Work Text:
It was a normal day at the office. Tim started his morning with an early meeting with some board members about an upcoming product release then stopped by the product distribution floor to pick up his biweekly supply of pods for his WayneTech insulin pump on his way to his office.
“Good morning, Bethany,” Tim greeted.
The secretary returned his smile. “Good morning, Mr. Drake-Wayne. Here for your insulin pods?”
“Am I that predictable?”
“You are a man of habit. Someone from distribution dropped them off earlier.”
She pushed forward a sleek white box with the Glucomax logo. It held six pods that would last him the next two weeks. Tim grabbed it and tucked it under his arm.
“Thanks, Bethany. Have a great rest of your week!”
Tim returned to the elevator and pressed his keycard that allowed him access to his penthouse office. As the elevator took him up, he mentally went through his day’s to-do list. He didn’t have any meetings left, aside from with Bruce who was planning on coming in at some point, but he had several reports to write. And Dick wanted to grab lunch since he was in Gotham following up with a witness from a Bludhaven PD case, so he had to make some progress before 12.
The doors opened, and his secretary, Veronica, smiled in greeting. “Morning, boss. I had an intern grab you some coffee. Figured you would need it after the meeting,” she said, motioning to the large cup in front of her.
“Veronica, you are my guardian angel,” Tim said with a relieved sigh. “I should really give you a raise.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “I already make double of what I did at my last job. You realize you’re the worst billionaire ever, right?”
Tim shrugged as he took a big swig of liquid heaven. “You sound like the Board. ‘You can’t just hand out raises to everyone just because you feel like it, Mr. Wayne. It’s not good for the business, Mr. Wayne.’ They’re just mad I refuse to let them give themselves raises.”
“What? Can Dickens not afford the downpayment on his fourth beach house?”
Tim laughed. This was why he had hired Veronica. Even though she was still young in her career (late twenties to early thirties, by Tim’s guess), she wasn’t afraid to throw shade at the higher-ups in corporate, and she and Tim had a very similar sense of humor. Plus, she wasn’t trying to sleep with him, and Tim could not say the same for some of his previous secretaries (even though he was only seventeen, so ew).
Tim cleared his throat and put on his best professional CEO voice. “Do I have any messages, Ms. Greene?”
“Not yet, Mr. Drake-Wayne,” she replied, matching his tone. “Shall I go ahead and put in your usual lunch order for 12:00?”
“I am afraid I will be stepping out for lunch today. I have a very important meeting.”
Veronica dropped the act. “Ooh, does someone have a lunch date?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “With my brother, Dick. So hold my calls if you can, okay? I gotta get some work done in the next couple of hours so Lucius doesn’t have me drawn and quartered.”
“You got it, Boss.”
Tim entered his office and shut the door behind him. He set his stuff down at his desk then opened the curtains to let the natural light in.
“Good morning, Gotham,” he said quietly, smiling to himself. The view was his favorite part of his office. Most of the psychopaths were nocturnal, so Gotham was fairly peaceful at this time of day. It was just as busy and beautiful as any of the other major cities Tim had visited. He could almost pretend that Gotham was normal.
After shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair, he sat down and got settled. He had to change his insulin pod before he could start working. He peeled off the old one on the back of his left arm then discarded it in the sharps box he had installed in his office. After retrieving a fresh one from the new box he had gotten, he took his diabetic supply bag out of his backpack and grabbed a vial of insulin. He filled the new pod with the insulin then untucked his shirt and picked a good place on his abdomen for the new site. He pulled up the Glucomax app on his phone and synced the new pod with it then grabbed an alcohol wipe from his desk, cleaned the new site, and stuck the pod on.
His phone beeped for a few seconds, then Tim felt the familiar sting of the pod’s cannula inserting itself into his skin. His glucose monitor lit up and alerted him that his current level was 124.
“Perfect,” he praised his artificial pancreas. “Now, I can get some work done.”
