#Leslie: Tim. you still have your spleen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redrobinfection · 5 years

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(14) Chills

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 14 “Chills”

~*~

"Hey! You alive in here?" Tim calls as he enters Jason's safehouse, carefully balancing a shopping bag of 'goodies' on his hip and ducking low to avoid snagging his backpack on the frame as he steps through the window.

A bedraggled head sticks out of the bathroom doorway at half the height one would expect. "Tim? You shouldn't be here," Jason croaks, hauling himself to his feet with the support of the door frame. He looks awful, face pale, cheeks flushed, and dark circles under his eyes. It's only been a day and a half since his symptoms appeared, including copious vomiting, but he already looks gaunt and hollowed out.

Tim ignores him, continues on into the little kitchen, and begins unloading his supplies onto the counter. He's brought an arsenal of medical supplies: anti-nausea meds, antibiotics, fluids and electrolytes - both IV and oral - various disease test kits, portable diagnostic equipment, as well as broths and soups sent straight from Alfred along with saltine crackers, sports drinks, ginger teas, and ginger ale for when Jason’s appetite comes back. He loads the soup containers, drinks and antibiotics into the fridge, keeping his back turned even as he hears Jason shuffle into the kitchen.

"Let me rephrase that: you can't be here. I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills and I've been hurling my guts out of both ends all night and all day. It isn't safe for you," Jason tells him, hovering at the edge of the kitchen like he wants to step forward and shake Tim by the shoulders but knows he shouldn't.

Tim turns and closes the distance between them in two quick steps, raising a thermometer to Jason's temple while laying the back of his hand across his forehead. Jason startles a second too late.

"T-Tim! What are you doing?! Get away!" He tries to back up, but bumps into the wrap-around counter, knees buckling. Tim grips his forearm firmly to bolster him and follows diligently, holding the thermometer steady until he hears a beep.

"One hundred point nine," Tim reads off, nodding sagely. "That's not too bad. Overall, how are you feeling? Have you been able to keep down any fluids in the past twelve hours?" he asks as he pinches the skin of Jason's forearm to perform the skin elasticity test for gauging dehydration. "Mmm, from that I'm going to say 'no' or 'not enough', huh?"

Jason swats away his hand wildly then leans back over the counter away from the other hand Tim lifts undeterred to pull down Jason's lower eyelid in order to gauge the sunkenness of his eyes.

"Wha-wha-what are you doing?" Jason pants, eyes wild. "You can't be here, I have the flu; you can't touch me, I'm going to get you sick!"

Tim shakes his head, but takes a step back, making soothing motions with his hands. "It's fine, Jason, I made sure to--"

"It's not f-f-fine!" Jason hisses, teeth chattering with a full body shiver. "You could die, Spleen-less Wonder!"

Tim raises his eyebrows. "If you would stop running away from me for five minutes, or stop to answer my calls then you’d--"

"I w-was ru-ru-running to protect you!"

Five minutes after his first episode of vomiting, Jason had run out of Tim's apartment like the building was on fire, and then proceeded to lead Tim on a very bizarre game of tag through five separate safehouses over the past day and a half. Tim had been half convinced their wild chase would end with him finding Jason passed out in the street, or on some rooftop, between one place and the next. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or tear his hair out over the whole thing. Probably all of the above.

"I th-th-thought you'd given up by now!"

No, he hadn’t given up, but Tim also hadn't wanted to find Jason passed out in the street somewhere, so he had given Jason space and watched from a distance while he gathered evidence and ran tests.

He reaches into his back pocket, unfolds a Batcomputer print-out and shoves it into Jason's face. Jason frowns as he leans in to read the fine print.

"These are the results of comprehensive pathogen testing on a sample of stool and a sample of the foods we consumed the other night," Tim explains to him. "The tests are conclusive: you have food poisoning, not the flu. The food you ate and your stool both test positive for salmonella."

Jason blinks and his eyes dart to Tim with a flash of worry. "But... but you're okay? You didn't eat any of the contaminated foods?"

Tim smiles warmly at Jason for his concern and shakes his head. "No. Alfred and I are pretty sure it was contained to the sausage on your pizza. We didn't find salmonella in anything else and I didn't eat any of yours, only my own."

"Oh, thank fuck," Jason sighs in relief, sagging back into the counter. "Wait," he freezes, pinning Tim with an odd look, "Did you say stool? How the hell did you get a sample of my shit! When?!"

Tim snorts. "I mean, you did leave an incredible wake of contamination in your path as you fled from place to place." Jason glares and Tim shrugs. "You, uh, forgot to flush the toilet at your second stop. I collected it there."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Even if this is food poisoning, you still have to be careful collecting food samples, touching me, touching my shit--literal and figurative... Jeez, if you get a salmonella infection, that could fuck you up for the long term, Babybird."

Tim nods. "I know. I brought gloves, disinfectant, and plenty of hand soap. I plan to be careful. Alfred will never let me hear the end of it if I'm not."

Jason doesn't look happy about it, but he nods his acceptance, trembling as another chill wracks his body with violent shivers. Tim's brow crinkles in concern. He turns to scoop up some of his supplies then steers Jason toward the couch with a light touch on his elbow.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch while I prep some fluids for you. I'm guessing you haven't been holding much down--or in--for more than a few minutes at a time?"

"Try not at all," Jason croaks as he subconsciously pulls his elbow away and shuffles to the couch on his own.

Tim grimaces in sympathy. "The diarrhea hasn't let up either?"

"Nope."

"Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Jason makes a face. "No," he gasps, gagging slightly. "Ugh. Can you grab me a bucket or something while you're at it?"

"On it."

Tim brings Jason his sick pail, then proceeds to take more vitals and pulls a blood sample to send along to Alfred. Jason suffers through it with as much grace as he can summon between breaks to gag and retch into his bucket.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood, so I brought antibiotics along just in case," Tim tells him.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood!" Jason shoots back hoarsely as he comes up from another round of vomiting.

"Don't worry, besides taking sanitary precautions, Alfred started me on a course of preventative antibiotics, just in case I did ingest contaminated material and haven't begun showing symptoms," Tim reassures as he begins prepping Jason’s forearm for the IV.

"Wha-what if you get sick? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Alfred will be by shortly to pick up the blood sample and check up on us, and if at any point I start to show symptoms, you or I are supposed to call Leslie immediately. The alternative is for you to return with me to the Manor." Tim wrinkles his nose to say what he thinks of that alternative.

"Nope. Here s-sounds g-g-good," Jason replies, teeth still chattering. Tim finishes inserting the catheter, starts up the fluids, tapes and then wraps the IV site.

