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It happens to Damian when he and Tim are on patrol.
Tim had been on hot on the heels of an infamous weapons dealer for weeks. But he didn't have enough information to figure out where the deals were going down finally.
Tonight, Damian suggested an old warehouse by the docs. Tim agreed quickly. Lately, he's been trying harder with Damian. Trying to appeal to his younger brother's interests and get him to open up. So far, he's been horribly unsuccessful. Damian has constantly been pulling away.
But tonight, Tim thinks he might finally be able to get Damian to work well with him. Unfortunately, the night didn't go as planned.
The dealer is ready for them, and Tim and Damian aren't quick enough to deal with all the bulked-up men with toxic weapons.
Tim radios for backup just as the fight is beginning, and by the end of it, he and Damian are beaten to a pulp. Damian is gushing blood through his nose, and he's clutching a cracked rib. Tim notices a sickly scrawny man sneaking up to stab Damian with a small knife. Tim recognizes it. It looks exactly like the weapon that paralyzed him. He won't let Damian go through something like that.
Tim moves like lightning and twists. He cries out when he hears his wrist snap at a grotesque angle. The pain turns his vision white, and he shakes off tears as he sprints forward in time to shield Damian from the flinting silver blade.
Dots explode behind his eyes as the weapon is driven deep into his abdomen and twisted. The squelch of muscle is sick in his ears, and his mouth tastes like blood. His body shakes, and he collapses on top of Damian, shaking like a leaf.
A high, raspy voice says, "Here's a neat little trick. We've bonded the steel with paralyzing agents as well as hallucinogens. In a couple of minutes, you'll be on a bad trip, and your partner here will be bleeding on the floor like a stuck pig."
Tim whimpers and his joints burn when his entire body moves to cover Damian. He isn't as large as Jason. He has his own muscle. Of course, he does. But he hasn't been taking care of himself, and all the bulk he's worked so hard to build up isn't as visible, and stretch marks are everywhere now.
"N-No," Tim's throat is on fire, and his tongue feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. "I won't let you."
Someone grabs a fistful of hair and yanks his head backward. His back screams, and he chokes on a sob. His abdomen pulses and Tim feels more blood gushing out of the gaping wound. Something wriggles in his stomach. He doesn't want to look.
"Awwww, that's so cute. Protecting this boy? For what, Red?" The criminal makes disappointed tutting noises, and he runs a finger along Tim's jaw. "Such a waste of a pretty face."
Tim's head falls to Damian's chest with a thud, and Tim mentally curses when he hears Damian's hiss of pain.
Tim can distantly hear glass breaking and shouting. But he can't focus on that because he's sinking. He's dissolving into the floor like sugar in coffee. He desperately tries to keep his head above the floor but, it's no use. His nose is clogged, and his mouth won't open. He desperately reaches for his lips and realizes he has no lips. His mouth is gone.
Tim looks down and tries to scream when he sees worms and beetles burrowing into the gaping wound in his abdomen. It's worse. It's oozing and rotting. His skin drips off like chicken sliding off the bones. His skin is maroon red, and it smells. It's foul, and it makes him gag. Vomit rushes up to his throat, but it never makes it out of his mouth. It stays lodged just in the back of his throat. He can taste it, the sour, bitter flavor of food his stomach can't handle. It's gushing out his nose, and it burns. His eyes begin to sting, and he realizes that maggots are trying to make their way into his eye sockets.
Tim screams, close-mouthed and silent. He violently thrashes around in nothingness as maggots and beetles crawl into the corners of his eyes and slowly inch behind his eyeballs.
It's horrifying. The feeling makes him sob and writhe. It's so painful. Tim can't remember the last time he's felt pain like this. But he needs it to stop. He can't handle this. Blinking only makes it worse.
For a while, all Tim can do is shake, sobbing silently. But eventually, his body can't move anymore, and he's left to the mercy of the gore and bugs around him. If he's lucky, he'll die of a heart attack before the larvae can finish him off.
But suddenly, the bugs are gone. There are no beetles behind his eyes. There are no maggots feasting on his flesh. No, now he's in a blindingly bright room. There are four chairs in front of him.
Tim's heart beats fast. Is this real? Have the drugs worn off? Is he in the cave?
Questions cause pressure at the front of his head, and he feels like his brain is slipping out of his ears. He reaches up to touch his ears and pulls his fingers back quickly when he feels something slick.
Holy shit. His brain is coming out of his ears. His fingers are coated in a sticky membrane that is bright pink and feels like raw chicken between his fingers. Tim looks up when a squeak sounds throughout the room.
Bruce is in one of the chairs. He is bleeding all over the place, and the cowl is pushed off his head to reveal ugly black and purple bruises all over his face. His lip is split badly. It's split right down the middle and rips further when Bruce's mouth moves in an attempt to speak.
Jason is in the next chair. His chest is caved in, and he's wearing his original Robin colors. His legs have lacerations and burn marks on them. His left arm is obliterated, and it looks like a car ran over it. The bone sticks out, and the flesh around it smells awful.
Dick looks like he's fallen from a tall building. His arms are bent and twisted at horrible angles. His jaw is askew and poking through the skin of his cheek just beneath his ear. He's missing a few teeth. His breaths are coming raspy and wet.
