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It had taken only a few moments of quiet for Tim’s eyes to slip closed and then only another minute or so before his breathing deepened, falling so deeply into a sleep that he didn’t so much as twitch as Bruce shifted him from his lap to the couch proper.
Bruce was careful in how he set the blanket all the same, not wanting to disturb the boy. He apparently needn’t have bothered, the three hundred year old decorative plate smashing to a thousand pieces as the door slammed open having absolutely no affect on Tim’s rest.
Keeping his own breathing deep and even, Bruce stood fully and became a direct buffer between Tim and Dick.
“This isn’t the right time, Dick. Walk away.”
“Walk away?”
Dick’s laugh was near hysterical but his cool gaze never left Bruce’s own. He was still wearing his riding leathers, though his helmet was nowhere to be seen. Given that Dick was so furious, Bruce had no doubt at all that there was a helmet sized hole somewhere in the Cave.
There was bruising on Dick’s knuckles. A cut on his forehead too and given how he was holding himself, left side shifted closer towards Bruce, he had aggravated his right shoulder again.
“Fuck you.” Dick snapped. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t get to look at me like that.”
“Dick.”
Bruce kept his voice low, his heart rate also.
It wouldn’t do any good right now to rise to Dick’s level of agitation, not for Dick and certainly not for Tim. He needed to keep a cool head and he needed to ensure that Tim gets rest and if that required Dick leaving, then that was what Bruce was going to have to do.
“Walk away. We will address things in the morning.”
In truth, given the light streaming in through the window, it was probably far closer to noon than morning already but Bruce did not correct himself nor did he allow himself to step away from Tim, not while Dick was still practically vibrating with unfocused energy.
“I don’t want to fight, Son.”
“Son. Son? Are you fucking kidding me, B? You don’t look me in the eye for eight fucking months and all it takes is me making sure that Tim doesn’t get himself killed by his own stupid mistake and now all of a sudden I’m your son again? Because I was useful to you?”
You will always be my Son.
The words were as natural as breath itself and yet Bruce’s body refused to say them. Refused to say anything because the moment he spoke now would be the very moment that he would break.
Dick’s knuckles were bruised.
They were bruised and his shoulder was sore and his eyes were blazing and all Bruce could think about was the scream that had been ripped from him the moment that Tim had started falling, the scream that had torn through Bruce’s very own soul because he realised in that instant that he had thrown himself not towards Tim, but towards Dick.
Tim had almost died today and while Bruce had assured him that he had saved himself well, Bruce knew that one single moment of hesitation would have changed everything.
Dick’s knuckles were bruised but Tim’s entire side was too from where he had slammed into the side of the building, mere inches from hitting the ground itself.
“Walk away.” Bruce said.
Two words, two words that should have been anything else because Bruce should be checking in with his eldest, he should be assuring him that he had done all that he could to keep Tim safe, he should be making certain that Dick’s memories of his parents fall hadn’t been too overwhelming after Tim very almost met the same fate before his very eyes.
Dick’s hands were shaking and while Bruce knew that he was trying to make it seem as though it was anger, there was no denying the fear that had soaked through to his very bones.
“It was his own damn fault, B,” Dick said. “We can’t just brush it aside and pretend it’s okay he made such a stupid mistake, I trained him better than that, you trained him better than that. Complacency gets people killed out there!”
“Tim will be reprimanded appropriately in due time. For now, I think it would be best if you go.”
“Go. Go. Fine then, I’ll fuck off again! It’s not like I have any skin in the game anyway, he’s only my-”
Dick faltered and while Bruce’s mind filled in the word Brother, he latched onto new information just as quickly. Dick’s chest had hitched. It had hitched and his pupils had dilated and his fists had balled so tightly that the bruises looked wrong and within that single instant, at the lingering nothingness of that single word, Dick had changed.
“Dick,”
Dick’s shoulders dipped low, not even bothering to hide his wince as he shifted his shoulder wrong.
“I can’t lose another one.”
It was raw and it was broken and Bruce should surge towards him.