"Okay, that should be good to go for a while. We'll know in a few hours if you'll need the IV antibiotics. For now…" he trails off, taking in the small, nearly empty safehouse and then the shivering form of one miserable Jason Todd. "How about we cuddle up on the couch and binge some Netflix?"

"I don't have a TV."

Tim smirks. "Do you think I go anywhere without my laptop and an unlimited 4G data plan?"

He sets up his laptop on a tray table in front of the couch and retrieves several clean blankets from the hall closet. He drapes two of the blankets across Jason's shoulders, which he accepts with a murmur of appreciation, then seats himself beside Jason and spreads another across their laps. He cuddles up to Jason and attempts to wrap an arm around him, his shorter stature be damned.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" Jason stutters, leaning away with a comically alarmed expression.

"You've got the chills, so I brought you some blankets and I’m snuggling you?”

"No, why are you practically on top of me! What if I throw up on you?" Jason wails, attempting to push away. Tim pulls him close and hands him the sick pail.

"You're a crack shot, Jay, so I trust that you won't miss at point blank," he teases.

Jason glares balefully, but gives up trying to pull free. "You're still gonna get sick…" he grumbles.

"I doubt it, but if that's a risk I have to take to snuggle you, then I'll take it."

Jason sags into him and grumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said you're an idiot with a d-d-death wish," Jason growls between shivers.

Tim chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. "Whoa, there, Jay, I think you need to chill out."

"Tim."

#my writing #christmasriverswrites #jaytim #saf's spooktober prompts #new for spooktober 2019 #sick fic #tw vomit #tw vomiting #tw illness #tw food poisoning #tw diarrhea #tw bodily fluids #barely edited and i'm not happy with it but i'm still sick myself and way out of fucks to give

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solarcelest · 5 years

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Show Time

How Tim was somehow the one that drew the short straw when there was so many other damn people that could have taken the brat, he didn’t know. But somehow, karma for something he must have done, he had the responsibility of bringing the demon to the doctors. Apparently, no one cared that Tim was currently without a spleen.

That’s how he found himself, sitting in a pediatric waiting room, hissing at a sick ten year old to shut up and behave. Leslie’s clinic would have been the first option, but this was an illness Damian had caught from his germ infested elementary school, and they had been forced to keep up appearances.

The meeting with the doctor was short and quick, thank god, and after a quick swab to the back of the nose, it was confirmed Damian had the flu. The strain had been going around for a while and because no one had brought the kid to get his vaccination (Alfred would be furious), he had contracted a rather nasty case.

After setting an order for the antibiotics and popping a few of his own for his spleen, Tim had to literally carry the kid from the office. Not that he would ever admit it, but the action made him nervous, whether the doctor said it was normal for little kids to lose the ability to walk during the flu or not. It scared him even more that according to the pediatrician, Damian still fit under the ‘little kid’ category.

It was late at night, nearly eight on a Thursday (because that’s when the brat deemed it a convenient time to start dying), when they started towards the car. The other bats would be patrolling soon, if they weren’t already, while Alfred manned the coms and Tim got stuck trying to wrangle a kid into a car seat so they could go to the twenty four hour CVS around the corner. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to finish, but Tim could only be grateful Damian was asleep. If the kid hadn’t been, and was a little more coherent, Tim would not be coming away unscathed.

He shut the back door and moved around the car to driver’s seat, palming his keys in his hand. There was a sudden crunch.

It sounded like feet on gravel, or drying dirt, coming from somewhere beyond the tall bundle of spring flowers that lay, now suspiciously, in front of the car. Tim pauses, ears and eyes alert, body in a ready stance as he listened.

One minute, two, there was nothing. No sound, no movement, no indication that there was anyone other than a zonked our ten year old for company in the abandoned parking lot.

Still cautious, he proceeds to open the door to the driver’s seat and climbs in. The whole process is surprisingly rather anti-climactic. As is the drive to the pharmacy, and the little old lady in the drive through prescription pick up window. The entire ordeal goes without a hitch until they’re on cruise down the interstate home.

A cop car, the only car for a while at this time on night during the week, comes seemingly out of no where, light flashing and siren blaring. The car looks like the typical GCPD car and Tim sighs. There are two options here, either it Jim Gordon, or someone is being really rude about his two day expired inspection sticker.

He pulls over after a quick check in the review mirror. The sirens are loud and Damian’s a light sleeper, he’s beginning to stir and wriggle uncomfortably in his seat. Tim’s growing more annoyed as the night grows on.

The cop slows to a stop behind them, two cops (so not Gordan, then) exit the car and come to the driver’s window.

“ Look guys, I get inspections are important but I’ve got a sick kid in the back-“ Tim starts as soon as he thinks the cops are near enough to hear him. He’s blabbering, he knows, but he’s had enough of sick kids and their bullshit and really just wants to go back to the case he was working on earlier. A fresh cup of some hot coffee sounds terry good too.

The cops are oddly silent, standing so close to the cars open window that Tims view of their heads is cut off. One of them appears male, arms crossed over his chest ass he stands closer to the back door. The other, a women by her build, standing directly infant of Tim window, hand resting near her waist.

it takes longer than he should Tim was being naive and had been giving the cops of the benefit of the doubt, but warning bells begin to blare in the back of his head. The cops are two silent, their GCPD badged look to be made out of plastic instead of metal and the male is too close to Damian for Tim’s comfort.

He feels stupid that he didn’t realize the threat earlier, and his hand immidialaty goes to the panic button on his belt as he hurries to slam his foot back into the gas. the movements are a moment too soon, they are rushed and sloppy. his foots lips over the gas pedal before the car has even moved an inch, he thinks he hit the right button on his belt, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it all before the cop lady reaches for her taser and everything goes black.

***

Waking up in warehouses shouldn’t come as shock anymore. It doesn’t really, if Tim’s being honest with himself its become more of an annoyance. But there’s something almost admirabely creative about pretending to be cops in order to bag a couple rich kids. Tim appreciates the irony, even if only a little bit.

What he does not appreciate, is the literal bag over his head, and the duck tape closed over his mouth thats both itchy making it hard to breathe.

Tim’s body aches, sore from the electricity of the taser. It’s because of this, and his lack of coffee, that it takes Tim a moment to shake the bag off his head. As soon as the musty fabric is finally thrown to the floor, he’s reminded of something very important.

About ten feet away, facing Tim, sits Damian. His wrists and ankles are tied to the chair. The kid doesn’t have bag on his head, or, if he did, he was a lot faster than Tim at removing it. Damian’s eyes are half lidded and his skin is frightfully pale. He’s got sweet dripping from his mussed hair but he’s shivering with fever.

Tim is seething.

Its one thing to kidnap Tim, its even more ballsy to kidnap Damian as well, but to take them while the kid is dying of flu? Thats asking to be pummeled by: Every. Single. Bat. For once, Tim is glad there’s an endless supply of them.