Damian's head is missing. The stump makes it look like the head was cut cleanly off with expert precision. Layers of skin, tissue, and muscle form perfect rings, all encircling the top of Damian's spine.
Tim tries to get up. He tries to rush to help them. But he can't. He can't move. He isn't tied down. He's frozen in place.
Tim can't even speak. He tries. He attempts to pull his mouth apart. But his lips feel like they're going to rip off if he pulls any harder.
Bruce lifts his head and scowls as best he can. Tim winces when a wound on Bruce's nose gushes blood and mucus.
"You failed us. Did you seriously think you could replace Jason? You're nothing, Tim. You'll never be anything. You can't even protect us."
Tim tries to look away. But he can't. His neck won't move, and his eyes aren't much help.
'I tried!' Tim wants to scream. 'I tried so hard. I'm still trying. I can fix it. Tell me what to do to fix this!'
Tim tries to open his eyes. He knows this isn't real. It can't be real. It just can't be. Bruce would never get hurt like this. Jason is fine, and Dick is perfectly healthy with no broken bones. Damian's head is securely on his shoulders. He knows it isn't real. So why isn't it going away?
Why isn't he waking up? Why won't his eyes open?
They feel so heavy. He closes his eyes and opens them. He's in darkness. There are stabbing pains everywhere, and he can't move. He's completely helpless. He doesn't understand what's happening. His heart is beating so loudly, and there are voices talking to him. They are talking too loudly. They scare Tim.
Suddenly, the voices are miles away and still make Tim whimper. He feels like a small child that needs a hug.
Tim lives through so many scenes. Not being able to catch Dick slipping off a roof, failing to stop a gun from firing on Damian, being brutally beaten to the ground by Bruce. His bones break and shatter more times than he can count. Jason cuts him up and throws him in acid. Tim never dies. He always ends up back in that black lake, drowning in a mix of voices and paranoia.
Tim starts waking up in the manor. But each time, it turns out to be fake. Finally, Tim can't take it. He's exhausted. He feels like he's lived a thousand lives. So, when he wakes up in the manor again, he heads straight for the kitchen and takes a knife off the magnet on the wall.
His body is blissfully tired when the metal slices deep into his chest, and Tim could cry. He feels so free.
Damian has seen drugs used in assassinations before. He would watch from a distance as governments were sent into chaos, all because of a pill slipped into a cocktail. He's watched senators writhe in pain because of a bad dose of cocaine. But never in his life has he ever witnessed a trip like this.
Tim is strapped to an operating table in the cave. His lips are sealed shut, and his eyes are wide open as his nostrils flare, desperate for air. Tim's hands are limp at his sides. He isn't thrashing around the way he was before. Now, he's making small pained sounds as his body shakes in place. Dick says it's because of the jellyfish toxin.
Dick had been in Bludhaven when Tim had called, but the minute Tim did, he was racing back to Gotham and radioing anyone else that would answer. Of course, Jason was closest to the scene. All the goons backed off a little while after Tim was stabbed. Because, despite the trip, Tim had managed to drag Damian's beaten body out of the warehouse and onto a rooftop nearby. There, he collapsed and began jerking and writhing. Damian almost cried when he saw vomit spilling out of Tim's nostrils.
It took them far too long to get Tim back to the cave. But, he was inconsolable. He sounded like a wounded animal ready to chew its own leg off if it meant escaping the steel trap. Damian won't admit it, but he closed his ears when he was loaded into the car with Tim. He couldn't bear the sounds that Tim was making.
When Alfred finally deemed Tim fit to undergo surgery, there were heavy streams of tears flowing down Tim's cheeks. His head was tilted to one side, and his eyes moved all around the room. Damian doubted that Tim was aware of anything going on around him.
Now, Father is sitting by Tim's bed. He's reading off his tablet, the words reflected in the lenses of his glasses.
Damian wonders how much longer it will be before Drake wakes up. He supposes he should thank Drake. Even after everything, Tim still almost killed himself trying to get the both of them out. Even after everything, Timothy Drake still saved Damian Wayne from certain death.
It's been almost an entire day since Tim passed out. None of them have any idea how long the paralysis will last. Damian heard Alfred say that it might be permanent. He hopes this isn't the case.
Damian suddenly snaps back to himself when he hears a slight sound from Drake where he is on the bed. Tim's eyes are hard to open. Damian can see that.
"Tim?" Bruce's voice isn't shaking as it has in the past. It's firm and steady. Damian doesn't know how he does it. "Can you hear me?"
Tim tries to sit up, but his legs and wrists are still strapped down. Bruce shushes him and gently pushes him down. "Don't try to move. Alfred conducted surgery a few hours ago. You need to rest. You're safe now."
Tim tugs pathetically at the restraints and takes a shuddering breath. Suddenly, he's crying. He's sobbing uncontrollably. The sobs echo off the cave walls, and Damian covers his ears again. It doesn't do much to help.
"Shhh," Bruce soothes. "It's alright. I'm here. You're okay, Tim. Everything is okay now. Oh, don't cry, honey. Shhh, don't cry."
