as well.
It was going to be a perfect day.
“Drake, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes!” Damian warned him, banging on his door. Tim groaned from his bed. He hadn’t gathered the strength to get up yet.
Perfect, except for the fact that his body felt like it was getting sick.
It had started the previous day. His energy levels had been very low, and he’d noticed an annoying tightness in his chest. His cough, dry and irritating, had arrived late last night after patrol.
But he told himself it was just allergies. Every single plant in New Jersey was blooming right now, so pretty much everyone had the sniffles. And as long as he didn’t take his temperature, he didn’t have a fever.
“I’m coming, Dames,” he called out, forcing some life into his voice. He wasn’t going to let some stupid pollen keep him in bed on such a nice day.
After getting dressed, Tim dug into his medicine cabinet and loaded himself up. Along with his normal medications, he took an antihistamine, Sudafed, Mucinex, and some Tylenol for good measure. He also popped a few cough drops into his pocket for later use. With the help of drugs, he felt confident he could get through the day. Because there was no way he was backing out now. Not when Damian was so excited.
Now, he just needed one more thing: caffeine.
He made a beeline for the coffee bar as soon as he entered the kitchen.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Steph greeted from where she, Cass, and Damian were finishing up breakfast.
Tim made a big show of yawning so they’d think he was just tired instead of sick. “Morning, everyone.”
After filling a tumbler with ice, he pressed a few buttons on the Waynes’ ridiculously fancy espresso machine so it would dispense a cold brew with a double shot of espresso – something his siblings had named the “Red Robin Eye” in his honor.
“No sleep?” Cass questioned. She, of course, would be the hardest to fool. Tim had to be on top of his game.
He forced himself to look sheepish as he dumped an ungodly amount of Mean Girls™ Pink Frosting creamer into the brew. “I was working on a case.”
Which was only partially a lie. He did fall asleep working on a case. It just happened to be at eleven o’clock – an unheard of bedtime for him.
Steph cocked an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t Bruce install a sleep timer on your computers so they stopped working at 3:00?”
Tim scoffed. “I’m offended you’d think would stop me. Even if Bruce had found all of my backup computers, his programming skills are mediocre at best. It took me all of five minutes to disarm the timer.”
That, actually, was 100% true.
“You really have no regard for your wellbeing, do you?”
Damian tutted. “We will simply leave Drake in the nocturnal mammals’ cave if he crashes. It would be far from the weirdest place he’s slept.”
“Better than a rollercoaster,” Cass agreed.
Tim took a big swig of his coffee and rolled his eyes. “That was one time. I’m fine, really. Once the caffeine kicks in, I’ll be right as rain.”
Steph shared a glance with her best friend then shrugged. “If you say so. C’mon, Dames, let’s load up the car.”
Phew. He’d passed the first test. Now, he just had to let the caffeine work its magic.
They had been at the zoo for a little over an hour when Tim started regretting all of his life decisions.
He felt awful. Every muscle in his body ached and throbbed, and his chest felt like he was breathing in shards of glass. His cough had become wetter and more persistent, though thus far he’d been able to hide it by stepping away and coughing into his shirt whenever the others were preoccupied.
Meanwhile, Damian and the girls were having a great time. Most of the animals were out and about, also seeming to enjoy the nice weather, so they got to see a lot. And the newest little tiger cub had been absolutely adorable. He’d tried to take a few pictures but had quickly abandoned the idea when his hands started shaking.
By the time they finally got to the red pandas, Tim’s favorite animal, he felt ready to pass out. It occurred to him that he should probably say something, but he didn’t want to ruin the fun.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, for his sake), Cassandra Cain was his big sister.
“You look bad,” she accused when he hadn’t started gushing over the cute little furballs. “You’re sick and didn’t tell us.”
Tim’s stomach dropped. “I’m fine, Cassie,” he assured. Except his voice sounded horrible, which only proved her point.
Damian and Stephanie were paying attention now.
“You do look pale,” Steph frowned. She stepped forward and placed her hand on his forehead. “And you’re burning up!”
“It’s just the sun,” Tim tried.
Damian narrowed his eyes. “Nonsense, Drake. We must get you home to Pennyworth at once.”
