Slowly We Unfurl As lotus Flowers

by impala_porkchop

Summary:

After Tim got symptoms of a sudden fever, irritation, and headaches, It was only a matter of time before Bruce picked up the pieces of what it meant.

or in other words:
Tim gets meningitis and it's up to Bruce to find out before it's too late.

Notes:

Hey!! This is the first fic I'm posting on this account. I will hopefully be able to update this every Saturday, but no promises because I have online school. I have had the Hamilton soundtrack playing while I made this, and BELIEVE ME I wrote this up so fast. Enjoyoyoyoyoy!!!!

The title is from the song 'Lotus Flower' by Radiohead by the way! give it a listen it's actually a really good song.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Alfred gave a quizzical look. “Master Tim, as you should know, you have an extremely important meeting for Wayne Enterprises.” He waited for a response, which Tim was not about to give, as he was halfway through a mission report and was not up for the same memo he received every five minutes.

 

“Ah, well, if you feel that my words are not worth your time, I shall take more drastic measures,” Alfred stated, walking closer to where Tim was sitting. Tim had only been half-listening, being too absorbed in what he was writing to focus more than a quarter of his attention on it. Once Alfred was fully out of his peripheral view, Tim deemed it safe to sigh and rub his eyes before continuing the paragraph of the mission summary he was writing. He was handling about four cases, which he had displayed on the oversized glowing monitors of the Batcomputer. It was very neatly laid out across the screens, each window of reports and statements on the newest crimes in order. It was all fine until a pop-up appeared in the middle of the main screen. He had to stop writing to look at it, straining his eyes to read "parental lock."

 

"Wh- huh?" He stared at the pop-up, unable to click away from it. He also started to realize how some things had vanished from his desk. His files filled with confidential case reports and profiles had all gone missing from the messy pile that his desk had become. 

 

Tim swiftly whipped his head around, trying to see if they had fallen on the ground. He did scout out the files, although they were… unattainable when he tried to grab them. 

 

“Alfred!” Tim yelped, trying to snatch the files from his butler's hands, which held them in a new, neat pile. Tim scoffed, rolling his eyes (a bad idea), and was forced to deal with the strain from looking at the computer screen for far too long. 

 

Alfred cleared his throat, continuing, “As I was saying, due to your meeting tomorrow, Bruce has instructed me to ensure you are in bed by 1 a.m.” Tim stared at him dumbfounded, his eyebrows lowering as Alfred continued lecturing, “and believe me, Master Tim, you will be in bed within the next four minutes.” He flashed his old-fashioned watch to Tim: 12:56. 

 

He looked back at the screen again, gazing at the pop-up. He wasn’t getting out of this one any time soon, and it might be better if he were — and he would never admit this out loud — to take a break from screens as his eyes had been straining and quite sensitive for the past few days. He chalked it up to too many caffeinated drinks (they couldn’t rip Zesti-Cola from his cold, dead hands). 

 

“I—Ugh,” he groaned, his dramatics toned down to avoid angering the butler even more. Alfred sported a winning smile that made Tim want to punch him square in the face if he had the energy. Instead, he shook his head, which hurt; his neck was stiff as a board. Placing a hand on his neck, he stood up and admitted defeat, starting to walk away. 

 

“I’m very glad,” the butler called back to him, “that using the tranquilizer was not necessary. It seems you’ve learned much since last time, hmm?” Yeah, leave it up to Alfred to rub it in his face. 

 

“That was one time!” Tim snarled, not in the mood for Alfred’s antics this late at night (or early in the morning?). 

 

He did follow Alfred's instructions, half because he didn’t want the stupid child lock to stay on the Batcomputer and also because he did not want to fall victim to the tranquilizer again. It was not pretty the last time, and the worst part was that he still hadn’t heard the end of it from Dick or Jason. The assholes joked about it any chance they got, mocking him at every opportunity that arose. 

 

He first went into the bathroom, the harsh white lights burning through his retinas. Running the tap, he splashed some lukewarm water on his face and brushed his teeth to get ready for sleep. The meeting wasn’t until 11, which meant he would have 8 hours of sleep if he was lucky enough to have a good night's uninterrupted sleep. 