He should close the distance, take his Son into his arms and he should tell him that this wasn’t the same, that this wasn’t Jason but Bruce found that he could not move at all because it was slowly setting in that it genuinely had been close.
Every single night they went out there, it was with the understanding that they very well might not come back again and yet somehow that very same notion now sent ice through Bruce’s veins because now he knew that it could be a reality.
People could die out there.
His children, his children, could die out there.
Dick’s lip wobbled and Bruce was there, he was there and he was holding Dick and Dick was holding on just as tightly, head buried into Bruce’s chest.
He sobbed, hard, but Bruce ran a hand up and down Dick’s back, giving him something other than his own agony to focus on. It wasn’t only that Tim had fallen, it was that Dick had not reached him in time.
He had watched, just as Bruce had, as Tim’s very life was saved with a single wire and instinct.
Tim himself hadn’t realised just how close he had been until the adrenaline had worn off and then it had all hit him at once. Bruce had held Tim too, held his boy as Tim’s nails clawed at his arms, his sides, his back, as if he was trying desperately to catch him all over again.
Bruce had held Tim too on that street, cradling him just as he had cradled Jason, waiting for his final breath, his final words, his final moment, before Tim had finally managed to push Bruce away with rushed assurances that he was fine when he clearly wasn’t.
It had been a mistake, yes, a mistake that should not have happened, certainly, just as it was a mistake that would play over and over in Bruce’s dreams forevermore.
The adrenaline drop had been absolute, draining Tim of not only his fear but also his energy. Bruce had coaxed Tim into lying down on his lap if only to prove to himself that Tim really was still here, that his Son, his precious Son, really was alive.
And Tim was alive.
Tim was alive and Dick was alive and while there were days he felt as though he was little more than an empty husk of the man he had once been, Bruce was alive too.
They were alive and they were here and Bruce’s hand cupped the back of Dick’s neck as though to pull him ever closer.
Dick pressed harder against him, taking in a shuddering uneven breath and then another and another until finally he managed to take one in without it catching.
They didn’t move, not for a little while, not even when Dick’s heart, once pounding against Bruce’s own, settled into something far slower.
“I can’t lose another one, B.” Dick rasped. “I can’t.”
Bruce wanted to claim that he won’t. He wanted more than anything to tell his Son that he was never going to lose a loved one ever again but they both knew that it would be a lie.
It might not have been today, or even tomorrow, or a decade from now but Dick will lose someone else, Bruce will lose someone else and there wasn’t going to be anything either of them could do about it except be there to hold the other up when it happens.
Bruce pressed a kiss to Dick’s head, lingering for an eternity.
When Dick at last pulled away, he didn’t fully leave Bruce’s embrace, a hand still wrapped in Bruce’s shirt as though Dick really was eight years old again, clutching onto Bruce like a lifeline.
“Dick?”
The voice was small, still laced with sleep.
“Don’t blame Bruce…” Tim mumbled.
As Bruce turned, he found that Tim was sitting up, one leg already off the couch as if to stand while the other was still tucked beneath the blanket. His blinks were slow, his head dipped down not only in exhaustion but… Shame?
“I messed up.” Tim said. “I know. But it’s not Bruce’s fault.”
“Timmy,” Dick sighed.
At last Dick pulled fully away from Bruce if only to run a hand through his hair.
“Look,” Dick said. “Tim, we really do need to talk about protocols but how’re ‘bout we just drop it for a day or two? Make sure you’re all good first.”
“I’ll do better.” Tim said. “I… I’ll do better.”
Tim tried to stand but he became tangled in the blanket, the only thing that kept him from falling outright was Bruce launching forward and catching onto his arm. If Tim even noticed the contact, he didn’t react to it. He didn’t put any weight onto Bruce at all, not even to push him away.
“I’ll do better.”
It was barely more than a whisper, the words a jumble of sound.
At last free from the blanket, Tim took a step towards the door but his legs wobbled far too much to get further than just a few inches. Bruce tried to coax him into sitting back down but Tim wasn’t having it, insistent that he get to the door.