Tim's chest shudders and Damian manages to look up. His heart nearly stops when he sees the euphoric grin Tim has on his face. Tears still come heavily, but the boy is smiling, and his eyes are sparkling.
Jason and Dick come rushing into the cave. Jason is dressed in pajamas. His left thumb is bitten raw and bloody.
"Tim," Jason's words are garbled and desperate as he sinks beside Tim's bed and quickly moves to hold Tim's hand. "Are you okay?"
Tim is still sobbing. Drool is slipping down his neck, and tears drip into his ears. But he's smiling and almost laughing between each wail. Damian is still so confused.
"It's real," Tim sobs breathlessly. "I know it is. This is real."
Damian slowly moves closer, and his heart is pounding in his ears when he comes into view. He doesn't know what to do right now. What should he say to Drake? Should he leave the room? Maybe Drake doesn't want to talk to him right now.
But the minute Tim catches sight of Damian, he bolts up and quickly drops back to the bed.
"You're okay," Tim is grinning from ear to ear. His skin is pulling at the stitches on his face. He looks around and breathes a heavy sigh of relief. "You're all okay."
Damian feels a little sick. He doesn't want to ask about anything that Drake saw. He doesn't want to know about the horrors that the drugs did to him.
Tim's chest begins to rise and fall slowly, and Tim is still laughing and crying. Jason begins to unbuckle Tim's restraints.
"I-Is that a good idea?" Dick asks, gripping Jason's wrist to stop him. "I mean, we don't know if the drugs have worn off completely."
Jason looks offended and sits back. "Don't be stupid, Dick. He's already rubbed his wrists raw, trying to get out of them. He's okay now. We're taking them off."
Dick doesn't say anything else, but he watches closely.
Tim looks like he's asleep when Jason is done. But suddenly, he jerks awake and is panting. He looks terrified again.
"Tim?" Jason grabs Tim's hand again. "What is it? Are you alright? Does something hurt?"
Tim stills and looks around. He looks down at his hands, and then his eyes move around the cave. He takes a deep breath.
"Don't- don't let me fall back asleep. Okay? How about- what if we go upstairs?"
Jason squeezes Tim's hand, and Damian speaks. "Don't be foolish. Your body is too weak to travel that far."
Tim doesn't back down. He's gripping Jason's hand tightly now. "No, I'm fine. Really, I am. We can go to the living room. Please?"
Damian looks skeptical, and his eyes land on Bruce. The man hasn't said anything in a while. He's been watching Tim like a hawk.
"Tim, just rest a little longer. You're safe here."
Dick smiles at him and tries to pat his shoulder, but Tim suddenly lets go of Jason's hand and pushes himself up. His arms tremble beneath his weight, but he doesn't relax.
"NO!" Bruce's head shoots up. Tim speaks quieter. "No, let's go upstairs. Please?"
Damian remembers when one of Grandfather's assassins came back from a mission. They had been shot with 500 micrograms of LSD. He remembers sneaking out of bed late at night because of the screams that were echoing down the hallway. He remembers the way the assassin's body had writhed and jerked. He shudders.
"Alright," Dick turns to him, looking bewildered. "Let's go upstairs. But if you fall on the stairs, I'm not helping you up."
Tim nods and is already moving out of bed before anyone can do anything.
"Damian," Bruce begins but seems to decide against it.
Dick stays in the cave for a little while. He doesn't want to go back upstairs. Something is stabbing at his chest. The whole escapade with the weapons dealers couldn't have gone more wrong. And yet, Dick doesn't really care about that. He just wants to understand. There have been so many questions swirling around his brain the past few months.
After Tim's father finally died, Tim moved into a guest room in the manor upon Bruce's request. Jason says that Tim would've stayed away if Bruce hadn't offered. Dick doesn't want to think about that.
Dick had been doing his best to get close to Tim again. He likes to think they had a good bond before everything that came to light about Bruce and their lives before Jason came back. But, Tim doesn't talk to him about anything, and he avoids everyone in the house like the plague. This is the first time in a long time that Tim has sought or accepted any sort of help from the bats.
Dick wonders if he should go comfort, Tim. He wonders if he should leave Tim and Damian alone together. But Tim and Damian aren't exactly close. He realizes that Jason is gone, and Bruce is sitting at the computer.
"What are you doing?" Dick asks, trying his best to sound the way he usually does.
Bruce doesn't turn around. His eyes scan the screens, and multiple boxes and atoms show up on the computer screen. Bruce has been trying to find some sort of antidote for the drugs fused in the metal. But Jason said it was pointless. He said that all you can do for these types of drugs is let them run their course. Bruce refused to accept that.
"Alfred told me that Tim is still in the danger zone. Hallucinations are likely to carry on throughout the night. On top of that, his body is still incredibly weak. Even if there isn't anything that can be done for the drugs, I just need to be sure."
Dick takes a deep breath and plasters a smile on his face. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something. You always do."
Bruce just nods and doesn't say anything else. Jason takes that as a hint to leave.
Tim is sitting at the kitchen table. Head rested in his hand. He jumps a bit when Dick puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Tim. Why don't we get you to bed? You'll be so much more comfortable there."