 

He made it back to his room and changed into appropriate sleep pants and a baggy shirt Kon must’ve left in his room a while ago. It was oddly cold for a summer night, but nothing out of the ordinary considering it was Gotham, which was naturally cold and eerie. 

 

He checked his phone to ensure the alarms for tomorrow were correctly set and placed it on the charger to be fully charged by the next morning. He then grabbed his favorite weighted blanket and hopped onto his bed, letting out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. His bed was much comfier for his neck and body than the chair he had been hunched over for the last few hours. 

 

In no time, he was knocked out, with no tranquilizer needed.

 

---

 

The next morning, Tim didn’t wake up to his alarms. He slowly unveiled himself from the covers he was tangled in, the coldness hitting his skin like needles. Yikes—this meeting was going to be hell. It was odd that he was up before his alarm went off, considering he was in no way, shape, or form a morning person. He rubbed his eyes, the sun shining through his curtains way too brightly for him at that moment.

 

Without looking, he tried to find his phone that was supposed to be on his nightstand, only to discover the unattached cord. Maybe it fell on the ground? he thought and hoped. Sitting up and fully kicking away the covers, Tim stretched his legs out and slowly got up off his bed. He needed a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they did, he scouted around for his phone. It ended up being on his desk on top of some papers and a note that hadn’t been there before. He made a mental note to take a fever reducer before the meeting.

 

The note by his phone read the following:  

You’re running a fever if you haven’t noticed, Tim. I’m taking over the meeting but will check on you after. Please sleep.  

-B

 

Tim stared at the note, squinting to read it a couple of times before picking up his phone to check the time. The clock on his lock screen read 12:47, and he stared in disbelief. So Bruce went onto his phone and turned off his alarms just to prevent him from attending the meeting he had scheduled? He would be mad if only he had the energy to be. Instead, he crawled right back into bed. He was cold, so maybe Bruce had been right about him staying home.

 

Around five minutes later, just as he was about to drift off, someone carefully opened his door. Tim pretended to be asleep as the figure walked closer to him, standing right at the frame of his bed. 

 

“Your acting needs work, Master Tim,” Alfred said, placing down a tray on his nightstand and walking over to his desk, rummaging through it to find something.

 

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, his voice low.

 

“What I am told,” the butler responded, “which is the same as what you had done—and for that, I am glad. I half-expected you to be down in the cave during my routine check this morning.” He chuckled almost inaudibly before continuing, “I brought tea.”

 

“Mhmm.” Tim responded, shifting to face the wall, but had to move back due to a very odd neck pain. That was definitely new. “Alf?” he asked.

 

“Yes, Master Tim?” he answered, walking back over to the bed where Tim lay.

 

“Would you mind getting me an ice pack? My neck hurts,” he stated, cracking his eyes open to look at the man looming over him.

 

“Hmm. I shall comply, but be mindful that staring hunched over a screen for ten hours a day may not help your symptoms.” A hand brushed the stray hairs from Tim’s forehead, holding its place for a couple of seconds before retreating back to the butler's side. “Please take the pills I have left you on the tray,” he said, stepping back from the bed. “Now.”

 

Tim slowly lifted his upper body out of the mess of his blankets, being mindful of his sore neck. He reached over to the tray, feeling around until he encountered a small cup. Without a second thought, he tipped the pills into his mouth and dry swallowed them. He could feel Alfred’s judgmental eyes on him but paid no mind. Dry swallowing was less of a hassle than doing the whole song and dance with a chaser.

 

An audible sigh came from the other side of the room, followed by a disappointed head shake. “Master Bruce will be back soon, and I dearly hope you do not use your poor pretending skills, as he will be extremely unimpressed.” He then nodded and walked off, closing the door behind him. Tim shrugged his shoulders, trying to toss the cup into the garbage can beside his bed but failing miserably because it hit the wall and somehow landed three feet from the original target. Oh well.

 

He rubbed his eyes and decided it would probably be more beneficial to just “hit the hay,” as Dick would say.