He took another sip of his coffee, thankful that Veronica had properly informed the intern about his taste (and that the intern had listened). It was the perfect mixture of sugar and caffeine to keep him going until lunch (or until he needed another coffee). He opened his browser and sent out a replies to the most important emails in his inbox before opening up Excel and getting started on the first report.
Tim had been working about forty-five minutes when he began sensing that something was wrong. A bead of sweat had begun forming on his brow, and his heart rate felt like he had just climbed ten staircases without a grappling hook.
He narrowed his eyes at his coffee. “How many espresso shots did that intern put in you?” he asked. The coffee didn’t answer. Tim just sighed and tried to return to his work, ignoring how his leg bounced incessantly under his desk.
He made it another fifteen minutes before the numbers started swimming on the page and made him dizzy. He was still sweating, but he found himself putting his jacket back on. His office seemed to have plummeted ten degrees in the past ten minutes.
Deciding he was probably dehydrated, he stood up to go get some water. A wave of lightheadedness hit him like a truck, and he was barely able to remain standing on his shaking legs.
“What the fuck?” he murmured to himself. Was he getting sick again? Tim certainly hoped not. He had felt fine this morning, and he simply didn’t have time to get sick.
Tim stumbled over to the water cooler and poured himself a cup of cold water. He downed it quickly then collapsed on the nearby couch.
I should really invest in some blankets for the office, he thought to himself as another attack of shivers ran through his body.
He allowed himself to close his eyes to spare his throbbing head from the sunlight pouring in from the windows. He instantly felt a strong desire to fall asleep despite his recent caffeine and concurrent restlessness.
A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably check his blood sugar, but Tim’s phone was still on his desk, and getting off the couch suddenly seemed impossible. His limbs felt far too heavy for him to lift. Besides, he had just checked an hour ago, and he was fine. He hadn’t given himself any boluses either, so he had just received his basal dosage of insulin. And that wouldn’t have been enough to plummet his sugar that much, right? He should probably check just in case…
Tim fell asleep before he finished his thought.
***
Bruce arrived at the penthouse around 10:45. Dick had called inviting him to grab lunch with him and Tim, so Bruce decided to head in earlier than planned to get some work done with Tim beforehand.
“Good morning, Mr. Wayne,” Veronica greeted.
Bruce flashed her his signature smile. “Good morning, Ms. Greene, is my son in his office?”
She nodded. “He is. Go on in.”
Bruce nodded and thanked the secretary before heading into the office.
He found Tim fast asleep on the couch by the window. Bruce subconsciously scanned the room for threats as he approached his son. There was no sign of forced entry or evidence of blood on his son, but something was definitely wrong. Tim was drenched with sweat, and his skin was void of any color.
“Tim? Wake up, it’s Bruce,” he said, gently shaking the boy’s shoulder. Tim moaned but didn’t open his eyes. Bruce frowned. He brought his hand up to feel Tim’s forehead, but he didn’t feel a fever. Quite the opposite, actually. Tim’s skin was cool and clammy with moisture. Bruce pressed his fingers to Tim’s wrist and felt his pulse. It was far too rapid to be normal.
He tried calling Tim’s name and shaking him slightly harder but was met with the same result. Feeling dread bubble up in his gut, he took out his phone and pulled up the Glucomax app to check Tim’s blood sugar.
25.
“Shit,” Bruce cursed, pressing the button to turn off the pump. He called out for Veronica who came running in immediately.
“What is it–”
“Call 911,” Bruce ordered. “Tell them he’s a diabetic and his blood sugar is 25.”
Veronica glanced at Tim, eyes wide, then nodded and ran back out to her desk. Bruce wasted no time in grabbing Tim’s bag off of his desk and digging for his emergency glucagon shot. He rushed back over to the couch, removed Tim’s jacket, then unbuttoned his shirt enough to slide one of his shoulders out to expose his upper arm. He plunged the device into Tim’s arm and heard a click as the needle injected the medicine. After putting Tim’s shirt back on, he double checked his son’s pulse and breathing.
Veronica came rushing back in. “They’re on their way. Is there anything I can do?”
“Call security and let them know to send the EMS up right away.”