Tim shook his head. “No, I don’t wanna ruin the day. I can just take a nap in the car while you guys finish up. It’s not that bad.”
“Like we would believe anything you say regarding your health,” his little brother scoffed. He grabbed Tim’s hand and started pulling him towards the exit.
The sudden movement made Tim feel dizzy. Before he knew what was happening, he was on the ground looking up at the sky.
“Damian, I want you to go up front and find the medical attendant. Tell them to call an ambulance,” Steph ordered calmly. Robin, given his mission, sprinted away.
“N-no,” Tim croaked. “‘M fine.”
He felt a cough building up, and this time, he wasn’t able to hide it. His chest rattled with every hack. Then, the taste of copper flooded his mouth. Upon opening his eyes, he saw blood splattered across the front of his Green Day T-shirt.
Well, that couldn’t be good.
“Shit,” Steph cursed as she rolled him into the recovery position so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood. “Tim, what are your symptoms? And don’t you fucking dare say nothing.”
“Ch-chest hurts,” Tim wheezed. “Achey all over. H-hard to breathe.”
He coughed again, sending more blood onto the concrete walkway of the Gotham City Zoo.
Steph rubbed his back. “You motherfucker. When are you going to realize you have to fucking tell us when you’re sick?”
He could hear her worry through the anger. It made him feel almost as shitty as his illness did. “S-sorry, Steph. Thought it was j-just allergies.”
Damian arrived with two paramedics a few minutes later. They rolled a stretcher in between them and carried large bags across their shoulders.
“Hi, Tim, my name is Bryan,” the first one introduced himself as he knelt beside him. “This is my partner, Trina. Your little brother told me you weren’t feeling too hot?”
“He said his chest is hurting and that it’s hard to breathe,” Stephanie reported as the medics started hooking Tim up to their portable monitor. “He’s coughing up blood, too. Did his brother tell you he has asplenia?”
Trina nodded as she finished listening to his chest. “He did. Tim, when did you start feeling bad?”
“L-last night,” Tim rasped.
Bryan placed a thermometer in his ear. “103.2,” he reported. “Did your fever start last night, too?”
Tim’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment. “D-dunno. Never checked.”
“Are you on any preventative antibiotics?”
Tim opened his mouth to answer, but a cough ripped out of his throat instead. It was getting harder and harder to catch his breath.
“He’s on Veetids. 250mg,” Stephanie supplied for him.
Trina nodded at her in thanks then frowned. “Tim, your oxygen saturation is only 82%, so we’re gonna give you some oxygen, okay?”
No wonder he felt so dizzy.
Bryan suctioned the blood out of his mouth before placing a non-rebreather mask over Tim’s face. The flow pushed into his lungs immediately, which helped bring the spinning world back into focus.
“Tim, your blood pressure is also low, so I need to start an IV in your arm and start giving you some fluid to help. Do you understand?”
He nodded the best he could with the mask on.
“You’re okay, Little Brother,” Cass assured, carding her hand through his hair. He was still lying on his side, but she had lifted his head onto her lap while the paramedics worked.
“I’m going to step away and call his dad,” Stephanie announced, pulling out her phone. “Which hospital is he going to?”
“Gotham General is where they usually take patients,” Trina replied. She had just finished inserting an IV in the crook of Tim’s arm.
The two medics moved Tim onto stretcher. Once it raised up, Tim could see they had drawn quite the crowd. Multiple people were even filming him with their cellphones.
Guess he knew what was going to be on the news that night.
The paramedics transported him to one of the zoo’s medical access points. Within minutes, an ambulance had arrived and backed into the space.
“We’ll meet you at the hospital,” Stephanie promised, squeezing his hand while the zoo paramedics gave report to the oncoming team.
Cass patted his leg. “Be safe.”
“Drake, you better still be alive when we arrive,” Damian threatened with ill-hidden fear. “I swear, if you perish I will let Alfred use your skateboards as scratching posts.”
The sentiment would have made Tim smile, if his body hadn’t been so otherwise occupied.
The ambulance sped away, sirens blaring, as soon as Tim was loaded up. The two new paramedics told him their names, but he couldn’t understand them over his roaring pulse.