Dick was moving too, blocking Tim’s path.
“C’mon Bud,” Dick said. “It’s been a long night, just get some rest.”
Another step and Tim’s legs were buckling.
Bruce caught him easily, shifting him back onto the couch in one smooth movement, hoping to not spark any pain. Tim’s right hand fumbled and while Bruce thought that he was trying to force Bruce away, he instead gripped onto Bruce’s shoulder.
Kneeling beside the couch, keeping Tim steady, Bruce eyed him carefully.
He was pale, far paler than even when his adrenaline had dropped earlier. His breathing was laboured too though Bruce had no doubt that Tim was trying to keep it silent. Tim’s head was dipping again, his eyes glazed.
“Tim?” Bruce said. “Tim, can you hear me?”
Tim hummed.
The teenager stood or at least he planted his feet to the ground and pushed up though he didn’t make it off the couch at all.
Dick had gone completely still near by but Bruce focused solely on Tim. One hand on Tim’s shoulder, keeping him sitting, his other came to rest on the pulse point on his neck.
Fast.
Too fast.
Internal bleeding?
Bruce had checked over the bruises that ran up Tim’s side the very moment they got back to the Cave and while he hadn’t detected anything dangerous on the scans that Tim had tried to refuse, it was possible that there had been a bleed that Bruce hadn’t found.
It would explain his racing heart, and his paleness. Even Tim’s confusion, those repeating words and seemingly distant awareness of his very own movements was consistent with internal injury and if that was the case then this really was Bruce’s fault.
Bruce had assessed him, he had assessed the boy and had been wrong and now Tim’s condition was worsening and worsening quickly.
They needed to get him to the cave. Better yet, they needed to get him to Leslie or Gotham General.
“I’ll do better.” Tim said.
“Tim.” Bruce said. “If you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hands.”
“I’ll do better.”
Bruce shifted, gathering Tim up and into his arms. Tim pressed a hand against him as though to push him away again but just as quickly, Tim was leaning up against Bruce’s chest, practically melting into the contact.
“Warm…”
Dick still was unmoving, even as Bruce went to pass him.
“Out of my way.” Bruce demanded.
“B, something’s not right.”
“Out. Of my way.”
Every single thing that Tim was demonstrating was consistent with significant internal bleeding and they both knew full well that he had gone through an event that could have caused it and now Tim was barely conscious and even less aware of what was going on around him. He needed a blood transfusion and very likely surgery and yet Dick was standing in Bruce’s way.
Bruce shoved against him, careful to cradle Tim close to his chest but Dick pushed back.
“Something’s wrong.” Dick insisted. “It’s not bleeding, he would have already decomped if it was.”
But Tim could have easily aggravated something in trying to stand or Bruce could have been the one to make things worse by having moved him off of his lap or a dozen other things and Tim needed medical intervention. He needed intervention and he needed it now and Tim was becoming heavier in his arms and Dick still wasn’t moving.
“Dick.” Bruce forced out.
“Put him down.” Dick said. “Now.”
Tim’s breathing changed and Bruce scrambled to get him not to the couch, but to the ground itself.
Dick was already shoving the coffee table away as Bruce got Tim onto his side, hushing Tim as he made a sound.
With the coffee table away, Dick launched towards the couch itself to get a cushion and Bruce helped him to get it under Tim’s head just as the seizure started outright.
Tim’s muscles contracted, his whole body shuddering from the strain. His eyes weren’t open, not completely, but they were fluttering.
“Easy, easy,” Dick murmured. “You’re okay, shh, you’re okay.”
Even as Dick spoke he was already setting a timer on his watch as Bruce kept Tim on his side, careful not to restrain him while equally making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt himself.
Like clockwork, Dick did every single thing that Bruce had trained him to do in an event of a seizure. Without hesitation, without panic, simple following of protocol.
“You’re safe, Tim,” Dick said. “You’re safe, we’re right here, everything’s okay, we’re right here.”