“I already called them,” Veronica replied.
Suddenly, Tim started seizing uncontrollably. Bruce cursed loudly and gently lowered Tim down to the floor and pulled him away from the couch. He rolled his son onto his side and grabbed a throw pillow off of the couch to place under his head. Finally, he glanced at his watch to time the seizure. He found himself tempted to go into Batman mode in order to stay calm, but he stopped himself. He had to be Bruce Wayne in this situation. Secret identities aside, Tim was not a battle-fallen comrade. No, he was his son, and he needed his father, not Batman.
After what was sure to be the longest twelve seconds of Bruce’s life, Tim went limp.
“D-did he just have a seizure?” Veronica asked, completely dumbfounded.
Bruce nodded as he checked his son for any new injuries. “Seizures are common when blood glucose levels drop below 30.”
“How did his blood sugar get so low so quickly? He seemed perfectly fine an hour ago, and he even drank one of sugary coffees you always tell him not to drink.”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” Bruce mused, gently stroking his son’s sweat-soaked hair. “According to his app, it was 124 when he checked an hour ago, and no boluses have been administered.”
“So what? The pump malfunctioned?”
Bruce’s frown deepened as he took out his phone and investigated the app further. “This also says he just changed the pod an hour ago, but there’s only 150/200 units left. His basal rate is 1.5 an hour, which means he’s gotten over thirty times what he was supposed to. I’m going to remove his pod and have someone look at it.”
And by someone, of course, he meant himself or someone he trusted. The pod had malfunctioned somehow and overdosed Tim with insulin. He needed to figure out what happened quickly in case recalls needed to be called, but it just didn’t make sense. Tim’s design was flawless. There were alarms and failsafes in place to prevent something like this from happening even if the pump was broken. There had to be more to it…
Rage bubbled up in Bruce at the mere thought of someone sabotaging Tim’s insulin pump, but he had to force it down. He didn’t have any evidence as of yet, and he needed to focus on Tim. He carefully peeled the pod from Tim’s abdomen and slipped it into his pocket. That’s when the paramedics came rushing in.
“I found him unconscious almost ten minutes ago. He just had a seizure that last about fifteen seconds,” he alerted the medics as they surrounded Tim. “I administered a glucagon shot and removed his pump, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“We’re gonna do everything we can, Mr. Wayne,” a medic, John by his name tag, assured as he began assessing Tim. “Pulse is 189.”
His partner pricked Tim’s finger and inserted the strip into the glucometer. “31. Administering another milligram of glucagon.”
After the injection, the two medics strapped Tim onto the stretcher and headed for the elevator, Bruce following right behind them.
“Call Lucius and let him know the situation,” Bruce ordered Veronica as he and the medics loaded into the elevator. Veronica nodded and wished them luck as the doors closed.
There was a sea of people in the main lobby. A few journalists were snapping pictures of them, but wisely, none blocked the path of the stretcher. Bruce was still pissed, though. Of course, those vultures see an ambulance at Wayne Tower and rush to see if they could make some money from it. It was despicable. And if he wasn’t so worried about Tim, he would have stopped and told them such.
The medics quickly loaded Tim into the ambulance, and Bruce jumped in behind them. They immediately worked to insert an IV and start an infusion of dextrose.
“Mr. Wayne, do you have any idea what caused the hypoglycemic episode?” the medic, John, asked.
“Insulin overdose,” Bruce explained. “His pump malfunctioned and and gave him 50 units in the past hour. His basal is usually 1.5. I took his pod off so we could investigate the cause.”
“It’s a good thing you found him when you did, then,” John’s partner replied. “Any longer and he probably would’ve gone comatose. Is this the first seizure he has ever had?”
“Yes, that I know of. His sugar has never gone this low before.”
“Okay, does your son have any significant medical history or allergies?”
Bruce nodded and gave the medics a rundown of Tim’s medical history. He had just finished when a small groan caught Bruce’s attention. He looked down and saw Tim lazily open his eyes.
“Tim? Can you hear me?” Bruce asked.