 

---

 

He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but he did remember eventually getting woken up by extremely annoying light knocks on his door. Like, were they even trying to wake him? Or just messing with him? His fever also seemed to have gone up as he had a full-body shiver when he tried to take the covers off himself. His neck still hurt like a bitch, too, and he had even taken the stupid meds Alfred told him to take. He hoped that the person on the other side of the door would get the memo that they could just come in because Tim really didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now and just wanted whatever lecture he was going to get to be over and done with. There was a sigh on the other side of the door, and then a jiggle of the doorknob before they let themselves in. 

 

“Mmh.” Tim groaned, making eye contact with Bruce as he walked in the door, meds and an ice pack in his non-dominant hand. 

 

“Alfred sent me up to deliver these,” he said while putting them on the nightstand, taking the empty tray from before and placing it on his desk. “How are you feeling?” he asked, tilting his head sideways as Tim stared at him angrily. Bruce was trying to figure out why Tim looked so… pissed? “Is this about the meeting? Tim, you kno—”

 

“No.” Tim scowled, cutting Bruce off mid-sentence. “Please just—ow…” Tim suddenly put his hands on his head, a sharp headache attacking him as he tried to speak. “Meds,” he choked out, using one of his hands to signal Bruce over to him. 

 

A moment later, pills were shaken from a bottle and dropped into his hands. He felt the pills for a second, only to realize that there was… only one? “Are you messing with me, Bruce?” he screeched, throwing the pill away and putting his hand back on his head. 

 

“Tim, you’re being—”

 

“You don’t get to tell me what I'm ‘being’!” he yelled, his head screaming back at him to stop, but he wouldn’t—he was already in this deep. “Give me more!” he demanded while pulling at his hair. This fucking headache wouldn’t stop, and Bruce wouldn’t stop complaining for once. 

 

“Fine—you can take two, and we’ll go from there,” Bruce said, trying his best to reason with a very sick-and-tired Tim. He put his hand out, carefully grabbed Tim’s arm, and placed two pills in his palm. Tim looked down at the light blue pills and swallowed them, not caring what they were even for at the time. 

 

Bruce sat there for a couple of minutes beside his bed, Tim not looking up from his lap to face him. Bruce was the one to break the silence. “I know you’re not feeling well, and I don't want to overwhelm you with too many things at once. I’ll come back in a bit to check on you, okay?” He placed the ice pack on Tim’s bed, making sure to put it down gently and not make him even more mad. 

 

“Mhm…” Tim mumbled robotically while loosening his grip on his hair. He still didn’t want to look at Bruce, though. He was already starting to feel really bad about how he yelled. 

 

Bruce nodded and quietly stepped out of the room. Tim waited until the footsteps were fully gone to curl up into a ball under the covers. He just wanted everybody to be gone. He didn’t even notice the tears pooling down his face and onto his bedsheets until they were soaked and he was too tired to care. 

 

There was a faint whisper outside his door and down the hall, but he just dismissed it as whoever was home being filled in on Tim’s ‘state.’ He really hoped that Bruce wasn’t going to come back. It would be shameful if he got mad again. 

 

He couldn’t bring himself to figure out how he was going to apologize to Bruce and make it right due to the slightly less painful headache that was currently tormenting him, so he just let sleep take over once again. It was easier that way because then if Bruce decided to come back for him, he would just be either pretending to sleep or actually sleeping and wouldn’t be able to get mad. 

 

He then remembered the ice pack. He had forgotten about it before, too busy crying into his bedsheets to pick it up and soothe his neck. He did just that, moving his arm to grab it and place it at the back of his neck before finally closing his eyes and sleeping.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Summary:

Uh oh- something might actually be wrong with Tim which you definitely wouldn't have already known if you checked the tags. Enjoy anywhoo!!1

Notes:

Lowkey this chapter was easier to make than the last one.

“Did it go very well, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, chopping up vegetables for dinner while Bruce walked down to the kitchen. “Quite the commotion I heard upstairs.”

