Work Text:
They were going to kill him.
He’d already been... here.. wherever ‘here’ was as an abductee. He knew it was somewhere in the sea, because of the telltale sway of the boat and salt stark in his nose. There was no way to leave. But if he didn’t escape, he’d die.
Tim knew it when one of the kidnappers ripped off his ski mask in front of him, uncaring about his identity. Then he’d heard bated whispers that while the ransom to keep him alive was paid, another anonymous “donor” had sent in a promise to them that they’d be given triple if they killed him and dumped his body on the street.
“Doomed, doomed, doomity doom-doomed!’ His mind sang to the tune of a children’s show anthem as his blood ran cold. His wrists weren’t bound anymore, but they still ached from the zip ties that had been there earlier. He hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink for at least two (had it been only two? Maybe more?) days, and he was moving from hunger pains to a horrible feeling of emptiness.
There was a moment when he considered staying. It’d be easier, much easier, to face a gun to the head with brief pain than try to escape. He wasn’t a quitter. But with the head injury they’d given him during the abduction, everything was blurred and slightly skewed to the left.
Not to mention he was on a boat in the water on an October night.
But then Tim thought of his family. They’d want him alive of course. He did want to be alive- he did. He did?
Yes. He did.
But if there had to be an ultimatum, worst comes to worst way, he was pretty sure they’d prefer him dying from an escape than a body being dumped on the street. Right?
He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. God, everything hurts.
So, he shook his head, trying to man through the severe concussion he had. But that move nearly crippled him, when his entire body went on fire from the movement. He pushed through it- come on, Drake. Come on.
Tim pulled himself up to the thin window, took a deep breath, and smashed in the glass with his elbow. He barely felt the pain from the shards settling in.
After a second of absolute dread, he dove into the tumultuous water. This was close to suicide. Scratch that- this choice was essentially suicide. Staying, going- anything was, at this point. But he had to try.
Tim hit the water, the surface of it feeling like concrete from how high up he’d fallen from the ship. Pain and salt struck his torn skin aflame, and he wondered if they’d ever find his body.
Concussed and freezing.
That almost has as much a ring to it as “Naked and Afraid,” a TV show Dick watched when he had the flu and proceeded to rant about in a fevered haze.
That scene of his brother red-faced and huddled in blankets flashed before his eyes as another wave hit him. He fought to break through the tide, sputtering out water and promising to himself that he’d be in blankets watching stupid television when he got out of here.
When not if.
Keep swimming.
He was hit again, this time the wave rocking him off course. Not that he really had a course to begin with. He scrambled for a moment and that left him vulnerable.
A current snubbed on his toe, pulling him under. As soon as the tendrils had dragged him in, he frantically swam sideways to escape it. He did, but not without swallowing salt water and some sort of solid things floating around. Choking, he surfaced and tried to swallow another breath in.
Tim was weak- starving, sick, concussed- weak.
He didn’t have a chance. He’d fought a good fight. He could let go now-
No!
He took a wild stroke, fighting against the late October tide. He’d come too far. He could find land- it had to be somewhere.
He kicked farther, suddenly feeling like he was on fire with every movement.
Oh shit- that was the hypothermia from the ice-cold autumn kicking in. Energy was being sapped out of him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying, he realized, horrified. It was that he couldn’t move.
His body was shutting down and preparing for death.
A wave came from behind him, lifted Tim up, and slammed him down beneath the surface. Water filled up in his lungs again as he instinctively took a breath.
As he sunk, eyes half open to see the light of the moon breaking through the water, he watched the bubbles of his last breath rise to the top.
No one would ever know how he died alone and terrified, seeing those last physical reminders pf his own life pop before his eyes.
They could theorize, sure. Maybe even torture themselves with their imaginations over his death.
Or maybe, his family would make up a story about how he froze to death, unaware anything was happening. Comforting lies of a painless end could wrap his short lie in a bow. And he wanted that for them, that comfort- but God, he didn’t want to die lonely.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the end everyone called peaceful. And he almost felt it too, floating away from the world as he bordered on unconsciousness.
But, before he could close his eyes for good, something distinctly hand-shaped gripped onto him and seized up.
The next memory Tim had was throwing up seawater in a basin.
Someone’s hand stroked through his hair as he gagged on a salty liquid and chunks of seaweed he’d accidentally swallowed.
He fainted, but the hand tapped him awake and massaged his back as he vomited once more.