“ Damian.” He attempts to hiss through the duck tape, trying, and somewhat succeeding, in scooting his chair closer to the younger boy.

Damian looks up, and whether it at the mumble of his name or the scraping of the chair on the concrete floors, Tim isn’t sure. What little of the boys eyes he can see are blood red and teary, it makes Tim wince. “How you holding up?” He asks.

Damian opens his mouth to respond, but instead gives a painful, chest rattling cough. The heavy steel door opens at the same moment.

“ Ah, I see you boys are awake.” Its the women again, except this time she’s dressed in all black and doesn’t have any weapons visible. Still, Tim had learned that means exactly jack shit, especially when the way she says ‘boys’ sends an unwanted chill down his spine. Tim screams through the tape, and she smiles as she approaches.

“ Now, now. We’ll have none of that. If you want to speak, you’ll do so as gentleman.” Her nails are long like black talons, and sharp as she reaches to rip the tape from Tims mouth.

“ Let. Us. Go.” Tim growls, licking his chapped lips.

“ Hmm, I thought you were supposed to be a smart boy.” The clicking her heels made on the concrete floor made Tim want to chop her feet off. “Kidnappings don’t work that way, sweetie.”

“ What do you want then?” Tim snips. “Money? Press? What is it?”

“ Well, originally, yes. But now, I’m more interested in watching your family dissolve.”

“ What?”

“ Well you see, after we broadcast some live feed to your father, he’ll offer a ransom. We won’t accept it, there will be no address, no clues, no saving. I’d rather watch those wretched Waynes suffer through the endless footage.” Her logic was sadistic, no doubt psychotic.

“ You expect them to watch us for days and not do anything about it?” Tim said. He gave them thirty seconds before they began tracking the footage. “Not one Wayne kidnapping has ever been successful.”

“ Do you really think the little one has days left in him?” The kidnapper laugh, waving a hand at Damians slumped form. “Doubtful. And don’t think I didn’t look into statistics. I did, and thoroughly at that.”

“ Then you know you won’t succeed.” Tim was shaking, anger boiling like fire in his veins.

“ Thats the thing, Timothy.” The name rolled of her tongue in a sick, and twisted way. “All of those failed kidnappings had one thing in common. They wanted a reward, I want death.” Her heals clicked towards the shutting industrial door, and a tiny camera in the corner of the room lit green.

***

As soon as the door shut Tim began working on his bindings, camera be damned. The ropes were easy to escape, done by an amateur and the fact gave Tim a little more hope for their rescue.

As soon as he was freed he flung himself over to his brothers chair, slipping the boy easily out of the ropes and cradling his small, feverish body.

“ D-drake.” Damian said, voice dry from lack of water and disuse. His eyes were still only half open, and his lips moved sluggishly as he attempted to speak. Tim feared how long they had been unconscious.

“ I’m here Dames, you hanging on for me?” The question almost gets stuck in his throat as Tim realizes what exactly he’s doing. He’s holding Damian. The Demon child of all people, is cradled in his arms. The feeling is foreign, a touch unknown to Tims skin. Who would have thought the kid would be so light and downright tiny?

For Damian, the question takes a moment to process, and another moment to respond to. His throat is thick with soreness and mucus and his lungs on fire with every breath. He vaguely remembers going to the doctors and being thrown into the trunk of a cop car.

“ L-let g-go.” He struggles to say, feeling and weakly pushing at Drake arms. The idiot is insane, holding Damian when he’s this ill. When Drake doesn’t even have a spleen.

“ Dames, stop.” Tim’s confused, and concerned. The response wasn’t even close to an answer to his question and the kid was shoving at him like he didn’t know who was holding him. Damian’s fever wasn’t that high he hoped.

“ S-spleen.” He hears through a wet cough.

They both stop moving. Damian too tired and Tim in a bout of shock. In all honesty, hadn’t thought Damian would care. Actually, he hadn’t even been aware Damian knew about that. Tim had only mentioned it maybe once or twice around the kid, but never directly to him.

“ I took medicine, kiddo, we don’t need to worry about me.” We need to worry about you, hung in the air like a rancid smell. They were both well aware of it’s presence, but neither wanted to mention it. Saying it would make it that much more real.

“ Father will come to us.” Damian rasps. Tim’s heart doesn’t know whether to fill or clench at the childish belief in their dad. Tim wants to believe it too, wants to believe Bruce and the others have already secured their location through the tape they are no doubt receiving through the camera on the ceiling. But theres the other part of him as well. The adult part of him that knows how the world likes to be an unfair place, and Bruce might not even be watching the footage, might already be out on patrol, that Damian might die before they have a real chance at rescue.

Instead, he swallows those thoughts. “ He sure will, Dames.”

The next few hours are excruciating for all parties involved. The live stream came in through the living room Tv, perfectly timed as Alfred was just coming through from the kitchen, a plate of post patrol sandwiched and tea in his arms. The pixels displayed his two youngest grandchildren, crumpled on the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, ripped clothes and untied ropes. The sound of low whispering grabbed the butlers attention, he turned forwards the sound, half expecting a fight..... the silver tray clattered to the ground as he soaked in the projected image.

“ Alfie? Are you okay?” Dick called, footsteps pounding down the grand staircase in response to the loud sound. His focus was on Alfred but seeing as the man was fixating on the large screen, he adjusting his gaze. “ Oh my god.” He said, already turning and running down the hall, a shout of “BRUCE!” falling hastily from his lips.

Not a moment later there were two pairs of large feet thundering down the hall of the manor.

“ Dick, what is it?” Bruce asked, slightly worried at his sons quickened pace. A quick hand gesture at the tv confirmed any suspicions he previously had.

“ Is this live?” He asked, straight to the point. Tim was on the screen, sitting in a concrete room, his nose was bleeding and his hair was wild. He was rocking Damian, who in contrast was sickly pale instead of his usual tan and sweating profusely.

“ Yes, Master Bruce.” Alfred replied, shattered dishes completely forgotten on the floor.

“ Damian’s sick.” Bruce muttered, hand already running through his hair.

“ Tim was bringing him to the doctor.” Dick whispered, his hands were clenched in shaking fists, his teeth grinding.

Almost like the boy had heard his name, Tim looked up into the camera, blue eyes wide and alert.

“ Disguised as cops on interstate 95.” He says. His voice is clear and his words are carefully chosen. He doesn’t whisper, it’s like he doesn’t care if he’s overheard or not. Bruce wonders who his captors are, then wonders whether he really wants to know. “ He’s really sick, Bruce.” The name sent a shiver down Bruce’s

spine. Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, not Red Robin and Robin. Not vigilantes, kids. And one of them was really sick.