“Bruss,” Tim mumbled. “Wh-wha’ happ’n?”
Bruce pushed his son’s damp bangs out of his face. “You’re hypoglycemic, son. Your pump gave you too much insulin.”
Tim looked around the ambulance, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over. “I don’ ‘member.”
“Tim, my name is John, and I’m a paramedic,” John said. “We’re taking you to the hospital so they can watch you while your blood sugar recovers, okay?”
Tim grimaced. “I don’ feel good. Feel like ‘m gonna throw up.”
“Nausea is common with hypoglycemia and glucagon therapy,” John’s partner assured. He grabbed a basin and handed it over to John who was at Tim’s head. “Tim, we’re gonna turn you on your side in case you throw up.”
They rolled Tim over onto his side, and John held the basin underneath Tim’s face just as he began throwing up. Bruce rubbed Tim’s back in order to provide some comfort, but he felt utterly useless.
When he finished, Tim rolled back onto his back, shivering despite the heavy sweating.
“D-dad,” he muttered, his eyes unfocused. Bruce was taken aback for a moment. Tim didn’t use the “d” word. Ever.
“Right here, kiddo,” he assured, taking his son’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I feel sick.”
“I know, buddy, but we’re gonna get you taken care of, alright? Just hang on a little bit longer.”
Luckily, Gotham Children’s Hospital was not far from the office. The medics unloaded the stretcher and brought Tim into the emergency room. Bruce did his best to stay by his son as the personnel surrounded the stretcher. They wheeled Tim into the triage area and transferred him onto a bed.
“Timothy Drake. He’s a seventeen-year-old male with a chief complaint of severe hypoglycemia and subsequent seizure. He has a history of type 1 diabetes and a total splenectomy. No known prior seizures. Father reports finding patient unconscious with a blood glucose level of 25 at approximately 1045. The patient’s insulin pump malfunctioned and gave him 50 units rather than his usual basal rate of 1.5. Dad removed the pump and administered a milligram of glucagon via injection. He also reports that the seizure occurred just before we arrived and lasted about fifteen seconds. We arrived at the scene at 1058 and administered another mg of glucagon when his glucose had only risen to 31. He woke up in the ambulance but is disoriented and lethargic. He had one episode of emesis and has an 18 gauge IV in his LAC. We then gave 25ml of D50 over fifteen minutes then put him on a D10 drip. Vitals are 187 pulse, bp 102/66, RR 23, temp 98, and O2 97%. Questions?”
A resident shook his head. “I think we can take it from here. I’ll have a nurse sign off on your report. Thanks, guys.” He then turned to Tim. “Hi, Tim, my name is Dr. Hankins. We’re gonna take good care of you, okay?”
“Glucose meter is now reading 39,” a nurse announced.
“Alright, get him into room 102. Initiate seizure precautions and send a STAT CMP. Start maintenance fluids of D10 NS with 20 Meq of potassium and glucose checks q15 minutes. Once his glucose reaches 70, switch the D10 for D5 and recheck blood glucose hourly. When he’s more alert and able to swallow, we can initiate oral carbohydrates.”
The nurses scrambled to fulfill the doctor’s orders. They wheeled the bed out of triage and into the room and started hooking Tim’s IV up to a pump with the prescribed fluids.
“Mr. Wayne, my name is Chris, and I’m going to be your son’s nurse,” a young man in his twenties introduced himself. “We’re going to get some fluids going and get a blood sample to the lab for testing. Is there anyone you need to call while we get him settled?”
Bruce nodded. “I’ll just be right out here. Let me know if he needs anything. He’s still pretty out of it.”
Bruce debated who to call first. He and Tim were supposed to meet Dick in half an hour, but if Alfred found out Tim was in the hospital over the news, it wouldn’t end well for anyone. He ultimately made a decision and dialed the chosen number.
“Bruce, to what do I owe this genuine pleasure?”
“Jason, I need a favor.”
“Of course you do. Why else would you bother to–”
“Tim’s in the hospital,” Bruce interrupted.