“All out, Habibi,” A voice, low but feminine, sighed next to his ear as he continued to cry and choke on his sickness. “All out,”
He was on something moving. The kidnapper’s boat! The thought struck him and he feared for an instant- but no. It couldn’t be. Not with how they were going forward without swaying with the sea. And there was the distinct movement of forward flight.
Flying? Were they on a plane!? Was he rescued? Were they going home?
Perhaps he croaked out the word “Bruce” or “Dad?” between gags and seizing his head towards the basin. Because the woman next to him sighed again.
“Not yet,” She promised, combing through his disgusting hair with her fingers. “But soon,”
At this, he fainted and knew no more.
The next time he woke up was remarkably more pleasant.
There was some sort of warm rag placed on the top of his face. It obscured his vision so that he only saw the glare of the light above through cloth, making every sensation dream-like.
Someone had carefully wrapped him in a silk toga, taking note of his exact measurements so that he was fully covered. His body was washed of the stinging salt that had plagued him before, and the distinct feel of balm lay on his limbs.
The room he was situated in had a distinct smell of lavender- his favorite. Because the teacup Alfred had gifted him had those gentle purple flowers painted on.
Tim wondered who used that cup now. He had to be dead, right? And his spot at Sunday morning tea was replaced with a new person. Or, if not right away, would be eventually. He just hoped whoever had his cup loved it as much as he did.
Tim rolled over, content when his head made impact with another soft place. He smiled against the pillow and nestled his face in. If he hadn’t died already, he could have done so here and been happy forever.
A hand gently took his chin and readjusted him back straight on the soft pillow. He whined, but fingertips started to massage against his scalp.
It felt-
Nice. Gentle. Tender.
Better than the waves.
Again, the hand moved his head, this time tilting his chin up so his mouth was slightly open.
This was a woman, Tim’s mind informed him and he was happy to believe it. She’d helped him before and would help him again. So he didn’t make any moves to fight, instead completely complying.
Maybe she was an angel. What, with how kind she was and how she was helping him move on- for lack of a better word. He wondered what the next realm would be like where he’d meet the rest of his fellow dead people and spend eternity. It certainly couldn’t be much better than this.
She brought something towards his mouth and he felt its softness against his teeth. After a bit of prodding, he opened his lips fully and was immediately rewarded with a berry that melted on his tongue.
He opened his mouth again and was delighted when another berry came.
It went on like that for a while. He didn’t know what kind of fruit he was eating, just that it had this tendency to turn to a delicious goo spiking in flavor as it went down his throat.
It felt like a dream- he was warm, being fed, not in pain. Nothing was real. He was just floating, only grounded to land by someone pressing fruit against his lips.
After a while, the berries didn’t come and he was glad for it- he’d gotten full. Full in a way he hadn’t been in a long while.
He heard the distinct sound of a plate being placed on a hard surface and the unscrewing of a cork. The neck of a bottle reached his mouth and the woman patted his head again.
Drink, the gesture seemed to say, so he complied.
The liquid tasted medicinal- sweet in an almost artificial way like it was trying to hide the flavor of something unpleasant for him. It left a bizarre aftertaste of bitter strawberries picked too late after freshness.
That was how he realized he was alive and not dead. Because why would someone be trying to heal him if he’d died and gone elsewhere?
Before he could figure this tizzy out, the woman’s hand went through his hair again massaging his scalp just right to conk him out completely.
The next blur of consciousness he had, someone was sitting him upright and pressing a spoon to his mouth.
He focused on opening his lips, still out of it and half in the dream he awoke from. The liquid was warm and had lumps akin to vegetables. But the broth was fantastic- packed with flavors and the kind of warmth he could relish in for the rest of his days, along with a thirst for more.
Okay. This was soup, presumably not poison. Though, why would he worry about that when whoever had taken him could’ve killed him at any second but had chosen not to?
He moved it around with his tongue, trying to take every nutritional element he could from the meal, savoring each layer of spice packed in. Then he swallowed and tilted her chin up for more.
That’s when he made eye contact with his savior.
“Good job, Timothy,” Talia Al Ghul, feared second hand of the League of Shadows and currently aiming for the throne, cooed at him like he was a toddler of average intelligence. She brought another spoonful to his mouth and he dutifully opened.
After a few more swallows of his soup with his mind reeling, Tim’s eyes began to close again. Talia quickly lowered him back to the cot on the floor. She tucked him in with the blankets, wrapping him up tight like a swaddled baby.