Tim tries to rub his eyes, but his hands don't catch up with his brain, and he ends up lightly slapping himself in the face. Dick tries to pull Tim up.
"No!" Tim shouts, wriggling away and doing his best to hold onto the kitchen table. He turns to Dick with wild eyes and tears glistening on his lashes. "Please. I'm fine here, I promise. I'm fine."
Dick takes a few steps back, and it's his turn to jump when Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. "Leave him alone for now, Dick. We'll figure something out later. Why don't you go keep Damian company on the couch?"
Dick feels helpless. Useless. Tim is shaking and badly hurt, and all Dick can do is make things worse. When did things get so messed up between them?
Dick's eyes stay on Tim for a little while. His stomach flips when he sees Jason take a seat next to Tim. His brother's hand goes to rest on Tim's back, and this time, Tim doesn't jump. Dick has to look away. The ugly gnawing of jealousy makes his palms go clammy.
Damian eventually falls asleep against Dick. The sound of Bruce scribbling on documents and contracts makes the silence feel less crushing. There are sharp gasps from Tim from time to time. He'll nod off every so often and quickly jerk back awake, wincing when his stitches pull or when he bumps his arm on the table. Jason keeps a hand on Tim's back and rubs his hand in soothing circles.
Jason speaks softly. Tim makes grunting noises in response. He's trying so hard to keep himself awake. Dick can't imagine how Tim feels right now. He wonders if the drugs are wearing off or if the hallucinations have stopped.
"Don't be stupid," he hears Jason say with a small frown. "Your body is on the verge of collapse. You can't have caffeine. You could throw up, and then you might tear your stitches."
Tim lets his head fall to the table with a thunk. Dick knows that he won't risk it if it means throwing up. He might not have noticed a lot after Jason's death. But he did notice whenever Tim would work himself into a panic attack just because he didn't want to throw up. And the times when he did throw up were horrible and ugly and always followed by desperate wails.
Dick remembers when Bruce had gone too far with the booze and ended up throwing up all over Tim while the boy was trying to help him up the stairs. Dick had just gotten back from Bludhaven and came just in time to see Tim, wide-eyed with Bruce at his feet. Stinking of vomit.
The boy was trembling, and he looked pale. His hands were shaking as he tried to get Bruce to wake up. He was hiccuping and crying quietly. Dick remembers pulling Bruce up and dragging him to the bathroom. He hates admitting it, but he doesn't remember doing anything to help Tim. There was a sort of malice behind his choice to leave the boy on the stairs that he didn't want to address.
Dick turns away from Tim and Jason. Why is he thinking about all this now? It isn't going to change anything. Wallowing in the past isn't good for any of them. And, there is a big difference between looking back with the intent to improve and looking back just to wallow in self-pity. Dick doesn't know what his reason is.
"I should get home," Dick hears Tim whisper. It's quiet, but even Bruce hears it. "I've got an early meeting tomorrow."
Jason scoffs. "You can't be serious. Tim, the effects of the drugs in your system are going to take a while to wear off. Your body is weak as it is. Your stitches could get infected."
Tim goes quiet for a little while. "Okay," he sounds exhausted. "I won't go to work. I should still get home. It's late."
Dick is going to stand up to say something, but Bruce beats him to it.
"You need to stay here tonight. It isn't safe for you to be by yourself. I'll have Alfred make up a room for you. That way, we can keep a better eye on you."
Tim looks extremely confused. His mouth is slightly open, and his head is tilted to one side. He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and blinks a few times.
"Are you talking to me?" He asks after a little while. Dick cringes. Tim sounds so tired. So, so tired.
Bruce's breath hitches just a little. Enough to be noticed by Dick. "Yes, I am. Who else would I be talking to?"
Tim shrugs, and his shoulders sag as his body resumes its previous state. It's clear to all of them that Tim can't keep himself upright for very long. The mix of neverending workdays, as well as little to no sleep, has left Tim almost paralyzed with exhaustion. Every limb is a thousand pounds, and every movement leaves him breathless.
"I dunno," he mumbles into the counter. "Not me, though."
Bruce takes a breath, his chest moving in halting stops as he tries to compose himself. The tension in the air is suffocating, and for a while, nobody speaks. Dick doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to make things worse.
"Tim, how about we put you to bed?" Jason offers, gently tapping Tim on the shoulder. Tim jolts a little, but he doesn't lift his head. Jason tries again.
This time, Tim forces himself upright and scrubs his face with his hands. "Y-Yeah, yeah, I'm up. I'm up. What is it? What's going on?"
Jason is patient, gently reminding Tim of where they are and offering to help him to bed. At this point, Tim doesn't seem capable of speech. His words slur together in a cacophony of confusing statements and recollections of things that nobody besides Tim seems to understand.
Jason is leading him to the stairs when Tim suddenly pulls back, slamming into the wall and gasping sharply, clutching the back of his head.
Dick jumps a little, scurrying to make sure Tim is okay. Jason is already helping him up.
"C'mon," Dick hears Jason say, "you're okay. Breathe, Tim. Don't get yourself worked up."
Dick feels the floor shift beneath him, and he catches himself stumbling forward as Jason is beginning to help his brother up the stairs.
