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Tim curled up in his armchair by the fire, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Snow was falling gently outside, slowly coating the manor grounds in a fine layer of white. He gave a short cough, doing his best not to spill the hot drink all over himself.
“Aw, getting sick Tim?” Dick asked in sympathy as he passed.
It was almost Christmas and the manor was packed full. Tim had never quite grown used to having a big winter holiday celebration, and wasn’t entirely pleased to have people watching his every move.
“I’m fine, Dick. Just needed to clear my throat.”
Dick looked suspicious and pressed a hand to Tim’s forehead. “You’re actually a little cold. Keep drinking that hot chocolate, we don’t want you getting sick.”
“I’m not sick.” Tim dodged away from Dick’s hand, “And I don’t want to be either. If anything your gross hands will give me your germs.”
Laughing, Dick waved him off. “Alright, I see how it is. Well, you enjoy your fire time, I’m going to go help Alfred bake some more cookies.”
Tim was certain that by ‘help’, Dick really meant ‘eat as many cookies as he could while Alfred’s back was turned, then get banished from the kitchen for his crimes’. Dick was predictable like that. “I’ll see you in less than half an hour when you get kicked out then.”
“Rude. I’m going to be on my best behavior.” Dick wagged his finger before heading towards the kitchen.
Tim returned to his curled up position and took a sip of hot chocolate. He did feel a little cold, and his hands were clammy. That didn’t mean he was sick though, it was just winter. Tim couldn’t afford to be sick, not with all of the work he had to do and the cases he had to solve and the family plans he wanted to be present for. If that meant he had to suffer through a mild cough then so be it.
Finishing up his hot chocolate, Tim stood and then nearly had to sit down again. The world tilted on its axis and he was overcome by a wave of lightheadedness. Steadying himself with the arm of the chair, Tim took a deep breath and walked towards the kitchen. He gave Alfred and Dick a slightly strained smile as he washed his mug, watching Dick steal another cookie in his peripheral vision. Alfred had an expression of mild exasperation, but it was offset by fondness. This was a tradition they’d had for around two decades, after all.
Leaving the kitchen, Tim found Bruce typing away at his laptop in his office. He hovered outside for a minute, not sure if he should interrupt.
“Come on in, Tim. I’m just looking at some things for Wayne Enterprises. Why don’t you take a seat, maybe you can help me get through this before it’s late.” Bruce gave him a welcoming smile, and Tim found a seat
He had always liked sitting in Bruce’s office with him, working together and bouncing ideas off of each other. “What are you working on?”
Bruce spun his laptop around to display a mess of graphs and pages of words that all blurred together. His mouth was moving, saying words, but not a single one of them registered in Tim’s brain.
“Sorry, what was that?” Tim sucked in another breath, and it caught on the mucus build up in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit.
He hacked until tears were streaming down his face and he felt on the brink of passing out. Bruce laid a firm hand on his back and rubbed slow circles, and when Tim finally stopped coughing he pressed a water bottle into his hands. “Here, have a drink. Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Tim said, voice rough. “I’ve just started to get a bit of a cough. I’ll be okay, just need to get a few nights of sleep to recover.”
“Okay. Take it easy on patrol and go back early, and don’t be afraid to stay in if you need to.” Bruce dug a cough drop out of his desk and slid it over to Tim, who obediently popped it into his mouth. “Now, do you feel up to taking another look?”
Tim nodded, but his mind was drifting away. Bruce spoke but he couldn’t focus on the words, hearing them but not able to piece them together. It was like trying to drive through thick fog with no lights. So Tim nodded along and mumbled something incoherent when he thought Bruce had asked a question.
His mouth was uncomfortably dry, so he tried to raise the water to his lips again, but his hand shook so badly that it spilled all down his front. He sat for a second, not fully registering it as Bruce took the water from his hand. His heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of his chest, and his lungs couldn’t drag in enough air.
“I- I don’t feel so good.” Tim stumbled over the words, slurring them. “Bruce, I- I feel bad. Sick.”
“Sick how? Tim? In what way do you feel sick?” Bruce’s concern was a world away.
Tim tried to focus on breathing. His breaths were coming too fast and shallow, and he couldn’t fix it. “Trouble breathin’. ‘M cold. Heart- heart rate high.”
Bruce’s face tightened into the expression he always put on when he was scared and didn’t want to show it. He stood and pressed a hand to Tim’s forehead, and he must not have liked what he found because Tim was suddenly scooped into his arms and carried down the hall.