Talia had taken him, he thought dreamily as he drifted off to sleep once more. That’s fine.
That was decidedly not fine.
Talia Al Ghul!? Demon Brat’s mom? Bruce’s ex-girlfriend/wife depending on how you saw their Las Vegas- esque ninja wedding? Wait. Did that make her Tim’s stepmom?
Tim had had a stepmom before. You could even say he was well-versed in the subject, having had one for an entire year at 14. But Dana was a new college graduate and had been only around ten years older than him. So, it was hard for them to bond because of that creepo factor. There were times she felt like a parent-esque figure, others where it was like having an older sister, and others a well-meaning but hapless babysitter.
Also, that entire time, Tim was being a little special, something his therapist called “emotionally abused” and “neglected” by his dad. He actually had spent more time being parented by Bruce that year anyway.
No- he had no idea how to have a stepmom.
Not to mention she’d actually kidnapped him. Granted, from kidnappers. Did that make the kidnapping cancel out? But it wasn’t like she was mailing him home anytime soon. Would she pull a Bruce and keep him here for her own tirade against the world?
At least the soup was good.
This train of thought had barreled down the tracks since the moment he’d woken up today. “Today” because he guessed he’d been out for quite a while, judging on how the sun had moved in the window from the time he was last conscious. The sun was setting last time, and now it was in the smack dab middle of the sky, around noon time.
The kidnapping had drained him- more than anything else ever had. In the blur of days that had passed, he still wasn’t able to lift his head more than a few inches. Any attempt to move his limbs had his body screaming. The concussion hadn’t gone away, the bad headache from it passing but his cognisant levels were not a hundred percent.
Talia was with him, again. The question was if she’d ever left. She wasn’t trying to force food into him right now. Instead, she preoccupied herself with reapplying healing balm on his arms and legs.
Her brown hands massaged the oils into his legs, and she looked up apologetically when he hissed. “I’m sorry, habibi,” She muttered after a particularly painful spot, before wetting her hand with more of the ointment.
Something buzzed at her side. She wiped her hands across a rag, before taking the device from her pocket to her ear. Tim watched her, dully, glad that she was distracted from the current treatment. Then, he stared at the ceiling and counted the tiles that lay across it.
68 was the number he came up with.
It wasn’t until halfway through Talia’s conversation that Tim realized it would do him good to eavesdrop and collect intel. So, he tilted his head towards her and focused on what she and the tinny voice from the comm were in the midst of conversing about.
“Shouldn’t your father be handling this?” Talia raised her voice in question, her harshness offset by the hand she laced through Tim’s hair. So she’d caught him listening in. Tim cursed that he lacked the subtlety of his normal self. Oh well- he could appreciate the massage.
“ He is. He is handling this! ” The person on the other side of the line snapped back, though the response came out obscured by static. Still- he sounded young. And desperate. It reminded Tim of someone he knew, someone that caused both irritation and a surge of protectiveness.
He didn’t prod at that feeling, instead leaning his head back so that Talia could get the other side of his temple in her massage.
“We just need help, ” The caller continued, tone dropping to pleading. “ The ocean is vast, but Father’s allyship in the King of Atlantis has had the search span the complete periphery. If he were to be -” Here, he paused. A crackle of static came through from the breath he took. “ Deceased, we would have discovered already. So, the only other option is that something took him ,”
“That’s a blind hope, child,” Talia scratched the side of Tim’s ear and he swore to God he almost purred. “What, exactly, are you asking of me?”
“ That you locate my brother, ” The voice went soft on the last word, ripe with pain and earnest. “ And- if he is to be… gone, then you use your boundless resources to return him to us, Mother .”
Tim froze. Everything began to come together in his head that currently ran like a computer on a Firefox browser.
The mentions of Father- a search in the ocean- an allyship to the King of Atlantis- brother- MOTHER-
Damian!
Tim tried to gather the strength to yelp out, to let him know- but all he could muster was a faint whine. All the same, Damian picked up on the sound and asked sharply. “ What was that? ”
“That?” Talia looked Tim straight in the eyes as she lied through her teeth. “Just an animal I’ve been nursing back to health. A tiny malnourished puppy, really. Once I’ve aided him in his recovery enough, I may send him your way,”
Tim audibly protested at that, but even he could admit what came out of his mouth was a pathetic growl.