Dick feels like Tim is made of oil in a family of water. No matter what they do, he doesn't mix. No matter how fast they stir or how often, Tim will never be fully part of them. They can add color to the water and an Alka-Seltzer tablet, and it might be fun for a little while. All of them will be distracted by how distanced all of them are from Red Robin. But soon, those colors die down, and they are left laying in a mix of cloudy apologies and half-hearted attempts at reconciliation.
Dick doesn't want it to be like that anymore. For a long time, he's been trying to figure out what he can do to help Tim, what he can say so that the separation between all of them isn't so prominent.
But at this moment, as he watches, Jason wipes sweat off of Tim's forehead and helps him take a few steps because Tim is so weak that he can't set a foot on the floor without his knees buckling. Dick doesn't feel any sense of togetherness. It's nice to see Jason helping Tim. Of course, it is. But he knows now that he's done too much damage to ever achieve that sense of brotherly love with Tim. He won't achieve it because he didn't try. He didn't want to try.
Dick can say that it was Jason's death. He can say that he ignored all the signs due to the immense grief he was swimming in. But it's a poor excuse. A disgusting excuse.
"M-Maybe, maybe we should take him to a hospital?" Dick suggests, terrified. His voice trembles, and he doesn't sound like himself.
Tim is suddenly trembling and sobbing. "No!" He begs. "No hospitals! Please! Jay, please? Please, please!"
And now, Jason is practically carrying Tim, promising they aren't going anywhere he doesn't want to. Dick thinks he might throw up. Or maybe he'll tear his hair out and rip his face off. Start from scratch. Yeah, that sounds good.
"I think I should take him to my place," Jason offers. His back is turned to Dick, and he has Tim hoisted in his arms. Tim's cheeks are blotchy and sticky with tears. "I think it'll be better for him. Just, just for a little while. At least until the hallucinations stop."
But Bruce doesn't seem amenable to that idea. He quickly pushes back, claiming that Jason doesn't have the proper equipment to adequately take care of Tim. Damian, no surprise, sides with his father. Dick is just a little surprised by that. He had assumed Damian would want Tim out of the house at the first chance he got.
And Dick, Dick doesn't know what to think. Who to side with. He doesn't want Tim to leave. No, he defiantly doesn't want that. But, but what does Tim want? When was the last time someone wondered that? They have fancy equipment and soft sheets. They have a butler and enough prescriptions to fill up a pharmacy. But, they also have Bruce. The man that did everything in his power to drive Tim away. The man that broke Tim's bones to the point of needing reconstructive surgery. And there's Damian. The boy has been trying to kill Tim ever since he arrived.
And, of course, Dick. Dick. The so-called hero ignored all the red flags simply because he didn't care. He didn't care that a child was limping around the house and hurrying out of the room the minute Bruce stepped foot in it. Dick didn't care when Tim showed up at the house, cigar burns running up and down his arms and bleeding red welts staining the back of his shirt. He had turned away as they had prepared for patrol.
Taking a shaking breath, Dick steadies himself. "No, he has to stay here." The words taste bitter in his mouth, and he wishes he could swallow them the minute he spoke. But then he looks at Tim's body, shaking and sweating in Jason's arms.
"You can't provide what he needs right now, Jason. I know you want to, but the fact of the matter is that staying here would be healthier for Tim."
Jason looks taken aback. He even takes a few steps up the stairs. He chuckles a foul rasping thing that leaves Dick's ears ringing.
"'Healthier?'" He parrots? "When was the last time you knew what would be healthy for him? Huh? Any of you? You don't know shit. I'm taking him, that's that."
But Bruce's gaze turns dark, and he steps forward. "Jay, this isn't up for debate. Do you know how to take care of him? Do you know what he needs?"
Jason cackles. "Do you? This isn't the first time I've had to take care of someone coming off of a bad high. What about you, Brucie? Do you know what this kid needs?"
Bruce's jaw is clenched tight, and Dick can hear his father figure's rasping breathes as he approaches the two boys on the stairs.
"I know that he won't get the proper medical attention if he goes with you."
There's a sort of malice behind Bruce's words. Like he's expecting Jason to neglect his responsibility for Tim. That's when Dick notices Tim.
His bright eyes are wide, and he's trembling where he's held against Jason. His fingers are moving fast, something akin to typing. His lips move, and his eyeballs flick around the ceiling, watching something that isn't there. His lashes glisten with tears.
"Back up, Bruce," Jason says, his free hand moving to where his gun is holstered. "I'm serious."
Dick's stomach lurches. Things are going to get ugly. The situation is spinning out of control fast. But, there's a small sound from Tim, and Jason tears his gaze away from Bruce.
"Gotta go home," Dick hears Tim whisper, still trembling in Jason's arms. "'S already so late."
Jason is trying to quiet Tim down when the boy begins to shake so hard that Jason has to take a seat on the stairs. It isn't a seizure. At least, Dick doesn't think it is. No, Tim is just shaking. Maybe he's cold.
"Fuck," Jason mutters, recollecting himself and standing up. "Fucking fine! Fine, Bruce. He'll stay here. But the minute he's lucid, I'm getting him out. You're gonna fucking kill him if he stays here." Jason pauses and glances at Dick and Damian. "All of you."