 

Bruce sat down in a chair, putting a hand on the bridge of his nose before speaking. “He’s seriously out of it. Not like him, you know?” he said, eyeing the butler for some form of advice or direction. “I gave him some PM Tylenol. Should knock him out for at least a bit so I can take his temperature.”

 

“Hmm, I see,” Alfred stated, fixing his gaze on the carrots he was currently slicing. “It would be best to monitor him from the cave. The med bay may be the best option if symptoms persist. Mood swings can bring many issues to the table.” Alfred used the kitchen knife to slide the carrot slices into a bowl and grabbed an onion to start dicing next.

 

“You’re right,” Bruce said, rubbing one eye and then running his hand through his hair. “Tim usually isn’t this angry when he’s sick. And the fever was really sudden,” he added, scratching his chin in an attempt to focus. Twisting his head around, he saw that it was 6:23—which meant that it had already been 10 minutes since he left Tim’s room. “I’ll go check on him now.” Bruce sat up, seeing Alfred nod his head in agreement as he diced the food.

 

Walking up the stairs, he could only wonder what the hell was wrong with his kid. He made sure that his footsteps were light and that he didn’t accidentally step on any particularly creaky pieces of wood. The walk felt quicker than he wanted it to be, and he honestly wished he would have slowed down a bit more. He reached the door and placed his ear against it.

 

Listening through the door, Bruce didn’t hear any movement, so after a minute, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, waiting to hear a noise or even a shuffle from the other end. Nothing came, so he pushed the door open and saw Tim. He was sleeping but extremely pale. “Tim?” he whispered.

 

The Tylenol must have done the job well, because Tim was a light sleeper and definitely would have woken from the noise. He walked over to the sleeping boy and put the back of his hand on Tim’s forehead. He was definitely burning up; no thermometer was needed. Alfred was right.

 

Shaking Tim’s arm, he tried to get the boy to wake. “Tim,” he said, shaking his arm, but there was not even a stir from the boy. He said it louder this time, “Tim?” But there was no response. “Alfred,” he called out, swift but light footsteps following behind.

 

“Yes—Mas—great heavens!” the butler yelped, walking through the door to feel Tim’s forehead. “He must go to the cave,” Alfred stated. “Tim?” he said, his voice high. Tim did stir a bit, giving a “mghh” response before closing his eyes and falling back asleep, going limp against the bed.

 

“I will prepare the med bay,” Alfred said. “Bring him down, now,” he stated, urgency present in his voice. He quickly exited the room, and his footsteps faded away downstairs. Bruce scooped Tim up, and honestly, he had never run downstairs so fast. He was mindful of Tim’s body, making sure that he wasn’t showing any signs of discomfort on his face—which was currently neutral.

 

He made it to the cave faster than he ever had before and immediately laid Tim down onto the cot. His poor knees. He sat down in a rolling chair and watched as Alfred attached an IV to his arm. Bruce put his head in his hands, not wanting to even look at the boy in front of him.

 

“Master Bruce?”

 

“Mhm…”

 

“Would you mind giving Master Richard a call and explaining the situation? He is supposed to be coming back to the manor soon, and it would be a shame not to give him any warning about the situation,” Alfred asked, hooking up a bag to the IV, gesturing for Bruce to go outside.

 

“Okay…” Bruce responded, feeling around to make sure his phone was in his pocket. He took a last glance at Tim before leaving the room. Damn it.

 

---

 

Bruce left the room and went to the stairs leading to the manor to call Dick. He opened his phone and typed in Dick’s personal number.

 

Ring.

 

Ring.

 

“Bruce?” Dick's voice said through the phone. “What’s up?”

 

Bruce sighed before answering, “Tim is sick.” He stated, waiting for the inevitable questions to roll in.

 

“Sick as in throwing up sick? Contagious sick?” he asked impatiently, not liking the vagueness of the statement he had been given.

 

“He— We actually don’t really know right now. He suddenly got a fever and then a couple of other symptoms. Alfred and I just got him down to the med bay. We’re just trying to get him stable for now… I’m trying to figure out his symptoms.”