The smaller, younger paramedic suctioned Tim’s mouth every time he coughed up more blood. It was so hard to breathe.
“O2’s only at 86% on 15 liters,” the older paramedic observed. “Tim, I need you take deeper breaths for me.”
Tim tried to obey. He sucked in as much air as he could before the stabbing pains in his chest made him stop. It just hurt so much.
Sudden, severe nausea appeared out of nowhere. He barely had enough time to yank the oxygen mask off of his face before vomit spewed out of his mouth. To his horror, it was bright red with blood.
“Shit,” the older, clearly more seasoned paramedic cursed. He yelled at the driver, “John, radio ahead and tell them this kid is throwing up blood and a lot of it. He’s definitely bleeding from somewhere. Could be DIC.”
Tim wasn’t sure what DIC was, but judging by the way the younger paramedic paled, it couldn’t be good.
The older paramedic cut off his shirt. “See those red bumps all over his chest? That’s petechiae. He’s got some scattered bruising as well. Tim, are those bruises new?”
They definitely hadn’t been there that morning. He managed to nod before heaving again. This time, the older paramedic was ready with a basin. A scary amount of blood sloshed into the container as his stomach continued to spasm. Of course, the irritation to his throat only made him cough more, which in turn triggered his gag reflex. It was a vicious cycle he was desperate to escape. He felt like he was drowning.
Luckily, the hospital was fairly close. Tim was rushed into a trauma bay where a crowd of people stood ready to treat him.
“O2 is 79% and dropping,” the older paramedic reported. “He was on 15 liters non-rebreather but keeps throwing up.”
The crowd pulled him from one stretcher to another. Then hands were everywhere, cutting off the rest of his clothes and pushing on his abdomen and stabbing him with needles. And with each pair of hands, there was a voice saying something scary.
“Bp is 78/32 with a pulse of 166.”
“I need a central line kit!”
“Initiate the Mass Transfusion Protocol–”
“Draw cultures and a rainbow then start 2g of vanc–”
“Get a STAT CTA of his abdomen and chest–”
“Tim, can you hear me?”
Someone was talking to him. But how could he respond when he couldn’t even breathe? He opened his mouth, but all that would come out was a choked out gasp. And more blood. So much blood.
“Where’s my son!?!”
There. A familiar voice.
“–FAST ultrasound shows no free fluid–”
“Mr. Wayne, you need to wait outside–”
“I own this damn hospital. Now, let me see my son!”
“His oxygen isn’t coming up. Set up for an RSI. I need 88mg of sux, 18 of Etomidate, a 7.0mm cuffed ET tube with a Miller blade.”
His dad was there now, sitting by his face and stroking his hair. It felt really nice. “I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay. I love you so much.”
“Pushing Etomidate now.”
A warm feeling rapidly spread throughout his body. It made his eyelids grow impossibly heavy as every muscle in his body went limp. Tim saw no reason to fight the beckoning darkness. Bruce was with him. Batman would take over while he took a nap.
He closed his eyes.
Bruce was able to stay calm in most situations. It was an imperative skill as Batman. Other heroes could freak out, but not him. The Batman had to stay calm no matter what.
But right now, Bruce was not Batman. And right now, he was freaking out.
He had arrived at Gotham General before Tim did. WE’s downtown office was much closer to the hospital than the zoo. He’d been in a board meeting when Stephanie had called his emergency line.
“Tim’s sick. He’s coughing up blood. It’s bad, Bruce.”
The front desk clerk led him back as soon as the ambulance arrived.
There was so much blood.
His son was covered from head to toe. It wasn’t until Tim vomited that he knew where it was coming from.
“Mr. Wayne, your son is critically ill,” a nurse explained as she led him inside the room. She’d resisted at first, but it was nearly impossible to say “no” to the man who owned the very building in which they stood. “The doctors are preparing to intubate him now. He’ll remain sedated afterwards.”
She motioned for him to sit on a stool by his son’s head. Tim was paler than he’d ever seen him. The bruises underneath his eyes were nearly black. Now that he was closer, he saw that underneath all of the blood, his son’s chest and abdomen were covered in bruises. They seemed to be forming into front of his very eyes.