Jason turns and hurries up the stairs. Dick can't bring himself to say anything. He can't think or move. Dick's insides twist, and he wants to scream.
Damian's heart is pounding fast when he knocks on the door. He can hear soft talking coming from inside. He isn't sure exactly what he's trying to accomplish by going to see Tim. He can pretend that he isn't trying to absolve the ball of guilt sitting in his stomach. But that would be a lie.
"Drake?" Damian asks as he opens the door. Jason is leaning over Tim with a cold washcloth in his hand. Tim is giggling like a maniac.
"Damian!" Tim smiles and, despite Jason's wishes, sits up. "Come in, come in. Don't let the frogs in. They don't like the butterflies."
Damian shoots Jason a confused look, and Jason just shakes his head. Damian creeps closer to Tim's bedside.
"How, how is he?"
Jason shrugs and pushes Tim's bangs back. Tim lays back down and begins babbling about frogs and butterflies. Fantasy creatures that he seems to know everything about. Jason bites his lip.
"Not good," Jason decides. "I don't know how long it'll take for him to become lucid since I don't know the dosage. On top of that, his wounds are doing very good. He's getting really sick, Damian. And, I have no idea why."
Damian frowns and approaches the bed. He cocks his head as he looks over Tim. The boy's chest heaves with each breathe, and sweat drips down his cheeks.
Damian's eyes fall to where Tim's shirt has been tucked up over his stomach. There is a neat scar amongst many. Precise and clean. Unlike the jagged pink mess of stab wounds and slices. It's familiar to Damian. A procedure that Damian has defiantly seen before.
"Wait a minute," Damian murmurs, fingers hovering just above Tim's skin. "What's this from?"
Jason's eyes fall to where Damian's fingers are. He frowns. "I- I don't know, Damian. Things were bad here for a while. I wouldn't be surprised it-"
"No." Damian interrupts him. "If it were from father, it would be uneven and jagged, like all the other ones. Crude. But this is too neat, and the scarring is as minimal as possible. No, this was done by a doctor."
The words taste stale in Damian's mouth, and he scowls. "Tim rescued Father from his death. But, Tim did lose a lot along the way. Damian wouldn't be surprised if it was much more than Tim let on.
"The bathroom," Damian murmurs. "Ever since Tim's father, you know. He's been keeping his medication here. If what I think is true, there should be antibiotics in there."
Jason leaves the room, and Damian turns back to Tim. He frowns. If Tim really did have a splenectomy, these wounds could be fatal.
Jason comes back, yellow bottle clenched tightly in his fist. "What the fuck is this, Damian? These are really fucking strong antibiotics."
Damian grits his teeth. "Then, we need to get Drake to a hospital. If I'm right, he's had a splenectomy. Jason, if these wounds get infected, Tim could die."
Jason freezes, and his eyes shift to the stab wounds on Tim's abdomen. It's red and pulsing around the edges, oozing puss.
"Alright, go tell Bruce. I'm gonna try and get him conscious. Thanks, Damian. Seriously. If you hadn't noticed-"
Neither of them need to hear what Jason was going to say.
Bruce is confused when Damian orders him to bring the car around and wait until Tim and Jason are situated to drive to the hospital. But he isn't confused for much longer when he sees Jason carrying Tim down the stairs. The boy looking so small and fragile in Jason's arms. Pale and trembling.
Dick is in tears when Tim is buckled in, and Damian sits next to his older brother, rubbing his back. It's the most he can do. He isn't sure what else he can do.
Bruce ends up going to Leslie. He figures it will be difficult to explain the infected flesh wound in Tim's stomach.
Leslie puts him on an IV and offers to hold him overnight just to monitor the wounds. Luckily they got there before the infection could do anything. Tim just needs to rest now.
Bruce settles beside the boy's bedside, papers piled in his lap. He has his glasses on his nose, slipping a bit. His hair is a mess, and there are dark bags under his eyes. It's been almost two days. Tim hasn't moved since they brought him.
"Remember those goons we fought? The ones dealing weapons enhanced with jellyfish toxin?"
It's the first time Tim has spoken. His voice is rough and raw. It trembles and cracks.
Bruce stills and puts down his papers. "Of course, I do. You got stabbed. You didn't tell anyone."
Tim nods a little. Bruce can't really tell. It might be a nod. His chin moves a little bit. Tim opens his eyes and moves his head to look at Bruce. His bottom lip is trembling, and his eyes are glassy. "I was paralyzed for seventeen hours. I know because I counted. And, when I came into the cave with information about the weapon, I had just finished sobbing on the floor of my room."
Bruce feels his stomach twist and pull. His throat tightens, and he gasps softly.
"I was so relieved when it wore off. For a while, I thought I would stay like that forever. I thought I would starve in my bed. I wouldn't be able to move, and no one would come looking for me. I would be all alone. And, none of you would ever know."
Tears slip down Tim's cheeks, and his chest shudders as he breathes in. Bruce wants to tell Tim that they would've sensed something was off. They would've sensed his absence and gone looking for Tim. He wants to say so many things. But his tongue sits uselessly at the roof of his mouth, and all he can do is stare as tears blur his vision.