 

The line was silent for a second before he responded, “Do you think… maybe he hid an injury?” Dick asked.

 

Bruce hummed before saying, “That’s a possibility. A sudden fever is a real giveaway in this kind of situation.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too,” Dick responded. “I’ll be at the manor tomorrow; maybe check him for any existing or new injuries?”

 

“Yeah, I will,” he said. “You’re coming tomorrow, right? I’ll give you more updates then.”

 

“Hm…” Dick paused for a second. “If anything serious happens, call me right away.”

 

“You got it, Dick,” Bruce said. “See you tomorrow.”

 

“Same to you, B.” Dick responded, hanging up the phone. Bruce turned off his phone and sat down on the stairs. He knew that Alfred wanted him to take the call so he would be out of his hair while connecting the IVs and administering other shots for his condition. He really wanted to make sure his son was okay. He really did.

 

But he’d be able to give Alfred time to get Tim situated. It would only be fair.

 

---

 

Alfred walked up to Bruce, who still sat on the stairs, staring off into space. He approached the man, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Master Bruce, you may come back now,” he stated, ushering Bruce toward the med bay. Bruce followed, speedwalking to the entrance. Upon entering, he laid his eyes on Tim, and his heart sank again. He hadn’t regained any of the color he had hoped for, and you could still tell he was burning up. “I’ve had to take more measures. If his fever goes any higher, we may have to take him to a real hospital,” Alfred sighed. “Due to his asplenia, there’s no telling how close or far away that will be.” 

 

Bruce nodded, responding, “I called Dick. He’s coming tomorrow.” He paused, “Check him for injuries. Dick and I thought that could be the cause of the sudden fever.” 

 

“That’s what I was going to talk to you about, Master Bruce,” the butler said. “I did not find any injuries on his body, but I did find an odd rash on his back.” Alfred gestured for Bruce to move forward, slowly shifting Tim onto his side. 

 

The rash was a purple-red color but still fairly light. “It could be something to worry about,” Bruce stated. “The spine... It is a very dangerous area to be messed with.” 

 

There was suddenly a slight movement. Tim’s shoulder… twitched? Alfred repositioned the boy, only to see one of his eyes cracked open slightly. Bruce immediately moved to the other side of the bed, staring at Tim to ensure the movement wasn’t all in his head. “Tim..?” Bruce asked the boy, moving his hand to brush the sticky bangs out of his face. 

 

Tim’s hand came up in what Bruce thought was an attempt to swat at his hand, but instead, he just held Bruce’s wrist upwards. Alfred seemed to understand what Tim was trying to do, unlike Bruce, who let his arm remain there, unsure of what it meant. 

 

Alfred shifted a dial, and the lights became less fluorescent-bright and more like an old streetlight dimming. The hand that was holding Bruce’s hand up immediately dropped, and Tim cracked a small smile, chuckling slightly. “Tim?” Bruce asked, cupping his cheeks warmly. Tim opened his eyes a little more and locked eyes with him.

 

“I wnt’ t,” he said almost inaudibly. Bruce looked at him quizzically, trying to decode the mumbo jumbo he was given. 

 

“Wna st’ up,” Tim said again, starting to shift around in the bed. 

 

“You want to… sit up?” Bruce tilted his head, trying to understand the request. Tim nodded his head, immediately clutching his neck in… pain? Possibly.

 

Bruce put the pillows on the headboard and helped him sit in a more comfortable position. Tim smiled again, “Thnks..” he mumbled, looking down at his arm. He reached for the IV in his arm, but Alfred was two steps ahead, grabbing his wrist before it reached the target.

 

“It would be in both Master Bruce’s and my best interest for the IV to stay in your arm, no?” Alfred stated, pulling his wrist back to the respective side. “Would you mind eating a little, Master Tim?”

 

Tim’s half-open eyes lit up after Alfred finished the sentence, blurting out, “Zes…ti.” He stared blankly at Bruce, waiting for a response.

 

He sighed, holding his fingers on the bridge of his nose before responding, “Guess he’s not too far gone.” Bruce looked over to Alfred, “Maybe get him some crackers. If we can get him to eat even a couple, it’ll be better than nothing.” Tim’s face dropped, deadpanning at Bruce.