He started carding his hand through his son’s hair, knowing Tim found it comforting. “I’m right here, sweetheart,” he promised. “You’re gonna be okay. I love you so much.”
Tim’s eyes met his own. For a brief moment, Bruce could see the relief in his son’s face. Then, the sedatives took effect, and he closed his eyes.
When the doctors were ready to intubate, Bruce pulled his hands away from Tim to give the medical personnel space to work. A respiratory therapist set up the ventilator while a nurse kept continuous suction going in Tim’s throat. He glanced at the wall and saw that the first suction canister was nearly full already.
“I see the cords,” the doctor – a young woman whose badge read Rachel Stevenson – announced. She then slowly advanced the ET tube into Tim’s trachea. Once the tube was in place, the respiratory therapist connected it the ventilator and turned it on.
“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dr. Stevenson announced after listening to Tim’s chest.
“End tidal CO2 is 40,” the respiratory therapist added.
After they finished securing the airway, everyone cleared out for the CT scan. As soon as the scans were finished, he rushed back to his seat.
An older doctor – the attending, Bruce guessed – frowned at the portable CT machine’s monitor once the image developed. “He’s got severe, bilateral effusions and a concerning PE in the right lung.”
“Lab just called with his results,” another nurse reported, handing the doctor an iPad. “His D-dimer’s over 5,000, and his platelets are only 26. Hemoglobin’s down to 5.6.”
“Definitely DIC, then. Throw in a Salem Sump to set at continuous suction,” the doctor ordered, “and get GI in here to do an endoscopy. Stevenson, I want you to start an art line in his femoral while I get a central line going in his jugular. Kelly, set up bilateral chest tube trays with 24 French tubes.”
Bruce kept a tight grip on his son’s hand as the medical personnel surrounded him. He almost wished he didn’t have any medical knowledge, because he only understood enough to terrify the living shit out of him.
Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation – tons and tons of tiny little clots were forming in Tim’s body, using up all of his clotting factors until there were little to none left. He was clearly bleeding from his GI tract, seeing as he had been throwing up blood. His lungs obviously had a lot of fluid in them as well, if they were doing bilateral chest tubes. But whether it be blood from the DIC, effusion from pneumonia, or fluid leaking into the interstitial spaces due to severe sepsis, he had no clue. It could be all three, for all he knew. And a PE would put immense stress on Tim’s heart if it wasn’t resolved quickly.
His son’s condition was extremely critical.
Another doctor and a PA walked in wheeling what looked like some kind of portable ultrasound machine.
“Welcome, Dr. Beckett. Patient is a nineteen-year-old male presenting with septic shock and DIC secondary to pneumonia,” the attending told the newcomer as he finished dressing the central line he’d just inserted. “He was vomiting bright red blood upon arrival, lost at least a liter, and we’ve already sucked out another half since intubation. There’s definitely a bleed somewhere.”
“Thank you, Dr. Roberts,” Beckett nodded before turning to his partner. “Samuel, set up for a bedside endoscopy.”
“Art line is in place and secure,” Stevenson announced.
Dr. Roberts nodded. “Where are we on antibiotics and fluids?”
“He’s gotten two liters of NS so far,” one of the female nurses replied. “I’ve now got vanc infusing in one AC and RBCs in the other.”
“Someone call X-ray so we can confirm the lines’ placement. Russel, while they do the endoscopy, put in a Foley so we can see if he’s bleeding from his urinary tract. You can send a UA while you’re at it. Stevenson, I’ll insert the right chest tube while you do the left.”
His son was being poked and prodded and cut into from all sides. It made Bruce thankful Tim was sedated.
“You’re going to be okay, son,” Bruce assured, running his thumb over Tim’s cold, pale skin. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
“Urine looks clear,” the male nurse announced from the foot of the best.
Dr. Stevenson looked up from her sterile field. “I’ve got blood and seropurulent drainage coming from the left side. Kelly, can you send this off to lab for cultures?”
“This side, too,” Dr. Roberts added. Tim now had a tube in both of his lungs draining scary amounts of fluid into their respective containers.
“X-ray is here,” someone announced.
“Perfect timing. We were just about ready to start,” Dr. Becket replied.
Everyone cleared out once more.