“Alfred!” Bruce shouted as he made a quick pace for the door. “Pull the car around, we need to get to the hospital, now!”
Dick and Alfred came running out of the kitchen, and Alfred wasted no time in hurrying to get the car. Dick anxiously hovered alongside Bruce, not taking his eyes off of Tim. “What’s wrong with him? He was fine just a few minutes ago!”
“I think he has sepsis,” Bruce told Dick in a grim voice. “He’s cold, he’s only taking shallow breaths, his heart rate is elevated. While we were talking he seemed confused, and he started to slur his speech. We need to get him to the hospital to confirm it, and for treatment.”
Tim clung to Bruce as he and Dick continued to speak in worried voices. Sepsis? It seemed unreal, but the symptoms matched. Ever since losing his spleen Tim had been dedicated to taking care of his health, making sure that his wounds never got infected and he treated colds as best he could. So far it had worked, but now his luck was finally failing him.
They stepped outside, and Tim let out a whimper as he was blasted by cold air. Just as quickly Bruce had tucked him into the backseat of one of their cars, and the heating was on full power. Bruce guided his head to rest against his shoulder, and Tim let his eyes drift closed as Dick climbed into the passenger seat.
There was the sound of the accelerator and Alfred quietly reassuring Bruce. “We will make it through this, Master Bruce. Timothy is strong, and he will be well cared for.”
Bruce’s arm tightened its grip around Tim’s middle. He said nothing, just kept his eyes on Tim. Exhausted, Tim allowed his eyes to slip shut as he slumped against Bruce. Bruce would take care of him.
When he woke up again, he didn’t really know what was happening. Bruce was carrying him again, and there was shouting, and he slipped away again. Then he was laying in bed, and there was a needle in his arm. The needle was gone, and Dick was holding his hand and crying. A doctor coaxed something down his throat. Cass kept watch over him from a hospital chair. Alfred stood at the foot of his bed, looking aged by a decade.
By the time he finally woke up and stayed up and knew where he was, there was an IV in his arm and a mask fitted over his face that sent cool air rushing into his lungs. Half of the Wayne family seemed to be filling up the room, and when Tim tried to speak they all rushed to his side.
Dick had a tight grip on the hand that wasn’t hooked up to the IV, while Steph anxiously rocked from one foot to the other. Cass stood, eyes locked on Tim’s chest, and didn’t move. Damian was still in the chair, but he was looking at Tim with an expression of fear and care that Tim rarely saw him direct towards anything but injured animals. Bruce sat in a second chair that he had dragged next to the bed, and his eyes looked red.
The door opened, and Jason entered with Alfred on his heels. “He’s awake?” Jason asked, eyes scanning Tim as if not believing it.
Alfred stood in the doorway, hand over his heart.
“Hey, Alfred,” Tim croaked.
The elderly man’s face crumpled into a smile. “Master Tim, I’m glad to see that you are awake and aware.”
Tim hummed, not sure if he could speak again. He felt so tired, he just wanted to go back to sleep. The mask over his nose and mouth was freaking him out a little, but he was too tired to really react. “Diagnosis?” he finally managed to ask.
“Sepsis,” Bruce said, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bed.
Dick took a shuddering breath, and put on a brave face. “You were really bad for a few hours. Had to be put on mechanical ventilation. Went through surgery to try and drain the infected fluid. We weren’t sure if you would go into a coma or not. If you would pull through.”
Oh. So it really was bad. “Now?”
Jason gave him a sympathetic look, from one living dead man to another. “You’ve stabilized a bit, but sepsis can have sudden changes in condition.”
So Tim might still die, is what they were saying. What an odd concept. To die from a disease rather than going out in a fight. He hadn’t expected asplenia to be his arch nemesis of the year. “How long am I here?”
“The doctors need to keep monitoring and treating you. You need the fluids from the IV, and the lung support, and they might be giving you a feeding tube too. Lots of fun stuff.” Steph tried to smile at him but it wobbled too much to be believable. “More antibiotics, other things I didn’t understand. It’s going to be a few days at least.”
A few days, or potentially much longer. Or, Tim thought morbidly, he’d leave as a corpse. Around a third of sepsis patients didn’t survive after all. His lack of spleen wouldn’t help, even if he had gotten to the hospital so quickly.
“We’ll be here the whole time. I promise I won’t leave you.” Dick squeezed his hand, tear stained face determined.
Tim nodded, allowing himself to relax into his pillows. He might survive, or he might not. But either way he’d at least be surrounded by his family.