 

“Zesti…” he started, looking down at his IV again. “Pleaase…” He looked up, giving the best puppy dog eyes he could. It did not work.

 

“Despite what you may think, having an energy drink is not going to help your symptoms.” He sighed, barely hiding a chuckle, “How are you feeling now, hon?” He sat down on the bed by Tim’s legs. 

 

“Head hurts…” he said, twiddling with the IV tape on his arm. “Something els’ I don’t rem’ber.” 

 

“Your neck?” 

 

“Oh, yeah.” He blinked, looking over at Bruce, who was on the other side.  He seemed pretty lucid now, so a little questionnaire wouldn’t hurt. 

 

“Have you noticed any rashes on your body in the past little while?”  He asked, hoping Tim would be lucid enough to be able to remember the past week.  

 

“ Mm..No .”  He said, trying his best to remember if he ever felt or saw anything out of the ordinary.  “Sorry..” 

 

“No, it’s okay, Tim.  you have a rash on your back.  We're trying to see if it has anything to do with the fever.”  Bruce smiled, resting his hand on Tim’s knee reassuringly.  

 

“Fever..?” Tim asked, “Is that why it’s so cold in here?”  Okay, so he wasn’t as lucid as he thought…. Tim would have been able to put the pieces together even on a bad day.  

 

“Yes, Tim,” Bruce answered as Alfred walked through with some crackers.  

 

“I have returned.”  Alfred states as he walks into the room  He also was also holding a blanket, which Tim immediately notices.  Tim holds his hand out to the blanket, but Bruce was the one who was given it.  Bruce unfolded the blanket, and put it around Tim’s shoulders.  Tim smiled in return, shuffling farther down into the bed so he wasn’t standing up so straight. 

 

“Alf, talk outside for a second?”  Bruce asked, looking at Tim and back at him.  Alfred nodded, opening the sleeve of crackers on a nearby table and putting a few in a shallow bowl. 

 

“Master Tim, why don’t you try eating some of these, while we are out the door, hm?”  Tim took the crackers and looked down into the bowl.  Grabbing one out, he watched as Bruce and Alfred both exchanged glances and promptly left the room. 

 

---

 

 

Tim was asleep by the time they were back in the room, which was fine since it seemed he ate two or three of the crackers.  Bruce knew that he didn’t try to hide eating them, because in his delirious states he always wound up hiding uneaten food under the bed.  

 

Through the night, Bruce did end up having to go for patrol, which left Alfred watching Tim himself. It wasn’t a horribly busy night in Gotham. And there had been no new Arkham breakouts.  That was a good sign, but could also mean that the inmates were planning something big, which would definitely be a pain, since Riddler has just been taken to Arkham and Tim was the best at solving the stupid riddles.  

 

He got back at the manor at 5, checking on Tim before hopping in the shower and going to bed.  

 

Tim was still asleep, but it seemed that his fever had gone up from the last time.  Alfred had told him that he had it under control, and that he should just go to bed and worry in the morning when he was well rested.  

 

When Bruce finally woke up—8:00am since his body wouldn’t let him sleep longer, Dick had already arrived.  He was downstairs and already eating whatever sugary cereal that he found in the cupboards, and waved Bruce over to him. “M-hey Vrusse!”  He said between bites.  

 

“You want to come downstairs while I check on Tim?”  Bruce asked, raising one of his eyebrows.  

 

“I’ve already seen him today, but yeah, sure.” Dick responded, putting the now finished bowl of cereal against his lips and downing all of the milk out of it before chucking it into the sink.  While they were walking down, Bruce started a conversation.

 

“How was Tim this morning?” He asked, looking over to Dick, whose smile didn’t seem to falter.  

 

“Oh, he was doing fine today.  Warning though, he’s not really lucid right now.”  Dick said, “his fever wasn’t down though.  Alf said it was like 103 or something.”  

 

Bruce scratched his chin.  It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but the whole situation is just, odd…?