From outside the room, Tim looked even worse. His son was scarily still. The only movement he exhibited was forced by the ventilator. His skin had a horrible gray tint to it, at least the parts that weren’t covered in blood and bruises.
By all accounts, he looked dead.
“All right, lines are in a good spot,” Dr. Roberts observed when he was shown the X-ray. Bruce took that as his cue to return to Tim’s bedside. “Start him on Levophed, 0.02 mcg/kg/min with a target MAP of 65.”
“Starting endoscopy now,” Dr. Beckett informed them. Bruce watched with a clenched jaw as the GI doctor inched the flexible rod down Tim’s throat.
“First units of RBCs, FFP, and platelets are all in,” the male nurse who had inserted Tim’s catheter reported. “Cryo is going in now.”
“What’s his MAP?” Dr. Roberts asked.
“44. We just started the Levo.”
“I found some bleeders,” Dr. Beckett observed. “I’m gonna try to cauterize them. Samuel, have some Hemoclips ready in case the bigger ones don’t cooperate.”
Everyone seemed to be talking all at once. Bruce could barely keep up with what was going on.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. “Mr. Wayne?”
He looked up and saw an African American woman in a blouse and dress pants.
“My name is Sharon. I’m one of the ER social workers. I understand you don’t want to leave Tim’s side, but I just need to ask you a couple of questions. Would you mind stepping outside with me for just a minute?”
As much as Bruce wanted to refuse, he nodded and followed the woman out of the trauma bay. Considering their social status, Bruce needed to ensure the hospital provided adequate security. The press loved trying to sneak in to get dirt on the Waynes whenever one of them was sick or injured.
There was a uniformed security officer and another man in a suit waiting outside the room for them.
“Mr. Wayne, this is Jeff Barton, our Hospital Chief of Security, and Martin Jones, Director of Inpatient Services,” Sharon explained, gesturing to each of the men. Bruce shook each of their hands as they were introduced. “I understand you’re under a lot of stress right now, and I don’t want to keep you away from your son for too long, but we just wanted to touch base with you on some safety precautions we’ll be taking while Tim is staying with us.”
Bruce nodded, trying to concentrate on the social worker’s words instead of the commotion happening inside the trauma bay. “Of course. Whatever I can do to keep my family safe.”
The security officer spoke first. “I’ve arranged for extra officers to be present outside your son’s room. Everyone will require an ID prior to entry. When they decide which unit he’ll be admitted to, I plan on establishing security checkpoints there as well. We have your VIP visitor list from the last time one of your family members was here. Are there any changes you’d like to make?”
He pressed a few buttons on his tablet then showed it to the billionaire. Bruce scanned the list and confirmed everyone’s name was listed before shaking his head. “No, it looks good.”
“We have a private waiting room for your family to use until he gets admitted,” Mr. Jones offered. “The clerk has already led a few of your family members back. We have VIP rooms on each floor that are away from high traffic areas and have dedicated elevators to help keep you separate from everyone else. An email also went out to all staff stating that we have a VIP patient and reinforced the importance of HIPAA compliance.”
Bruce let out a breath. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
“I just have a few more housekeeping things to address, and then I’ll let you get back to Tim,” Sharon promised.
By the time Bruce answered all of her questions, Dr. Beckett had finished the endoscopy.
“I was able to stop all of the bleeding in his stomach,” the GI doctor told Bruce as he reentered the trauma bay. “We’ll have to monitor him closely for re-bleeding, but it’s holding steady for now.”
Bruce let out a breath of relief. “Thank you, Doctor. How is he doing otherwise?”
The attending, Dr. Roberts, stepped forward to answer. “He’ll be transferred to the ICU soon. While they prep him for transport, may I suggest we go sit down so I can fully explain in condition?”
Bruce glanced over at his son. He had just gotten back. Tim was still surrounded by medical personnel, getting blood products and antibiotics and God-knows-what-else pumped into his body. But even in spite of that, Tim’s blood pressure was still way too low for his liking. The only thing that gave him a bit of comfort was the fact that the suction canister behind his son seemed to be filling up much more slowly.
Dr. Roberts sensed his hesitation. “Your son is in good hands, Mr. Wayne. We’ll be back before he goes up to the unit.”