Miraculously he finds it in himself to speak. "I shouldn't have reprimanded you for not telling me. I should've comforted you and made sure you were okay. I don't know why I reacted the way I did."
Tim smiles a little. Only a little. "Honestly, I was surprised when you reacted at all. After a while with you, I noticed that if I didn't make a big deal, you wouldn't make a big deal either. If I knew how to swallow it whole, you wouldn't so much as bat an eye. We fought Ivy how many times? I learned how to fight my teeth and bear it when it came to her pollen. I didn't like to, but I did."
Bruce feels ill. He needs to lie down. He needs to fix this.
"I would opt to go with Jason on missions if it meant staying away from Ivy. I knew how to deal with the pollen, but that doesn't mean I liked it. I thought none of you knew. Imagine my surprise when Dick revealed all of you knew all along. All the times I had fought her and suffered. Meanwhile, you three were nice and cozy together."
Through his sickly haze, Tim sounds angry. The room is quiet, and Bruce notices Tim is chewing on his lip. Blood is visible on his tongue.
Bruce fiddles with his hands. There is something on the tip of his tongue. An apology. But how can he give Tim an apology? It isn't nearly enough. Nothing will ever be enough.
Bruce is about to say something else when DIck bursts through the room with Damian and Jason trailing behind him. Dick's cheeks are red and blotchy. Damian looks exhausted. Jason's face is hardened and stony. Tim closes his eyes.
"You're awake!" The relief is present in Dick's voice, flooding through him like water over rocks. "How do you feel? Can you move at all? Does anything hurt?"
Tim doesn't make any moves to respond. His chest rises and falls slowly. Bruce's stomach is in knots. Bruce takes a few deep breathes before lifting his head to look at his sons.
"We should let him rest for a little longer. Maybe you guys should go get something to eat from the cafeteria."
But Jason steps forward. "We already did. We want to stay here now. Besides, there's still stuff we need to talk about."
"Jason-" Dick says, pleading. But Jason just keeps walking towards Bruce, his voice getting louder.
"No. We're not gonna ignore this. We're not going to ignore the fact that Tim could've fucking died! He doesn't have a goddamn spleen, Bruce! When the fuck did that happen? Huh? Do any of you have any idea what the hell happened?"
The room is deathly silent, and Bruce's gaze falls to Tim on the bed. Dick looks like his heart is breaking. And with every word that comes out of Jason's mouth, more of it shatters.
"'S from the League," Tim whispers. His eyes are still closed. He might not even be awake. Maybe he's just talking. Everyone turns to him.
"What?" Jason asks, fuming. "The Justice League? Since fucking when does the League let in kids?"
But Tim shakes his head, coughing quietly. "No, no, the other one. The um, murder ones." Tim lifts his hand and mimics the movement of a knife in his chest. Words clearly aren't coming easy for him at the moment.
Bruce's heart skips a beat, and his head is spinning. He collapses back into his chair, clutching his head with his hands.
"B-But, how could- no that's not, that's not right." Dick has gone stumbling backward, hitting his against the wall. "Tim, you should've told us. W-We would've helped-"
"No," Tim's eyes are open now, and he stares at Dick. "You wouldn't have helped. You thought I was crazy. You were going to send me away. They helped. It was the price I had to pay. I was willing."
Dick shakes his head. "Tim, that's not what-"
"Stop it," Tim begs. More tears roll down Tim's cheeks. "Stop pretending like Bruce is the only one that did anything wrong. All of you fucked up. And none of you have done shit to make up for it. So, Jason has stopped hurling knives at my head, and Damian has stopped cutting my grapple lines. So what? It doesn't mean shit if you look at me like a stranger in your house."
Dick takes a step forward, reaching for Tim's hands. "Tim, we all care about you. There have just been other-"
"What? Other important things? More important things? No, I get that. Believe me. I get that. What I don't get is why you insist on forcing this 'Family." None of you force it with each other. No. Never. But with me, it's all artificial. If I never came back after leaving, not one of you would take the time to look for me. And even if you did, you would only be doing it to prove me wrong. You don't love me. You can care about me. Fine. I might not be the best at recognizing other people's feelings. But, I've felt love before. Real, selfless love. This isn't that."
Dick is biting his bottom lip hard. Damian looks like he's on the verge of tears. Tim sighs heavily.
"It doesn't matter. When this is all over, you'll all go back to your own lives. I'm just your neighbor. I stay over sometimes, sure. But it's all courtesy. None of you love me, not really. 'S just obligation. A savior complex. You allowed me to stay over once and help you out, so now kicking me out would just be another source of guilt."
But, Jason kneels beside Tim's bed. He grasps Tim's hands tightly. Tim doesn't flinch. He just turns his head. His eyes are spilling tears, and he's hiccuping. Jason squeezes tighter.
"Don't do that," Jason whispers. His voice sounds fractured, vulnerable. "You've risked everything for us. You've given up your life to help keep ours from shattering. Whatever barrier there was before is long gone. You're as much a part of this family as any of us. You brought Bruce back from the dead. You managed to keep him company from crumbling, all while maintaining reluctant relationships with all of us. You have been there for every nasty, ugly moment. Please, just let us be here for you now. That's all I ask."