 

Both Bruce and Dick made it down to the cave, entering into the med bay together.  Tim sat up on his cot, staring blankly down at the IV like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.  Once they had made it fully through the door, Tim’s expression changed slightly.  There was a flicker of pure anger before resting at a mildly annoyed face.  Bruce shared a glance with Dick; A ‘let’s not fuck around and find out; look,and sat on Tim’s left , while Dick pulled up another chair to sit on the right.

 

“So, how are you feeling, Tim?”  Bruce asked softly, holding back the prominent urge to push back TIm’s sweaty bangs from his pale porcelain-looking face.  Tim grunted in response, looking at Bruce from the corner of his eye before adjusting his view to see Dick.  

 

“My sto’h h’ts.” Tim stated, looking up to Dick with pleading eyes, as if he could do anything about it.  

 

“Hmmm..”  Dick hummed, before responding, “Your stoma-?” Tim lurched forward, holding his mouth.  “Shit!”  He cursed, swiftly getting up to grab something for him to throw up into.  Bruce beat him to it, but barely in time before Tim was throwing up his guts. Whatever parasite got him this time got him real good—hopefully it wasn’t contagious.  Dick held back his hair and bangs while Bruce held the bowl.  Alfred came rushing in a couple seconds later, but once he saw the scene, turned around and left.  

 

Dick nor Bruce—and clearly not Tim—paid any mind to it.  Tim was just about finished throwing up whatever little contents he had eaten in the past hours as Alfred entered again.  He was holding towels and water along with some medication.   Tim finished throwing up bile and pushed the bowl away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Alfred grabbed a small towel and wiped the rest of Tim’s face off with proficiency.  After Alfred pulled the towel away, he offered a glass of water which Tim gladly took.  

 

Bruce left to clean the bowl, but Dick stayed and watched Tim’s behaviour.  “Alf, when was the last time you checked his temperature?”  he asked. 

 

“That would be thirty minutes ago; I checked it shortly after you left to eat breakfast.”  Alfred answered, looking away from Tim to focus on Dick.  Tim took a sip of the water and sat the glass down.  

 

“I think we should take him into the hospital..”  Dicks said, “Just to be safe, y’know.”  

 

Alfred looked over at Tim for a second, who had shimmied down into the covers and turned to face the other way when he felt eyes on him again.  “If his symptoms persist, we will definitely take action.  For now, we are just going to wait to see if the fever reducers are going to take effect.”  He responds, giving a half-reasuring smile.  

 

Dick nodded in agreement, although he would under normal circumstances argue that it’s better to be safe than sorry, and probably don’t have the best equipment to handle whatever bug he has.  He walked over to the bed where Tim laid, and was about to grab his shoulder before noticing something.  There was some sort of…bruise on Tim’s back.  “Tim, do you mind if I lift up your shirt a bit to see your back?”  He really didn’t want to do it without asking, because messing with the bulls only meant you would get the horns.  

 

Tim mumbled back something incoherent, which Dick took as permission since he didn’t flip him off, which was usually Tim’s way of saying ‘no’ when he is sick.  He flipped the back of Tim’s shirt up, which revealed a reddish-purple bruise on his spine.  “This wasn’t here before, was it?”  Dick asked, looking over to Alfred to see him with wide eyes.  

 

“Master Bruce and I did find a rash there yesterday, but it was hardly visible so we thought it to be a field-related injury.  That is much more prominent in colour.”  He speedwalked over, brushing his hand on the rash, which made Tim twitch.  Pressing on the rash, it didn’t fade in colour.  Alfred gave it a long look, before calling Bruce back.  

 

“Bruce, come here now.”  Alfred called out, and Bruce came back into the room.  When his eyes laid upon the rash, he immediately understood.  

 

“Mn’h” Tim mumbled, catching the attention of all three of them.  “H’d hr’s..” He said in a low voice.  He put his hands into his hair and held them, slightly curling into a ball.  It was easy to understand what he meant. 

 

“You have already had the maximum dosage of medication for your headache, Master Tim,”  Alfred stated, moving his hand to pat his head.  Tim’s hand then suddenly snapped up and hit the hand away.  He grunted angrily, curing up farther.  