“ I’d appreciate hearing a full recount of their situation and would be more than happy to take them on, regardless of what Father will have to say on the matter.” Damian admitted, sounding less tense than he’d been a moment ago. “ But for now, I am preoccupied and it would be neglect to put another living thing in my care until Timothy is found well .”
“As you wish, darling,” Talia hummed and promptly disconnected the call. The origin of Damian’s briskness had been discovered and Tim couldn’t be less surprised.
He blinked up at her, as she went back to placing salve on his injuries.
“How wonderful of a present will you be,” She gushed as much as a sophisticated assassin could. “My beloved’s child returned to him by me, once again. There’s not much more he could ask. And,” She added as if to soothe his fears. “It has been quite a pleasure to meet with my third step-son. Richard counts, despite his best efforts-”
Oh my God, Tim faintly realized as she talked on. She was pulling another Jason . Had she learnt nothing?
In fairness to her, according to her own philosophies, Jason’s return worked out quite well. She raised him up from a comatose state, versed him in the best methods of combats, and practically made him unkillable to make up for his initial demise.
Not to mention, from however strained the relationship between Jason and Bruce had been at one point, (to put it lightly) they’d recovered from that now. Jason had moved back into the manor, claiming the gesture as one for Alfred’s sake. But Jason Wayne’s legal revival, the father-son library times, and how on some rough days Jason trailed after Bruce like a lost puppy, all told a different story.
Oh God- how was Jason doing with Tim’s seeming drowning?
He couldn’t deny that a part of him was thrilled by the idea that his family continued to search for him, despite every part of logic insisting he’d be dead by now. Well, maybe that hit the bare minimum, at least in terms of his own admittedly messed up grieving process. At least they hadn’t moved onto cloning yet.
But Damian- Damian- had been worried and desperate enough to beg Talia to resurrect him, hinting at a Lazaraus Pit.
The entire complexity of this situation exhausted him. As a result. even as he pushed against the forces pulling down his eyelids, Tim couldn’t deny that falling into unconsciousness was probably the most pleasant thing about the day.
“You can’t keep me here,” Tim told her plainly.
Talia raised her eyebrows back, flicking through the pages of an Arabic woman’s magazine. “And why is that? Is the soup not to your liking? That can be amended,”
“No,” He corrected, quick to hold the bowl close to his chest. “The soup- everything is great. Very nice. Five stars. But especially the soup. Please give me the recipe, by the way. Or at least Alfred. But you can’t just- like- make sure I’m completely healthy before you give me back to my family,”
Her analyzing gaze informed him that this was exactly her plan so he tried again.
“What, are you going to keep me here until I gain the ten pounds I need to be at a healthy weight and get a better sleep schedule?” He laughed at the idea, knowing the prepostourousness of such an initiative.
He went quiet as Talia nodded. “Yes,” She tsked. “That is precisely my plan. That’ll be around a month or so, if everything goes smoothly. I’m delighted you are on the same page as me,”
“A month?!” Tim did no t squeal. Instead, he let out more of a manly sqwack. “You can’t keep me for a month!”
At the moment, they sat across from each other on the floor, with Tim leaning against pillows that had been propped up on the wall. Between them was a forgotten Chutes and Ladders game, which apparently had been dug out from storage. Talia professed it had been a childhood favorite of Damian.
In fact, the entire traumatic kidnapping, near drowning, and extensive recovery almost became worth it for the amount of embarrassing facts he’d learned about his youngest brother.
“A month is not a great while,” Talia crinkled her forehead. “After all, the fifteen days you’ve been here has flown by,”
“I’ve been here for fifteen days!?” Tim yelped. He hadn’t been completely sure, with the last four having been the only time he had been able to gain the energy to sit up and actually function. “Talia! My family thinks I’m dead!”
“Your lack of spleen has made the recovery process longer, I hope you are aware.” Right- he’d forgotten that certain factoid.
“Besides,” She added. “they’d be naive to believe that, considering the amount of revivals you Waynes have experienced.” She sniffed, and slid an open magazine page to him. “Now tell me, which blush shade is my color?”
“The plum,” He answered as he waved her off. “But back on topic, please take me back to Gotham. I miss my family. And my stuff,”
“Are we not family?” She looked upon him with wide faux-hurt eyes, a guilt tripping move he recognized from Damian. “And by the harsh colloquial word ‘stuff’, do you mean your fully stocked espresso machine and energy drink stash you keep beneath your bed?”