There was some loud shuffling on the other end. “What happened?”
“His pump malfunctioned and overdosed him on insulin. They’re getting him stabilized now. His levels were down to 25 by the time I found him, and he had a seizure shortly after. They’d gotten him up to 39 last time I heard. I need you to come to the hospital and get the pump from me and look over it.”
“Shit,” Jason breathed. “So, what? You think someone tampered with it?”
“I don’t have any evidence, but…”
“But you have hunch.”
“There have never been reports of any issues like this with the Glucomax,” Bruce explained. “It’s the market’s top-rated and bestseller. Tim spearheaded the design himself and you know how thorough he is.”
“So you think it’s purely a Tim Drake thing? Like one of his competitors trying to make him look bad?”
Bruce sighed. “Like I said, it’s just a hunch, but I would really appreciate it if you looked into it. We’re in the emergency department at the Children’s Hospital. You’re one of the only people I would trust with this.”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” Jason promised.
Bruce hung up the phone and immediately called Alfred. The butler had wanted to rush over and offer his support, but Bruce explained that Tim would hopefully be discharged after a few hours. Someone would also need to pick up Damian at 3:00. Bruce could tell Alfred was hesitant, but he agreed to stay at the manor.
Lastly, Bruce called Dick. He had already received several texts from his eldest asking for his whereabouts.
“Finally,” Dick answered after the first ring. “I just finished up with my witness. Is Tim ready?”
Bruce sighed. “Dick, Tim is in hospital. His blood sugar plummeted into the 20’s.”
“Is he okay?” Dick asked, his voice laced with concern.
“They’re working on getting his glucose up. I’ll fill you in when you get here, just drive safely. We’re at Gotham Children’s.”
“I’m on my way. Just go be with him, okay?”
Bruce heard the sound of police sirens start up right before Dick hung up. He went back into the room where the nurse’s had finished getting Tim settled. They had removed his clothes aside from his boxers and gotten him into a gown and attached to a heart monitor. He was shivering underneath the blankets, but he seemed slightly more alert. At least, his eyes were open.
“Hey, Dad,” the nurse, Chris, greeted. “We’ve just about got him all settled in here. His glucose was 48 when I last checked it, so progress is still slow, but once we get through the insulin's peak, it should go up much more quickly.”
Bruce thanked the nurse and pulled up the chair next to Tim’s bed. “Hey, kiddo, are you waking up?”
Tim blinked slowly. “I don’ know. I feel weird. Dizzy.”
“Well, you’ve had quite the morning. Do you feel awake enough to drink something?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you prefer Coke or orange juice, Tim?” Chris asked.
“Coke.”
The nurse nodded and left. Bruce put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Do you still feel nauseous?”
Tim’s head lolled to the side. “Maybe. ‘M not sure.”
Bruce wasn’t sure how to take that answer. He did make sure a basin was in Tim’s reach, however. Just in case. Suddenly, their room phone rang.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wayne,” the front desk clerked said, “but there’s a Mr. Jason Peterson here to see your son. Says he’s a family friend.”
“Send him in,” Bruce replied immediately. “My eldest son, Dick Grayson, will also be here soon. You can send him back as well.”
“Very well, Mr. Wayne.”
“Who’s comin’?” Tim asked, a slight grimace on his face.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite diabetic!” Jason announced as he waltzed in.
Tim responded by throwing up into the basin.
Jason winced. “That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Bruce sighed. He reached into his pocket and fished out the pod. “Thanks for looking into this for me, Jason. I really appreciate it.”
Jason took the pod and dropped it into his jacket pocket. “Yeah, well, if someone tried to off the kid, I wanna know. I called Barbara, too. She’s gonna help me.”
Bruce nodded as he rubbed Tim’s back through the nauseous episode. “Good. Hopefully, it was just a fluke and I’m wrong.”
“Unfortunately, you never are when it comes to shit like this,” Jason sighed. “I’d better get going. I’ll come back later to make sure you didn’t die, Timbo. Try not to disappoint me, alright?”