 

Dick, Bruce, and Alfred all shared glances before looking back down at Tim.  His breathing evened out after a minute, and they found it safe to continue talking.  “The rash..”  Bruce broke the silence.  “There’s definitely something wrong.”  He states.  

 

“Maybe we could call Leslie and get her diagnoses before jumping straight to the hospital.  I know that it’s tricky taking him there since he’s a legal minor and the scars he has collected raises suspicion to any mandated reporter working there.”  

 

Bruce hummed, responding, “I’ll call Leslie down, so Tim can get assessed fast. “  He said, “Dick, you can either stay with Tim for a little company…which it doesn’t seem he’s in a mood for, but you can try,   or you can do some case work in the meantime—I have a stack of papers on the desk with your name on them.”  Dick gave a sheepish look.  

 

“Heh.. I think I’ll stick with Tim, just to keep watch.”  He said, trying at all costs to avoid doing casework.  That shit was always so mindnumbing.  Bruce nodded, cracking an almost invisible smile that you wouldn’t be able to catch if you didn’t know him as well as Dick did.  

 

“Alright, I’ll make the call.  Please don’t burn the cave down or something.”  He sighed, picking his phone up out of his pocket and promptly leaving the room.  Dick looked at Tim, who was definitely sleeping now.  He stroked a hand across the pale face, grimacing at the blueish-green tint that the fluorescent gave Ttim’s skin.  “You’ll be okay,” Dick whispered lightly.  

 

Alfred looked down at Tim’s stats sighing, looking at the numbers.  “Master Dick, I’ll be gone for only a moment, I believe that MAster Tim may need a cold cloth for the fever.  It seems to be preseiting even after the medication I have administered.  

 

Shifting his glance to the older man, Dick nodded and gave a thumbs up.  Once the door closed, it was just him and Tim in the room.  There wasn’t really anything to do since Tim was either sleeping or just pretending so he doesn’t have to have any more human interactions today—which, valid.  He scanned the room, looking for something interesting to be on the walls.  They did, however, turn out to be basically blank with nothing cool or fun to look at.  

 

Then the muffled sounds of Bruce being on the phone became more clear in Dick’s ears, and sue him, he eavesdropped.  It wasn’t his fault that Bruce didn’t put anything fun to see on the boring paste-white walls, and he couldn’t focus on any other sense besides listening.  (smell was also out the window—he was basically immune to the smell of anti-skeptic at this point.)

 

The conversation on the phone went something like this:

 

Bruce was going over Tim’s main symptoms, and he could hear through the phone as Leslie’s demeanor changed.  She was going over a couple things he could do , and the number one thing was to take him into the hospital.  Bruce sighed, but ultimately agreed.  Bruce walked back in the door, looking defeated.  “We’re going to—” 

 

“I know.”  Dick cut him off, not needing the extra details.  Bruce shook his head, sighing yet again.  He walked over to where Tim was laying, putting a hand on his shoulder.  There was no response.  He was expecting some sort of shake or slap, but he just continued staying still.  

 

Bruce wore a pitying face as he scooped Tim up in his arms.  Tim’s arms fell limp, as well did the rest of his body in Bruce’s arms.  Dick immediately got up, and they both rushed upstairs, running into Alfred.  “To the hospital?”  He asked, and Bruce nodded quickly.  

Notes:

Tell me what you thought about the chapter. Please tell me if something was inaccurate or OOC. Constructive sritisism is welcome, hating is not!!! Thanks for reading. Next chapter should be coming out next Saturday (aug 9)!!! I'm going on a camping trip for this and next week, so I am very sorry if the next chapter is late, as I am unsure if I will have wifi or data on the campground. hope you enjoyed

Notes:

Hi! Tell me if you like this because I love constructive critism. Pleasepleaseplease keep it coming my way! New chapter should be coming next Saturday! I'm really locked in so I prolly wont forget to post it. Hope you enjoyed!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Impala_Porkchop's Batman Fics(Angst warninggg)