“ Hang on boys, I’m coming.” He doubted they could here him.

***

Tracking down his boys proved to be more challenging than Bruce had initially thought. The litter of ropes he has seen around the kids had hinted to him that this was an amateur hostage situation.

He was wrong.

They weren’t in a warehouse, or near the docks in fact, Bruce was starting to lose hope that they were still in Gotham at all. There was no trace, no sigma from the feed continuously sent to his living room, nothing but Tim’s forgotten car on the side of the interstate.

Even with both him and Dick on the case, they were still coming to dead ends with every new lead. A time was running out. It had been nearly twenty four hours. Nearly a day of not sleeping and constantly hunting for his boys while Damian got more and more sick. Any longer and he could lose his youngest son, his baby. Any longer and Tim would need another dose of his antibiotic or he would pick up Damian’s flu.

Dick was the one that made the call for help.

Jason showed in no time, not wasting another moment that could mean his younger brothers safety. Now, the three of them sat around the computer in the cave, pouring themselves into different locations known to host criminal bases.

“ There’s no signal from the stream?” Jason asked, red helmet sitting in his lap.

“ No. It’s different, Tim said the kidnappers don’t want us to find them.” Bruce said, sighing and rubbing his hand through his hair… again…

“ They just want to make us suffer.” Dick growled.

“ Those bastards.” Jason cursed.

“ There’s nothing, not in the city or near the docks. Not even in the surrounding areas.” Bruce said, throwing his head into his hands. Not a lot got to see him do this, it kind of scared Dick and Jason.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, sitting and thinking about the consequences if they kept coming up with nothing.

“ Wait, did you check underground?” Jason suddenly asked.

“ What do you mean, Jay?”

“ Underground, like how the killer crock moves around.” Jason explained. “ Maybe there in a facility beneath the city, where they would be a lot harder to track. I mean, there weren’t any windows in the room, right?” He finished up, looking at Batman expectantly. Bruce stared back dumbfounded.

“ Jay your a genius!” Dick exclaimed.

“ Old man needs to step up his game if we wants to remain the worlds greatest detective.”

“ We should call Clark.” Dick sighed.

“ What? Why would we do that?” Brice asked.

“ He has supervision. Bruce, I know you hate asking for help, especially from him but… this is for Tim and Damian. Where running out of time.” Jason and Dick looked at their father figure, they all knew the decision had been made.

“ Let’s call Clark.”

Thirty minutes later, they were bursting through a manhole just outside of Gothams business center. Stealth and preservation of the city be damned, Bruce was done. So DONE, with having to watch his kids suffer, with not being able to find them no matter what he did.

He had Clark with him- or superman, in this case- he had Jim on his way, ready to arrest the kidnappers. They had Red Hood as back up and Nightwing collecting the ‘hostages’. But most important of all, the had Bruce Wayne waiting to see his kids.

He tugged on the cuffs of his wrinkled sleeves, ran a hand through his greasy and mussed hair. He tapped his foot as he listened to the fight below and the sirens coming closer as the police neared.

He listened to his kids reunite, he listened to the painful coughing and grunts coming through the broken concrete. He listened to the sound of superman’s cape fluttering as he flew back to the surface, and to the retracting grapple lines of his kids following.

He listened until he didn’t have to. Until he could feel. Until he could feel Damian’s pained sobs and Tim’s rushed air. Until he could feel superman’s cape fluttering as his friend laid a comforting had on his shoulder. Until he could finally feel his world stop crumbling.

#Tim Drake #timdrake #Damian Wayne #damianwayne #batbros #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

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For 700 Followers!

Hi babe. Ah, you know, I think we could really work something out because if there’s anything I like, it’s Tim trying to have the I am an island attitude with clingy, needy Bat Alphas right on his tail ;) Tbh, I wrote this once and it got lost, so I cried, but I’m going to give it another shot!

Also, just saying but there was also a short thing done about *ahem* toys in this au, and you’ll probably find a similar theme X

There is nothing worse than water in your fucking boots.

Seriously.

His impromptu dip in the harbor was completely worth the pain in the ass because Two-Face is going to live to see another day, and he even acted less crazy than normal when he was handcuffed by GCPD, quiet while he was taken away in the back of a squad car.

The best part? The villain told him he was glad he hadn’t filled him full of holes after all. Red Robin is going to take that as a win.

And since his sleuthing is done for the night, he can go back to his Perch in Gotham City and get out of these wet clothes and put his damn boots by a heating vent to dry out a little.

He feels good enough about the night to order a pizza and do his notes while a slice is hanging out of his mouth when dry clothes are a thing.

He has a fan turning lazily, trying to keep himself cooled down because the Heat symptoms just started to manifest while he was riding back from the take-down (all that wind rushing by while he’s in a wet suit and still he’s starting to get hot? Seriously, body, stop making shit harder on him).

The pre-Heat could take up to three hours before the main event starts, and he at least wants to get the notes done and go blackout before it happens.

He’s got a bunch of Gatorade and power bars from two weeks ago when Jay and Dick pretty much showed up just in time for him to go full blown. Luckily, Dick had picked up more on the way to his Perch since the God-forsaken sixth sense had struck again. Somehow, maybe some Pack Alpha instinct, Dick had known he was going to need them, and true to form, the last Heat had been particularly vicious, his body in physical pain when he was empty.

(And no, he doesn’t need a reminder how nice Dick and Jay were about it when he was literally fucking crying. Geeze, things he doesn’t need people to see for 100 Alex.)

Which means he should have been good for a month and a half, but Leslie had warned him going this long on suppressants would have some effects on him biologically. She’d mentioned he could have two Heats back-to-back as a sign his body is starting to regulate like any normal Omega. So, really, this pain-in-the-ass is his own fault anyway.

Notes done, he logs out of BI’s mainframe and shoots the Titan’s a quick message, In Gotham. Perfectly safe. Going to sleep for 24-36 hours. Don’t freak out about the blackout mode, and shuts down his main system in preparation.

Barefoot, he pads around to shut off the lights and fans, grabs a Gatorade, starts pulling his nerd shirt off on the way to the bedroom. Security in lockdown and he’s starting to feel the burn just a little bit more.

Not long now. Damn, hopefully this will be fast and furious.

A locked box in the back of the closet is deposited by the bed, his thumb print accepted. He shifts through the unopened packages until he gets the red one and the blue one out, laying them on the bed to open before the round of fuck my contingencies ramps up.

(His face is hot, and not because of the pre-Heat. The two knotting dildos were purchased when he started thinking one night about what he was going to do when his body started regulating out, so Dick and Jay wouldn’t need to play Alphas to his Omega anymore. Ironically, the two toys reminded him of their knots anyway, and he’d been guilty as fuck buying them.)