“Okay,” Bruce relented with a sigh. Dr. Roberts led him to the ER’s private waiting room and badged them in.
True to Mr. Jones’s word, Cass, Stephanie, and Damian were already seated inside. All three of them jumped up upon seeing the two men enter.
“How is he?” Steph asked. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“That’s what we’re about to discuss,” Bruce replied, trying to put on brave face for the kids.
Dr. Roberts glanced at Damian as they all took their seats. “Mr. Wayne, perhaps your son shouldn’t be present-”
“Nonsense!” Damian snapped. “I am not leaving without news of my brother.”
Bruce reached over and placed a hand on his youngest’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Dr. Roberts. He can listen in.”
The doctor nodded, and Bruce felt some of the tension leak from Damian’s shoulders.
“So I’m afraid that Tim is very ill,” Dr. Roberts began. “I believe this started out as pneumonia which then progressed into sepsis. The sepsis, in turn, triggered something called Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation, or DIC. When that happens, the body forms microclots that can occlude important blood vessels and cause all kinds of issues. DIC can also lead to uncontrollable bleeding due to the body’s supply of clotting factors being exhausted.
“In Tim’s case, he was hemorrhaging from his lungs and his stomach. The GI doctor performed a procedure called an endoscopy to find the bleeding in his stomach and stop it. We also inserted chest tubes into both of his lungs in order to drain the blood and fluid that had accumulated due to the pneumonia. Another thing we’re doing to treat the DIC is giving him clotting factors and platelets in addition to red blood cells. The best thing we can do, however, is take away the underlying cause, which in his case would be sepsis. Does all of that make sense so far?
Bruce nodded. He’d gathered that much. “And how are you treating the sepsis?”
“We have him on multiple very strong antibiotics at the moment. Once his cultures come back, the ICU doctors will make any necessary changes. He was in septic shock when he arrived, which caused a drop in his blood pressure. We gave him a couple of fluid boluses, and he’s now on a drip of a medication called Levophed, which is a vasopressor. It should hopefully help his blood pressure come back up.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Bruce asked. He knew it was likely an impossible question to answer, but that wouldn’t stop billionaire Bruce Wayne from asking it.
Dr. Roberts sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that yet. His condition is very critical. We’ve got him somewhat stable for now, but anything could change that. His heart is under a lot of stress because of a pulmonary embolism, which is a clot in one of his lungs. The embolism itself is dangerous as well, but we are unable to treat it right now due to the DIC. He’s also at a high risk for kidney damage due to the lack of perfusion from the septic shock, among other things. We’re going to have to monitor him very closely for further complications.“
Bruce has expected at much, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. He wrapped his arm around Damian and pulled his son close. “I understand, Dr. Roberts. Thank you for everything you’ve done for him so far.”
The doctor smiled reassuringly. “Of course. We’re going to do everything we can to give Tim the best chance possible. Do you have any other questions for me?”
“I don’t think so, Doctor.”
“I’m going to go check on your son, then. Take all the time you need to process things, and then you can rejoin us whenever you’re ready.”
“He said he was just tired,” Steph said with a sniffle. She and Cass were holding on to each other tightly. “I never should have believed him.”
“It’s not your fault, Stephanie,” Bruce assured her. “Because of his compromised immune system, Tim’s health can turn on a dime. Chances are, he had no idea how serious it was until it was too late.”
“He’s such an idiot,” Damian scoffed, though his voice cracked with emotion.
“Tim will be okay,” Cass said with conviction. “He is strong.”
“Your sister’s right,” Bruce agreed, carding his hand through his youngest’s hair. “We just have to trust that Tim will fight to stay with us. Now, has anyone alerted the rest of the family?”
Stephanie nodded, wiping her eyes. “I called them while we were waiting. They’re on the way.”
“Good. Thank you, Stephanie. I’m going to go check on Tim and see if they know when he’ll be admitted. Text me if any of you need me. I’ll be back when I have an update.”
As soon as Bruce stood up, the two girls parted from each other and sat on either side of Damian, sandwiching the smaller boy between them. For once, the youngest Wayne didn’t even protest. It made Bruce feel better about leaving them. His children would take care of each other.
For now, he needed to get back to Tim.