Tim looked confused. “You just got here. Wh-why–”
Another round of gagging cut off Tim’s sentence. Jason looked slightly conflicted. “I know, but Babs and I are going to take a look at your pump so we can figure out why it decided to yeet your blood sugar off a cliff.”
Chris came back in with a can of Coke in his hand. He saw Tim and winced. “How long has he been throwing up?”
“Not long. I think it’s from the double dose of glucagon,” Bruce replied.
Chris nodded. “That’s certainly a possibility. I’ll let the doc know so we can hopefully get him some zofran. Tim, do you think you could take a couple of sips of this Coke for me?”
Tim nodded as he collapsed back onto his pillows, the nausea apparently gone for the moment. Chris laid the soda on the bedside table then took the basin into the bathroom to empty it. Tim reached over to pick up the can. His hands were trembling, but he was able to take a sip from the straw.
“Good job, buddy!” Chris praised as he came back into the room. “Now, I’m gonna go fill the doc in so we can get you some medicine for your stomach. Do you need anything else?”
Tim shook his head slowly.
“Okie dokie, then. Just use the call button if you need anything.”
“I need to head out, Tim, but I’ll be back later, okay?” Jason promised. Tim gave a weak nod as his response. As Jason left, he passed Dick coming in.
“Jason? When did you get here?” he asked.
“Actually, Dickie, I’m leaving. I’ve got a date with your girlfriend.”
Dick cocked his eyebrow. “What are you doing with Barbara?”
“They’re looking into Tim’s pump for me,” Bruce explained. “We need to know what caused it to malfunction.”
“My pump?” Tim asked. He lifted his hand to his abdomen and narrowed his eyes when he found the pod to be absent.
Dick seemed to totally forget about Jason. He pulled a chair up on the other side of Tim’s bed and grabbed his brother’s hand. “Hey, Timmy, how are you feeling?”
“Lousy,” Tim mumbled. He looked back at Bruce. “What happened?”
Bruce leaned forward. “What do you remember about this morning?”
Tim frowned in concentration. “I fell asleep. Felt dizzy and shaky.”
“Do you remember waking up in the ambulance earlier?”
“Maybe? It’s real’ fuzzy.”
Bruce nodded in understanding. “Okay, so I’ll fill you both in. I got to the office around 10:45 to get some work done before lunch. I found you unconscious on the couch with a blood sugar of 25. According to your pump, you were given fifty units in one hour. I gave you a glucagon shot while Veronica called 911, but you had a seizure. The medics came and got you and brought you here.”
“How could your pump overdose you that much?” Dick asked.
Tim shook his head. “It shouldn’t’ve. It shoulda alerted me if somethin’ was wrong.”
“Which is why I asked Jason to come pick up your pump so he and Barbara can figure out whether or not it was tampered with.”
Tim took another sip of his Coke and shivered. “D-did I really have a seizure?”
“I’m afraid so,” Bruce sighed. “It lasted about fifteen seconds when your blood sugar was at its lowest.”
“I don’t remember any of that,” Tim whispered.
“Probably for the best,” Dick said gently. “It couldn’t have been a pleasant experience. So you really think it was intentional, Bruce?”
“We won’t know for sure until Jason and Barbara get done analyzing the pump, but that’s the direction I’m leaning towards. Tim, did you notice anything unusual when you got your pods today?”
Tim thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I had my meeting with the board this morning, and I stopped by distribution like usual and got them from Bethany. She said someone had dropped them off earlier. Didn’t say who.”
“I’ll text Lucius and have him start checking the security tapes so we have a head start if they find something,” Bruce answered. “But in the meantime, try not to worry about it too much, okay? You need to rest so we can get your blood sugar back up.”
“Agreed. So, 25, huh? I think that’s a new record for me,” Tim smiled weakly.
Dick rolled his eyes. “Let’s hope you never break it.”
“Sorry ‘bout lunch, Dick.”
“I think I can forgive you considering your excuse,” Dick grinned. “We’ll make it up once you’re feeling better. Deal?”
“Deal.”