“Of course we are-” Tim froze when he registered her next accusation. “And no! That’s not why! How’d you know about that?”
“Alfred took the liberty of clearing that out the second day you were missing,” She didn’t answer his question, instead taking a pen and circling the plum shade, presumably to buy later. “Am I so bad you’d hate to spend another month with me?”
“You could come back to the manor and stay forever. You probably have an open invitation.” Then, the way out Tim was looking for hit him. “Hey Talia?”
“Hmm?” She had returned to flipping through the magazine, not paying attention as he finished the last of his soup.
“Are you questioning Alfred’s nursing abilities that you’re specifically keeping me away from him for me to recover? Of course, after I’m gone for another month and I finally get back, I’ll be sure to let him know.”
Talia paused, and Tim could almost see the shiver that went down her spine.
She didn’t move- nearly frozen- until half a moment later when she snapped her fingers. A handmaid appeared from nowhere and leaned down to hear the order.
“Prepare means for departure,” Talia said smoothly as if she had planned this all along. That was, instead of her hand being forced by a certain butler grandpa’s reputation. “We’ll be off in an hour or so.”
He grinned at her, once he realized his victory. Maybe it was his imagination, but she quirked her lips up in acceptance of his win.
It was not often that Bruce found himself paralyzed by his mind.
It had hit him suddenly, as he sat in front of the computer in a cave he hadn’t left for the last week with a screen full of leads
His brain chemistry was a strange thing- it demanded him to be on the move constantly. If he was still for an instant, that was another life he didn’t save, a situation he didn’t handle. That constant anxiety especially heightened when it came to the wellbeing of his children.
He hadn’t rested for the last nineteen days- not since Tim went missing in civilian form. After all other avenues had been exhausted, the Wayne family had paid the hefty ransom in hopes that criminals would follow through on their word. But blind hope, he should’ve known, was fruitless without action.
A Wayne Enterprise business partner had gambled his entire fortune on trying to kill one of Bruce’s heirs, in hopes that the tragedy would raise stocks.
In a twisted turn of events, the stocks had been raised with Wayne Enterprises being the talk of every news channel. They’d catapulted after the business partner had been discovered to have been the one to pay triple the amount in order to kill a child who went missing anyway.
But Bruce would give up his fortune, his business and everything that had for so long made up the Wayne legacy if it meant Tim’s return. But after more than half a month of extensive searching, he didn’t get that choice.
Today, the overwhelming evidence that his boy was gone hit him. With no sign of life, the freezing nights of late October, and a rising hurricane in the sea coordinates Tim had gone missing, no hope lingered.
Dick had referred to Tim in the past tense yesterday. Though he immediately shut up and silence remained, no one corrected him. Not like they would have even just a few days ago.
And, it seemed, that Bruce’s brain had finally caught up with the facts.
He knew the moment he came out of this numbness- this inability to process- he would be confronted with the wave of grief. So he did not fight against the paralysis. Because then would start the years long- life long- struggle of not drowning.
He would lose- he knew he would.
Something tapped him on the shoulder. He ignored it, choosing instead to bury his face in his hands.
The tap came to his shoulder again. And again, this time, harsher, in a tender part of his ribs.
At the fourth poke, he nearly lost it. Bruce spun to face whoever it was, biting down his anger as to not lash out at another mourning family member.
But that was where he was greeted with that crooked beautiful smile.
“Tim!?” -
Was what he meant to gasp. Instead, what came out was a disbelieving sputter of air. He grabbed onto the boy’s face to assure that this was reality, pressing Tim’s cheeks against his hands, feeling the warmth.
If this had been a hallucination, Tim would have looked immaculate and shining- an angel come down to earth. This version was significantly worse for wear, with healing blue and green bruises tinting his complexion and half his body wrapped tightly in compression bandages.
Bruce also imagined his hallucination wouldn’t have pinched him, forcing him to let go.
“Sorry for the delay,” Tim scratched the back of his head with wrapped up fingers. “It’s just that your baby mam- agggh !”
Bruce could only assume that that last vocalization was cut off by how he’d absolutely swallowed Tim up in his arms, taking care to be gentle around his injuries but no less fierce in gesture. The details weren’t important, not now.
“You’re home,” He felt himself crying as he pressed his cheek into Tim’s hair. Another tear slid down as he repeated, “You’re home.”
“Mother!?” Came Damian’s voice, far off for it to echo but close enough that one could hear the surprise. “What are you doing here?”