He’s already started sweating lightly and jumps in the shower to wash off Gotham Harbor.

His phone goes off while he’s drying himself off, shifting his weight because his abdomen is already starting to get tight and uncomfortable in anticipation.

The message on his phone makes him groan/sigh because the Red Hood is wondering:

Jaybird: How was the swim?

There’s more laughing emojis than he realistically needs.

In just boxers, Tim plops down on his bed, taps his phone to decide whether or not to respond. Since they already knew he’d taken down Two-Face, he really doesn’t have options.

Me: nice this time of year. Btw, Harvey didn’t drown. That’s a win for the good guys.

Before he’s done, the ellipsis meaning someone is typing shows up, so he’s got himself in a world of trouble by answering. Natch.

(On the other hand, his Omega whispers, if you hadn’t messaged back, they might come looking for you. It preens at the thought of his Pack Alphas concerned for him, coming for him– Dammit. Not. The. Time.)

Jaybird: Oughta come 2 the Manor. Al made pizza. Can celebrate?

Well, shit.

Me: Thanks 4 the invite. Running time-sensitive diagnostic for the Titans and crashing. See you at the next VA meeting tho.

Okay. So, normal. Jay will understand the need for fighting crime.

Jaybird: No problem. We’ll bring you some.

Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Me: Nah. Not tonight. Gonna set this up and crash. The alarm will wake me when the analysis is done. Enjoy the pizza!

Jaybird: If you’re sure?

Me: Positive. Sleep is calling. GN.

And turns off his phone with a sigh of unmitigated relief.

Crisis averted.

Right?

Forty-five minutes later, he’s idly eating popcorn and watching Infinity War when a wave of blistering heat washes over him, and the gentle reprieve is finally done.

His cock is hard and aching within a moment, his hands fisting in the blanket under him, hips jerking. The soft, subtle scent of slick tickles the edges of his senses, his ass starting to get moist under his boxers.

But Tim has old memories of doing this alone back when he was still in the tunic, and he forces himself to breath past the initial stages, fists his hands even tighter to keep from touching himself yet. He remembers how much better the orgasm was when he held off for as long as he could, remembers the time between waves lasted longer.

He bites down on his lower lip to keep in the noises (but really, what is the point?) and tries to just keep thinking.

He shoves the unopened boxes over and sprawls out on his back, trying not to let anything other than his boxers touch his aching erection. His thighs tighten, legs spreading automatically, feet bracing to work his hips a little.

It’s fine. You’ve done this before isn’t really that much of a consolation.

With the fire in his body starting to get more and please and Oh God, his mouth falls open to pant, toss his head back and forth with the arousal building, making his belly get tense.

An abrupt cramp knocks the wind out of him ending on a small, helpless noise that inadvertently escapes.

Rolling on his side, curling in on himself, Tim forces himself to just fucking breathe through it, it won’t last forever.

–when the comm on his desk blips, and the tinny voice is just loud enough to get his attention over things like terribly thought-out biology.

(Everything in you is screaming for an Alpha to help, touch, soothe. It’s not really your fault.)

“If you’re asleep, don’t get up. We’re just going to drop off pizza and we’ll be out of your Perch-”

Which is nothing short of fucking horrific.

“Almost goddit, Dickie,” is lost when another sharp cramp makes him huddle further into the pain rippling over his upper body while his brain screams to just fucking move.

The scent of slick gets stronger, clogging up the room, and the door isn’t even locked–

The next cramp makes his muscles flutter, but he can wobbly-leg it to the door and collapse in front of it.

(I was stabbed in the fucking spleen and still saved Pru. Without Ra’s, I would have been dead soon after, but if I can do that, I can get through this.)

He flips a small panel on the door frame and presses his thumb into it, forehead braced on the wall while he grits his teeth and gets a second or two of his muscles easing back.

Tim focuses on breathing, listening, and sure enough, there’s a timid knock a few minutes later. The door knob wiggles once softly, nearly inaudible voices mumble back and forth while he holds his breath.

He thinks he might be in the clear when it goes quiet again, thinking maybe they’d gone to dump the pizza in his fridge and be on their way out.

But a very clear, “do you smell what I smell?” is the proverbial nail in his coffin.

“Timmy? Are you…awake?”

“Please go away, I’m…I’m trying to sleep.” Tim tries again, more desperate now that hearing his Alphas’ voices is hitting all the deep places in him where the Omega hides.

“Don’t smell like it, Sweets. Think maybe ya mighta forgot ta mention something ta yer Alphas?”

(You aren’t mine. This is just about fucking Pack dynamics and bullshit biology. It’s fine, he gets it.)

“Hey,” and Dick’s voice is low and loud enough to be heard, and Tim slaps a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t whimper. “It’s okay. It’s us, Tim. We can make it better if you just open the door. You know we can, don’t you.”

It really isn’t a question, and Dick doesn’t pretend to make it one.

His abdomen spasms and he’s rolling his forehead against the wall in denial because fuck, haven’t they done enough? He’s not going to die, and, seriously, he’s a shitty Omega anyway.

“It’s not Heat Mania,” he tries to be reasonable, proud of himself when his voice only cracks once or twice, “I can get through it by myself this time. Y-You two just gave up five days a few weeks ago.”

The hand goes back over his mouth and his boxers are getting wet now, the way he’s curled in on himself probably not helping the situation.

Voices talking too low for him to make out again.

“Seriously, it’s fine. You guys got me out of danger. This? This is just business as usual. B is out of Gotham and you can’t be here for that long–”

“–B called in the Birds of Prey ta help out while he’s out wid’ the League,” Jay breaks through his ramblings. “We got Rob n’ BG. Cass is in fer a visit, and a trio of ass kickers. Ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout Gotham, Timmers. Shit’s all kinds a handled.”

The door knob wiggles again, making him gasp because shit, if anyone could crack his fingerprint locks, it’s probably the Red Hood.

“So. That’s not an excuse to go through your Heat alone,” Dick cuts in, sounds more ragged and raw, the Pack Alpha coming out in him. “There’s honestly no reason for you to go through it by yourself at all because your Pack is supposed to take care of you. And we are here to do just that, Tim.”

And fuck he does (and doesn’t) want to.

(It really is going to hurt like a motherfucker when it’s all over with, isn’t it?)

And while Tim Drake could give them a hundred different excuses, could explain it away a hundred different ways

(“I don’t want my Omega to get used to having Alphas. That just makes my Heats more difficult. Please understand.”)

–he, Tim, not the Omega, really doesn’t want to.

(Oh yeah. He’s figuratively fucked. Literally fucked to possibly follow.)