Bruce’s own words failed him but Dick filled the silence easily, even when a sharp gasp was punched out of Tim.
Foam bubbled at the corner of Tim’s mouth but Bruce kept his airway clear as best he could.
“You’re okay, that’s it, you’re okay.”
Tim’s hand flexed too far but he showed no reaction to it, even when it happened again.
The seizure was running too long but they had no medications up here that could help and even if they did, Bruce could not be certain what had caused the episode to begin with.
“You’re okay, you’re alright, we’ve got you.”
Tim’s body shifted. Then again. Again. Then he was stilling.
“That’s it, that’s it Bud, you’re okay.”
Dick waited an extra beat, making certain that the seizure was fully over before he stopped the timer.
“Four o’ seventeen.” Dick said roughly.
Under five minutes, a crushing relief that was swiftly replaced with new concern because Tim should not have had a seizure to begin with, let alone one that had almost passed the most dangerous threshold.
There had been no contact with toxins or poisons while on patrol, Tim had not hit his head, not even when he had hit the ground.
Tim’s eyes fluttered and he whimpered.
“Easy, Son.” Bruce said.
Tim tried again to fully open his eyes but he flinched away from it, burying his head into the pillow.
“It’s too bright.”
Dick shot up to his feet, crossing the room and tugging each and every curtain closed.
“Tim?” Bruce said.
It was probably far too soon for Tim to fully register that Bruce was there but Bruce needed to know. He needed to know that his boy was okay, that his son was okay.
Tim’s head shifted, just a little, just enough for Bruce to see the line of foam running down from his mouth. Bruce wiped it away, hushing him when Tim whimpered again. His eyes at last fully cracked open but they were still glazed and unfocused.
“Tim, can you hear me?”
A hum, one that could easily be an affirmation just as much as it could be a coincidence.
Bruce pivoted fully, positioning himself in front of Tim and blocking Dick’s way as Dick tried to come back.
Taking Tim’s hands into his own, his cold cold hands, Bruce asked him to squeeze.
Tim moaned, his legs moving a little as though to curl into himself but he simply didn’t have the strength.
“Give him time, B.”
“Call an ambulance.”
“Already done.”
Bruce blinked hard, not remembering when Dick had done just that. He cursed himself because unawareness like that could be dangerous, it could be deadly even and Bruce needed to be better than that.
Tim made another sound.
It was almost words and while the sounds weren’t quite right, the syllables were.
I’ll do better.
“Tim, can you try to squeeze my hands?”
Tim tried to pull away but Bruce didn’t let him.
“Robin.” Bruce barked out. “Squeeze my hands.”
At last Tim did and while it was undeniably weak, both grips were even.
“Don’t yell at him.” Dick said lowly.
But it had worked and it had been necessary and Dick of all people should understand that.
“Get wet cloths.” Bruce said. “His temperature is rising. An after effect of the seizure, one that we can mitigate.”
“Don’t order me around.”
Cupping Tim’s cheek, smoothing away a stray tear, Bruce levelled a glare at Dick.
“Go.”
Dick glowered, at last turning and disappearing into the hallway.
More sounds, this time almost outright words. No, it was only one word.
“There’s nothing to apologise for, Tim.” Bruce said. “Just relax.”
Tim tried to rise and while Bruce had readied himself to keep Tim as he was, Tim’s own body was what kept him on the ground.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Easy, Tim.”
“Should do better. Will… Will do better.”
“Tim,”
Tim shuddered then, his body curling into himself. For a moment, a soul chilling moment, Bruce thought that he was going into another episode but then Tim was gagging instead.
Bruce rubbed his back, keeping Tim on his side as he lurched again.
“Breathe through it, Lad, that’s it. It’ll pass.”
A whimper then, and new tears running down Tim’s face that Bruce brushed away with his free hand.
“It’ll pass.” Bruce promised, soothing him as he gagged again. “It’ll pass.”
At last it did and while Tim hadn’t fully managed to throw up, he still looked so miserable that Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if he would have felt better if he had.