The puzzle pieces slotted together in his mind, that now was moving at top speed again. Tim smelt like lavender- but only like the kind grown in Nanda Parbat. His bandages had been freshly dressed and wound by an experienced handl. And the cut off “baby mama” remark-
He picked Tim up like the baby he never knew, nestling him up in a cape that had previously laid forgotten upon his shoulders. Then, Bruce faced who he once thought was the love of his life.
“Talia.” He adressed, monotone as the woman straightened and raised an eyebrow. Really, it shouldn’t have surprised him. Not unlike her son, there was never a bone in her body that had the ability to be sheepish.
“It was the least I could do,” She gestured towards the boy in his arms. “With advanced care, he has healed exponentially. I’d wanted to keep him on longer to assure his recovery,” And here, she sighed to show displeasure that this plan had been derailed. “But he instead insisted on more of a home remedy approach.”
Bruce blinked, confused at that explanation. He took notice of Damian and where he stood on the stairs leading up to the manor. Oh. No one had explained any of this to him. Not that Bruce had much in the way of how or what to explain.
Damian’s eyes had widened to the size of golf balls. He didn’t move, presumably shocked into place. But that didn’t stop him from loudly yelping out “Timothy!?!”
“Heyo, Dami,” Came Tim’s weak reply from where he was being bridal carried. “Nice to see you again,”
This time, Damian began to scream and didn’t stop, too shocked by the confirmation. The chaos multiplied with the arrival of a spatter of footsteps rushing down the stairs from the manor.
Vaguely, Bruce remembered it was 1 PM, which was Alfred’s mandated tea time. Said tea time took place right besides the Cave’s entrance.
He hadn’t gathered the strength to go, and no one had come down to get him. But now, confronted with their wildest dreams, he had no way of communicating or controlling anything through the ensuing outburst.
Dick and Jason emerged first, with Cassandra on their tail. Alfred had to be right behind them, just not as young as the three, Bruce thought dully. Inperceptibly, he pulled Tim closer to his chest. He didn’t quite believe yet that this was real.
“Where is he?” Dick demanded, pulling Damian behind him as soon as he saw Talia. Next to him, Jason’s eyes widened in Bruce’s direction, face turning pale.
“No,” His second oldest whispered, clasping a hand to his mouth. “Is he-”
Later, it would be pointed out to Bruce that holding tightly onto something that looked like a limp body wrapped in a black funeral shroud was not the best idea for such a tense moment.
Alfred had emerged behind the four, his own jaw dropping. The cave went silent, all until Tim elbowed Bruce to let go of him, making the boy fall to the floor like a cat.
“Uh,” Tim straightened out his back and jazz-handed his arrival. “Surprise?”
The great reunification had ended a bit ago, once Tim was no longer being strangled by “I thought you were dead” hugs. Altogether, he was elated to be back with his family, but nearly regretted it as he found Jason entirely too prone to “welcome home” noogies.
He was on the couch now, with tea at his left side and a younger brother at the other.
They’d been ushered up to rest by Alfred, who’d forced them to leave the scene of Talia’s interrogation by Bruce, Dick, Jason and Cass.
Well, Bruce and Dick were doing the interrogating. Especially Dick, who had always been somehow against Talia since day one. Jason and Cass most likely stayed for the drama.
It would work itself out soon, Tim thought tiredly. Dick and Talia were both strong personalities. But had Dick tried her soup yet? That would win him over any day.
Alfred had readjusted his wrappings, put balm on his bruises, and clucked disapproval that Tim hadn’t been home to take approved medications and that that would be the first thing to do in the morning. But overall, the butler reluctantly admitted, ‘Miss Talia was sufficient’.
“Timothy?” Damian whispered straight into his ear, from where he had stuck himself at Tim’s side. Tim had no idea he could be that clingy with anyone that wasn’t dear “Richard,”, but he was glad to have it all the same.
“Yeah, Dami?”
“Don’t tell anyone this,” The younger boy considered for a moment. Tim saw his face turn strict in the dark, and he fought back his own smile. “But I am very glad you are not gone from us forever.”
“Right,” Tim agreed. He laid his head back on his younger brother’s shoulder and considered how lucky he was to have this.
Maybe tomorrow, he’d challenge Damian to a game of chutes and ladders, just to see his face grow red.
Meanwhile in the cave-
"What do you mean your father cut out his spleen last year, Talia!?"