He’s already reaching up to thumb at the panel again before he realizes what he’s doing and pauses, sighs at his own weakness.

And like they can feel him hesitate, the heavy musk finally gets to him from under the door. The combination of Dick and Jay and the Alpha instinct to soothe.

“Please, Timmy, Baby. Please let us in.” Dick says to the door, hands braced on the door frame outside, staring a hole right through the damn thing because he really wants to say is please let us love you.

Jay is nudged tightly against his back, peering over his shoulder with those precious few inches of extra height.

“S’all right, Timmers,” Jay’s deep voice rolls past his ear when his second leans over to talk closer, simultaneously sliding a hand over Dick’s hip, finger making soothing circles around the bone. “Ya know we love it when yer all pretty n’ pink fer us, yeah? Heat makin’ ya bite yer lip n’ flutter yer eyes when we get ta touch. N’ ya know how much we like it, don’t cha? Ya know it don’t matter how long it needs ta be, ‘er how much needin’ ya got saved up inside. Ya know the only thing what matters is how perfect ya are under our hands n’ mouth, yeah?”

Dick smirks at the tactic, turning just enough to get close to Jay’s face and shove their mouths together in a quick kiss.

His mate and second just grins right back, his down ‘n dirty one.

“Wadda ya say, Sweets? Gonna have mercy on these two ole’ Alphas? Let us be good, n’ take care a’ ya like we oughta?”

There’s a low noise, something muffled by the door, but Dick’s muscles tighten against the front of Jay’s body, putting the other Alpha right on point.

“Sounds like–” pain.

Jay just nods, staring intently at the door, fingers tapping over the hilt of this .45 like he’s thinking of taking the easy way inside. “Starting up awful fast, ain’t he, Alpha?”

“Leslie said something about double Heats while his body is getting back under control,” Dick reminds him absently. “I’m hoping this is the only one he’s experienced so far.”

Jay hums a little, “you n’ me both. Don’t like ‘im hittin’ two ina month. Too much strain.”

“Agreed, but we–” and Dick gets cut off by the sudden, powerful scent hitting them right in the instincts. The Alpha in them knows what a spike that sudden means.

Dick turns to make one last plea to the door, please, Baby, you don’t have to do this alone, before they would have to go. If Tim was that adamant, they wouldn’t hack the door to get to him, to force him to accept them during his Heat, but if he caught their scents, it could make the cycle more painful (“The inner Omega will pine for an Alpha. Scents will not help, but make the [sic] situation worse. An Alpha should vacate the premises if an Omega in Heat does not belong to him or her”). To keep it from being so much worse, they’d have no choice but the leave.

The possibility sticks in Dick’s throat, makes Jay rumble out a low whine.

But the telltale click resounds, kills the words in Dick’s mouth before they get out.

It’s a breath when he and Jay step over the threshold, kneel by the (their) pained Omega, warm hands and soothing touches, purring a low reverberation that makes Tim’s spine uncurl when Dick gathers him up and lifts. Jay is back with more Gatorade and power bars, throwing off his jacket and holsters while Dick kicks off his shoes and straddles Tim on the bed, leans closer to start kneading out the muscle spasms and nuzzling against Tim’s throat gently, soothingly.

“Ssshh, sshh, it okay Timmy. We’re here.” And Dick tilts his head just a little so his throat is visible and his scent gland right there if Tim wanted to give him and bury his face there.

(He totally does. Stupid fucking instincts.)

And Dick’s hands are warm, the pressure just enough to work out those muscles, to make the pain ease down. At one point, Tim had wrapped a hand around Dick’s forearm to have something grounding.

“You don’t have to do this,” is low and soft, “it isn’t going to be bad this time. Just a normal Heat. I can handle it. I have handled it.”

Jay takes a knee beside the bed, reaches over to direct Tim’s gaze with a forefinger under his chin. “Timmers,” is more stern than he’s used to hearing from the Red Hood, “like me n’ Dickie dunno how much ya can handle? Like we dunno how much ass ya can kick? C’mon, give us a little credit, yeah?”

Tim’s eyes get more dazed with all the stimulus hitting him right in the Omega instincts, blinking hazily at Jay kneeling there. “Seriously, I’m a shitty Omega, and neither of you need this. It’s bad enough you gave up a week already this month.”

“I told you,” Dick counters serenely, hands pausing, “that you are not a bad Omega. I would have thought during your last Heat you would have gotten that.”

They can both see Tim swallow, his eyes dart away, clearly disbelieving but not calling them on their bullshit.

Dick’s inner Alpha curls around his insides, wanting nothing more than to flop on the pretty Omega and pin him down until he cries uncle and finally believes in them, wants nothing more than to stick his nose in the sweet scent gland and never move, wants to hear Tim say it, just once–

“I’m yours, aren’t I Alpha?”

–but there’s no room for that yet. Not here, not now. Someday soon when Tim stopped giving into his instincts to hide and protect himself. Even if the Omega in him had accepted their Alphas, it still drew back, remembered the pain they both caused at one time or another.

And Dick understood. As Pack Alpha, he can scent more keenly, as a detective, he can put all the evidence together with the spikes of adrenaline, the quickening of a pulse, the flinch when certain things are brought up in casual conversation.

(Someday, he thinks fiercely, nuzzling into Tim’s jugular, while the knots under his hands ease down, you are going to forgive us, and everything is going to finally be okay.)

He huffs a little when Jay kneels by the bed, hands folded to rest his chin and watch. Timmy’s head flops over, the lines around his eyes still prominent with pain and the ingrained struggle not to just give in, and Jay trails his fingers lightly over the hand fisted in the sheets.

“Hey, hey. S’all right now, ain’t it, Baby?” He keeps it low and deep, lets it end on a nice purr. Inching the hand over, closer to his mouth, “an’ ta think, y’ weren’t gonna let me n’ Dickie here fer this? Tryin’ ta punish us, are ya?”

“Wh-What?! What are you even–”

Dick’s hand on his shoulder stops Baby Bird from sitting up, his cheeks gettin’ pink ‘cause he get all embarrassed ‘bout it.

(And fuck ain’t it cute.)

Big Wing smirks a little and leans up, gives Jay some room. He takes all he can, rising up on his knees, turning his jaw a little so his musk is stronger, getting fuller. He gets to wrap a palm around that wrist, pinning it lightly when he hovers over Tim’s wide eyes, makes him face this, face him, face them.

“Ya already know it, don’t cha, Timmy?” Low and growly against his mouth, flick of a tongue over his bottom lip, “how much ya make us want, yeah?”

And since Jason Todd is a man what knows how Tim reacts to being touched, how he gets so sweetly slick and ready, how needy and soft he can whine, knows that as much as Timmy says he don’t need this, need them, his body don’t agree with it.