Tim stares at him, eyes wide and confused. He's biting his cheek bloody, and his fingers squeeze Jason's.
"What if you decide I'm not worth it. Maybe it becomes too much, and all I am is a burden. What will you do then? Will you still want me around? Even when I can't get out of bed and don't leave my room for days? Can you guarantee that you'll stick around? You can't, Jason. You can't guarantee that."
Jason shakes his head. "Of course I can. When you need help, we'll help you. I promise, Tim."
But this time, it's Tim's turn to shake his head. He tugs his hand away from Jason and puts them over his face. "Don't, don't promise that. Don't say these things."
Tim is sobbing loudly now, and Bruce has a panicked look on his face. Damian has rushed to Bruce's side and his clutching his father's arm, staring terrified at the boy on the bed.
Dick has joined Jason and has his face in his hands.
"Why?" Jason asks softly. "It's the truth."
But Tim is trembling hard now, and he hiccups loudly. "No! It isn't. I know it isn't! You'd never say this to me! None of you would even be here! I don't want this! I don't want to feel like this anymore! I'm tired, I'm so tired, Jason. I- I don't know what else to do! I don't know how to make it stop!"
Tim's wet hiccups turn into angry rasps as he screams himself hoarse. Jason just keeps holding his hand. Tim burps, and Jason can hear his stomach rumble. That isn't good. Jason sees Tim's mouth begin flooding with salvia.
"B-" Jason says as Tim tries to sit up, his body too weak to follow what his brain commands.
"No," Tim whimpers, gurgling wetly and gagging. "No, please. Please, I don't wanna throw up. Jay, I- please! I don't wanna throw up!"
Bruce gently lifts Tim's back and presses Tim's head close to his chest. Jason squeezes Tim's fingers.
"Breathe," Bruce says softly. "Tim, just breathe. Breathe through your nose, okay? You aren't going to throw up, alright? Shhh, close your eyes, sweetheart. Just close your eyes. Can you hear my heartbeat?"
Tim nods, chest shuddering as he breathes through his nose.
"Good," Bruce praises, running his fingers through Tim's hair. "I want you to breathe through your nose for four beats and out for four beats. Can you do that for me?"
Tim nods. His body is tense against Bruce's, and he whimpers softly, swallowing gags and hiccups.
Jason notices Damian's hand creeping closer to Tim's. Damian has never been very good at initiating physical contact in moments of weakness. For him to even move toward Tim now is a vast improvement from when he first arrived.
Jason feels a swell of pride in his chest when Damian catches hold of three of Tim's fingers and holds tightly. He cautiously watches Tim's face. Maybe, he's waiting for Tim to pull away. Waiting for Tim to cringe at the contact.
But Tim doesn't. He gladly accepts Damian and holds tightly, still breathing in time with Bruce's heartbeats.
"There we go," Bruce murmurs when Tim has stopped breathing harshly, and the tension has drained from his spine. "See? Everything is alright. You aren't going to throw up."
Tim nods, and Jason feels his fingers go limp. Tim's body sags against Bruce, and the man gently lays him back on the bed.
"Leslie said that the drugs are still working their way through his system. Normally, with a dosage like what he got, people would throw up. But Tim doesn't like to throw up. He won't have to resort to a cleanse as long as we have someone here to keep him tethered to reality. That could hurt his stitches." Bruce pauses and wipes Tim's sweaty forehead. "Plus, Tim doesn't like to throw up."
There is a unanimous nod around the room. Bruce sags back in his chair and scrubs his face with his hands. "You boys should try to get some shuteye. I think there are some cots in the next room. I'll go wake one of you up when I need it. We won't be any use if we're all zombies."
Another nod of heads, and the boys slowly file out of the room. But Dick lingers in the doorway. His knuckles are bloody. He's been biting them. Bruce sighs and smiles as best he can.
"Get some sleep, Dick. He'll be here when you wake up."
With that, Dick leaves the room.
Bruce listens to the steady beat of the heart monitor and sighs heavily. He lays his head next to Tim's hand and lets out a few more large breaths.
"It's going to be better," Bruce promises to the unconscious boy above him. "It won't be easy. But you're worth it. I'm sick of feeling like you're leaving forever every time you step out that door. I know how awful I was. I know that the things I've done left you more broken than any of us ever knew. But, I want to try, Tim. And, and if after all this you want to leave, I won't stop you. I just-" Bruce chokes. "I miss you, Tim. I miss my son."
Bruce knows he wouldn't have the courage to say any of this if Tim were conscious. But he needs to say it. He needs someone to know that he really does feel bad. And when Tim wakes up, he'll find the courage to say it again.
But it's so hard to talk to Tim. It's difficult because every time Bruce looks at the boy, all he sees is bloody knuckles and broken bones. All Bruce smells is expensive bourbon, spit, and tears. The phantom feeling of bones breaking still hovers over his knuckles. Bruce closes his eyes tight and presses and kisses to Tim's hand.
There might be nothing he can do. Maybe he's just gone too far. He's pushed Tim past the breaking point and far from his grasp. But, Bruce has always been good at following people past the edge.
And fuck, if it's Tim? Bruce will jump with no hesitation.