Tim tried to sit up and this time it really was Bruce who kept him lying down. He was quickly regaining strength but Tim was still coming out of the seizure, they were going to need to take this slow.
“Tim,” Bruce said. “Do you know where you are?”
“I’m sorry.” Tim said. “I’ll do better.”
“Tim. Tell me where we are right now.”
A hard blink and then another, even the overhead light seemingly too bright for him.
“Manor.” Tim croaked. “First floor… B, I think I’m gonna be-”
Tim was lurching again but all at once Dick was there, pressing a vomit bag into Bruce’s hand while he carried a wet face cloth.
“That’s it Bud,” Dick soothed.
Tim threw up again but while Bruce waited for him to be sick again, he wasn’t. Tim very much was shaking though, those glazed eyes slowly sharpening.
“What happened?” Tim asked.
He blinked again, taking in fully his surrounds. While he had already correctly deduced that they were in the Manor, Tim’s gaze now focused on not only the pillow he was rested on but the coffee table that had been moved away.
“Seizure?” He said slowly. “But… But that doesn’t…”
While it was beyond reassuring that he was regaining his bearings so quickly, Bruce was already running through each and every possibility.
“The fall.” Dick said quietly.
Tim hadn’t hit his head, not even when he had slowed his descent enough to save his own life but not enough to not hit the ground outright but the fact that he had fallen to begin with was a concern all and of itself.
He hadn’t simply fallen then, Tim might very well have lost consciousness only to come to just in time to catch himself.
Bruce’s chest ached, realising just how close he could have come to death after all.
“No.” Tim said. “Just lost my balance, is all, won’t happen again.”
Even as Tim spoke though, his energy was waning.
Tim curled into himself a little more, his lip trembling.
“I’ll do better.”
It wasn’t Tim that needed to do better, but Bruce.
Bruce should have known before patrol that something was wrong, he should have known that Tim’s tiredness upon returning home hadn’t simply been an adrenaline drop from being upset but something far more sinister.
Tim’s eyelids drooped but he didn’t let himself fall asleep.
He reached out towards Bruce but then he was letting his hand drop again as if reconsidering what it was he had wanted to do.
Bruce understood all the same. He shifted once more, his back pressing up against the couch while Dick helped to ease Tim onto Bruce’s lap.
Tim fought the contact only for a moment before his eyes were welling up with tears.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’ll do better.”
Bruce hushed him, smoothing the hair from his face.
Tim was still too warm but Dick wiped the sweat from his skin gently, never once making Tim hurt.
“Rest.” Bruce said.
The ambulance should be arriving soon and while Bruce’s chest ached to think that he would need to go to the hospital, there was no denying that without a history of seizures Tim would need to be checked out.
He wanted to stay here for a moment longer though, his son curled up in his lap, carding fingers through dark hair. He wanted to stay like this, just one moment longer, watching Tim’s chest rise and fall like Jason’s no longer did.
A hand rested on Bruce’s shoulder and when he met Dick’s eye, his eldest offered a broken smile.
“This isn’t Jay.” Dick said softly. “He’s going to be okay.”
They didn’t know that, of course they didn’t know that, yet Bruce clung to the words all the same.
It had only taken a few moments of quiet for Tim’s eyes to slip fully closed and then only another minute or so before his breathing deepened but this time Bruce did not shift him up and onto the couch proper.
Dick was careful in how he set the blanket over Tim, making sure that he wouldn’t get tangled in the fabric if he suddenly came awake or had another seizure.
Bruce ran fingers through Tim’s hair,
“You’re a good brother, Dick.”
The words were raw, Bruce’s heart alongside them.
Dick’s face softened, those baby blues glistening as his shoulders dipped low.
“And you’re a good Dad.”
But Bruce had not been good enough, he had not been fast enough.
Jason was gone.
He was gone and he was not coming back but Dick was still here, he was still here in this house, still by Bruce’s side even after all the terrible things Bruce has said to him, and Tim was now here too.
They were going to be okay.
It was not going to be easy, life never was, but they were going to be okay.