It’s how he n’ Dickie can tell when Timmy is lyin’ ‘cause it’s the Omega what tells them the truth.

It’s why Jay can purr and nuzzle, can lean in and take his mouth like he owns it. When Tim makes a noise, arches his back, Jay knows Dick is mouthing at him, right below where his palms are rubbing, licking the line between boxers and skin.

Pullin’ back just makes Timmy chase his mouth, eyes half-mast and cheeks just the right shade of pink.

“See that, Sweetheart? How pretty y’ are? An’ ya weren’t gonna let us be here fer it? ‘M hurt over here.” And he purrs against the tendon in Tim’s neck, just the sharp edge of teeth teasing down to his collarbone.

“Th-that’s not–!”

“But it is, Timmy,” Dick fills in soothingly, mouthing at the waistband of his boxers. “You weren’t going to let us have this.”

“Dammit that isn’t–”

“Sshh,” and Jay presses a kiss back to his throat, right below the scent gland, “s’all right. We f’give ya, Sweets. ‘Cause we’re here now, and that’s what matters, you feel me?”

Tim finds it in him to brace a hand against Jay’s shoulder, pushing him back just enough to be able to think around the heat pooling in his stomach, lighting his body with need.

“It isn’t like that!” He tries, he really does, stares into those eyes with green flecks faded away. “It–this–it’s just!”

Dick finally seems to have enough, knee walking up so he and Jay could loom over the squirming Omega, both of them facing him down.

“At first, it was because of the Heat Mania, Timmy,” Dick’s voice is low and firm, “but it stopped being about that for me in the first five minutes.”

Jay purrs at him softly, “like I’d keep comin’ back ta ya if’n it was only ‘cause a’ biology, Timmers. Like you think I don’t see this fine as fuck ‘Mega right ‘chere needin’ an Alpha? Like I don’t want a piece a’ ya?”

That is...so not what he anticipated tonight once he’d given the Alphas an appropriate out. The admission makes his heart thump painfully in his chest, a jolt of fear slithering through his brain pan at all the implications of this–

–that would fully set in later on after his body stops trying to literally kill him with sex.

Because it’s enough of a push, this moment when scents are so fucking sincere and they’re looking at him with heat and affection, and he wants so desperately to believe. It’s enough to make the Omega in him rear up past his barriers and bullshit masks, for the whine, the call to his Pack, to his Alphas, to spill out of his mouth without holding back.

Fuck.

Because even though it’s a rough, soft sound, something he’d never been able to let himself do before now, not with all the secrets he’d had to keep, it makes some of the tightness in his chest ease down to finally be able to let it out, let his instincts take over.

In the form of a whine, a call to his Alphas. His Omega could finally stop mourning being left out of the Pack.

So he’s completely unprepared for Dick and Jay to react so distinctly to that noise, for them to bury their faces in his throat and lick along both sides until the kiss of teeth along his collar bone becomes a bloom of pain and sinks deep into his subconscious. It’s not (and he gasps in a hard breath just thinking about it, about either of them biting down on the back of his neck instead…) to mate him or make him submit, it’s just marks made to show ownership, to show Pack, and his eyes might get a little hot and full with it while the Omega in him rolls over to show its’ belly to the (his) Alphas.

And it’s something he’s been wanting for so long, the confirmation that he’s no longer the outcast, the Omega without a place. During the long road to come back to Gotham, back to the Bats, he hasn’t let himself sink into the depression that hit back when his tunic was yanked out from under him, leaving him hanging.

With the indents of teeth along his collarbone, with the distinct Alpha scent on his neck, the assurance he’s been claimed as their Pack Omega for anyone to see, is enough to make him close his eyes tight to keep from fucking crying. Instead, he distracts himself by lifting both arms around his Alphas to hold on while they lick across the indents of their teeth, soothing the sting.

He doesn’t let himself panic when they move on from marking him, when Jay is licking into his mouth and Dick’s hands are spreading his thigh, long-fingered hand cupping his straining erection.

He keens with it, back arching at the onslaught, his inner Omega sated with the marks on his body, languishing in the attention of his Alphas.

It’s so easy to fall under their spell, to put himself in their hands, and just give in. If they weren’t so damn careful and easy with him when he needs it that way, if they didn’t fuck him dirty and rough when it needed it that way instead, if they didn’t purr against his chest and lick at the marks, if they didn’t talk low against the back of his neck, if they didn’t hold the hell on when all he wanted to do is run.

Hands that know how to make him writhe, are busy smoothing up the sides of his thighs and over his abdomen, Jay and Dick trading places with his mouth. Thumbs make small circles on his nipples, makes them peak, makes the spark of pleasure shoot down his spine straight to his aching cock, while he keens in Dick's mouth.

“Uh-oh,” hazily gets through the heat pooling in his belly, in his blood, lighting his nerves on fire. “Looks like we have some competition, Jaybird.”

Fuck.

And Dick is leaning up on his knees, holding up the blue knotting dildo after he’d snatched it from the blankets, looking it over with a critically assessing expression–

Then those eyes slide over to the Omega spread out on the bed beneath them, the one smelling like a bakery, the one that needed him, needed them to take care of him.

“I told you, I can handle my Heats.” His face is going red and not because of the whole lot of naked happening beside the bed where Jay is stripping off the body suit.

“Mmhm,” and Dick widens his knees, spreading Baby Bird’s legs wider, puts the toy by his calf so he can be the one to use it on Timmy (and he is very interested on seeing how much of it his Omega can take before he’s screaming for the real deal).

The other Alpha’s eyes shoot to the subtly covered splash of red almost by the wall, and one brow quirks up as a side to the smirk on Jason Todd’s face.

“Dickie. Ya’ thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it’s to fuck him with these things until he cries, then yes. I’m on board with that plan, Little Wing.”

“Good t’ see we’re on’a same page, you feel me here?”

The oldest vigilantes exchange a heated glance, the message clear from that look alone:

Time to teach Timmy a lesson and get to have him at the Same. Damn. Time.

Two Robins with one stone.

Jay is already crawling over Tim to lay on the other side while Dick moves fast, climbing off to shimmy out of his clothes until he’s in black briefs, coming right back to the perfect spot between the third Robin’s clenched thighs. He grins, already deciding on a plan, while Jay pins both wrists above their bird’s head, preparing him for the on-coming torture.

And when this cycle is done, when they’ve both had turns teasing him between waves with the toys he’d purchased, fucking him fast and rough or slow and soft until their knots throbbed to be buried in him, when they’ve made Tim give in to them, over and over, made him beg for their cocks, promised to always call next time no matter what. When he’s so overwork, overstimulated, a trembling, babbling, crying pile of please fuck me before I die.

When they make the lesson stick.

(“Never gonna need ‘em again. Ya gotch us, n’ ya better damn well call b’for ya use it again. Do you feel me, Baby?”

“These are last resort only, Tim. You only get to use these after you’ve called both of us and not because of a case or checking in on Gotham.”

He’d only been stupidly grateful all three of them could fit in his tub at the time, water lapping lazily around him, caught on Jay’s lap with his leg in Dick’s, hands on his ankle and calf under the water. He was dozing and utterly fucking destroyed, which is the only reason he agreed to it in the first place, dammit. They took advantage of fucking him completely out.

(Alphas. Of fucking course.)

But this time, after they’d been so fucking thorough in showing him where his place with them really is, Red Robin can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just a bunch of Alphas taking care of the Pack Omega. If all the sweet things Dick growls in his ear is more than just hormones and Pack Alpha lizard brain. He wonders if Jay’s dirty talk doesn’t stem from some messed up sense of guilt or responsibility from back when they were just, you know, trying to kill one another. Or, Jay was trying to kill him and Red was really just trying not to die.

He wonders if it isn’t just a matter time until his body regulates.

He wonders if they know what they’re doing to him when they act like he’s theirs.

He wonders how far they’re going to go.

(A part of him is terrified to find out.)

#700 followers #omega!tim #alpha!dick #alpha!jay #aob #tagged for anon #timjaydick #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #a bit of smut #with a twist of angst #my fic #my writing

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mizmahlia · 6 years

Text

Drabble Challenge #85

Part 5/6 of the requests from my sis @nxttime. Have some Dick and Tim bonding, my dear!

“I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.” (Prompts are here.)

Dick stumbled through his front door and slammed it behind him. He didn’t bother turning any of the lights on, instead heading straight toward his bedroom. His jacket and shirt hit the floor in the kitchen. His belt and jeans were discarded in the hallway outside the bathroom. He picked up the pair of sweatpants he’d left on his bedroom floor that morning and put them on, teetering dangerously on one leg before leaning against his dresser.

With one last burst of strength, he managed to pull a Bludhaven Police Department sweatshirt over his head and crawl into bed. He’d barely pulled the blankets up before he was asleep.

A few hours later Tim knocked on Dick’s door. He was there on a hunch; he and Dick were supposed to meet later to see a movie, but he hadn’t heard from Dick since they made the plans two days ago and that was strange. He knocked one more time and when there was no answer, he let himself in.

The place was eerily quiet and dark. The only reason Tim could see anything at all was the streetlight outside the window. He took off his coat and laid it over a chair. It was so hot it was almost hard to breathe.He found the thermostat in the living room and winced; it was set at 80F. He dialed it back to 72F.

“Dick?”

There was still no answer and he continued down the hallway, noticing clothes strewn on the floor. The door to Dick’s room was open and he peered around the door frame, sighing in relief at the sight before him. Dick was lying diagonally across his bed wrapped in several blankets. He was lying on his side facing the door, his face squished into his pillow. His hair was damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead.

“Dick?” Tim called again. He cautiously entered the room, stopping at the edge of the bed. Dick stirred, opening his eyes and blinking several times.

“Tim? What’re you doing here?” he slurred. His voice was hoarse and Tim cringed.

“Search and rescue,” Tim answered. “Haven’t heard from you in a little while. Come on, let’s get you upright and check you over.”

Dick struggled to unwrap himself from the blankets and shift to the edge of the bed. Tim switched on the bedside lamp and knelt in front of Dick. Tim could feel the heat radiating from him.

Fever? Check.

“Open your mouth, Dick. Let me see.”

Dick opened his mouth and Tim sighed.

Swelling and white spots? Check.

Damn it.

Tim stood up and backed away from him, trying not to bolt to the bathroom to wash his hands. The last thing he needed was an infection. Dick looked up at him, his face scrunching into a frown.

“What’s wrong? You okay?”

Tim sighed. Leave it to Dick to try to be the caretaker.

“Nothing, I just don’t want to get sick. You’ve got strep and a nasty case, at that. How long have you been sick?”

Dick shrugged and stood up, wobbling toward the bathroom.

“Few days,” he croaked. He swallowed and winced. “M’gonna take a hot shower. I’m cold.”

Tim rummaged through Dick’s dresser and handed him some clean clothes.

“Meet me in the living room when you’re done. I’ll take you in myself.”

Dick disappeared down the hall. Tim hurried to the kitchen and washed his hands. He knew Dick’s cleaning supplies were under the sink and thankfully he had some bleach wipes left. He grabbed the container and went to work, quickly wiping down every hard surface he could find. When he heard the shower turn off, he put everything away and went to the living room. He was standing by the window scrolling through a list of urgent care clinics nearby when Dick returned.

“Ugh. Everything hurts.” His voice was a whisper and he winced again when he had to swallow. Tim clicked on one of the clinics and began making an appointment.

“You’ve been sick for days now and didn’t bother getting checked out?”

Dick shrugged and flopped down on the couch.

“It wasn’t that bad until last night.” He rubbed at his neck and closed his eyes. Tim remained by the window and finalized the appointment. “This totally sucks.”

“I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.”

Dick sighed and nodded.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Tim immediately perked up and grabbed his jacket. He reached into the hall closet and tossed Dick’s jacket to him.

“You have an appointment in half an hour. Come on. I’ll take you.”

Two hours later Tim deposited Dick back into bed and set out his prescription on the bedside table.

“Your phone alarm is set for your next dose of antibiotics at ten. Make sure you eat. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“’Kay.” Dick reached his hand out toward Tim, fingers wrapping themselves around Tim’s wrist. “Thanks, Tim.”

Tim nodded and tugged his arm free of Dick’s grasp, tucking the blankets back around his older brother.

“You’re welcome. Now get some rest.”

Tim let himself out of the apartment and headed home, satisfied Dick would be fine on his own. He was feeling kind of tired, anyway, so an early night would be good for him.

The next morning he woke up to a phone call just after seven a.m. It was Dick.

“Dick? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The more important question is why did you hang around so long yesterday?”

Tim frowned and laid back in bed, burrowing beneath the blankets. The room felt kind of chilly for some reason.

“Why wouldn’t I? You were sick, so I looked after you.”

“You don’t have a spleen, Tim! Remember?”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes.

“There was a chance to look after my older brother so I took it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed next to him, smiling to himself as he drifted back to sleep. He’d call Leslie when he woke up. But for now, he’d savor being able to be the caretaker. He had a feeling Dick would show up later to return the favor, anyway.

#Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #MizMahlia's fanfiction #Tim Drake fanfic #Dick Grayson fanfic #Batfam #Fic Request

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