Chapter Text
When Tim next awoke, he was back in the organ cartel hospital.
This was upsetting for several reasons.
First, because he had worked very hard to escape the organ cartel hospital, and it seemed rude that the universe had put him back here after all that effort.
Second, because his mouth tasted like old pennies, which was very unpleasant.
Third, because everything felt very floaty.
Not dizzy-floaty, like before. This was different… soft-floaty. Like someone had taken all his thoughts, wrapped them individually in cotton wool, and then released them into a very gentle breeze.
Tim blinked up at the ceiling.
The ceiling blinked back.
No. Wait. Ceilings didn’t blink.
…Probably.
Tim narrowed his eyes at it.
Sentient ceilings.
“Don’t start,” he whispered.
Something rustled beside him.
Tim turned his head very slowly, because his head felt floaty and also like it didn’t quite belong to him.
There were two people in the room, besides himself.
One was Bruce Wayne. The other was Jason Todd.
Tim blinked at them.
Bruce Wayne was sitting in the chair beside his bed, looking too large for it, which was probably a rich-person problem. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had a jacket folded neatly over the back of the chair, and there was a very serious expression on his face.
Jason Todd was sitting in the chair by the window with his arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee. He looked bored, except not really. His eyes kept flicking from Tim to the monitors and back again.
Tim stared.
“Oh.”
Bruce leaned forward slightly. “Tim?”
Tim stared at him. Then at Jason. Then back at Bruce.
“Hi,” Tim said, because that seemed polite.
Jason’s mouth twitched.
Bruce did not smile. Bruce Wayne had a very good serious face. Almost Batman-level serious. Which made sense, because—
Tim paused.
A thought drifted through his cotton-brain.
He watched it go.
Huh.
It was probably fine. It probably wasn’t important.
“You’re awake,” Bruce said.
Tim considered this.
Was he?
He looked down at himself. He was in a bed, under blankets, with tubes attached to his hand and something tight and uncomfortable around his middle. His left side still hurt, but in a distant way, like the pain had been placed in another room and asked to speak quietly.
“Yes,” Tim decided. “Probably.”
Jason snorted.
Bruce’s eyes flicked to him.
Jason immediately looked innocent in a way that was not convincing at all.
Tim looked around the room.
It was definitely the same hospital room. It had the same walls, same machines, and same suspiciously calm lighting. Same sense of institutional betrayal.
The IV pole was there too.
Tim gasped, “You survived!”
Jason blinked.
“What?”
Tim lifted one weak hand and pointed with great difficulty at the IV pole.
The IV pole stood beside the bed, gleaming majestically under the lights. Silent, watchful, and heroic.
“You made it,” Tim whispered, deeply moved, growing a little teary-eyed.
Jason followed his gaze. Then he looked at Bruce.
Bruce closed his eyes for half a second.
“Right,” Jason said slowly. “The pole.”
“It was compromised,” Tim whispered, still staring reverently.
“Was it?”
“Bravely.”
Jason’s lips pressed together, as if he were trying not to laugh. “Ah. Of course.”
Bruce cut in, “Tim, do you know where you are?”
Tim gave him a suspicious look. “The organ cartel hospital.”
Jason made a noise.
Bruce sighed.
“No, Tim. This is Gotham General Hospital.”
“That’s what they want you to call it.” Tim mock-whispered.
Jason turned away and made another noise, this one into his fist.
Tim was too busy scanning the room to be offended. There were flowers on the windowsill. A glass of water on the table. A little plastic cup. A folded blanket. A nurse call button.
And—
Tim froze.
There was something on the bedside table.
Something yellow.
His eyes went wide.
Slowly, with the reverence of someone witnessing an ancient artefact being uncovered from a tomb, Tim lifted one trembling finger and pointed.
“Cape.”
Jason sobered up immediately and looked at the table.
Bruce looked at Jason, one eyebrow raised.
Jason suddenly became very interested in the window.
Tim stared at the cape.
Robin’s cape.
Robin’s actual cape.
On his bedside table.
Tim’s heart did something extremely complicated. Then did several backflips. Then maybe exploded.
“Robin left it for you,” Jason said, still looking out the window.
Tim turned his head toward him so fast the whole room smeared sideways.
“Robin did?”
Bruce reached out, then stopped himself before touching Tim’s shoulder. “Careful.”
Tim ignored that because there were much more important things happening.
Jason scratched the side of his nose, avoiding eye contact still. “Yeah. He, uh. Saw how much you liked it.”
Tim stared at him.
Jason shrugged casually. “Said you could borrow it until you felt better.”
Tim’s eyes burned.
“Oh,” he said softly.
He swallowed. His throat hurt. Everything felt too much suddenly. The room, the bed, the cape, Jason Todd by the window, and Bruce Wayne in the chair beside him.
Jason looked at him then. His expression grew alarmed when he saw the tears rolling down Tim’s cheeks. “Oh. Are you—”
“That was really nice of you,” Tim whispered.
Jason went completely still, his face going pale.
Bruce did too.
Tim blinked at them.
There was a pause.
It was a very loud pause.
Jason’s face had gone blank. Bruce’s hand had stopped halfway toward the glass of water.
Tim looked between them.
“What?” he asked, because something was clearly wrong.
Jason’s voice was careful when he asked, “Nice of who?”
Tim frowned. Uh… was Jason… okay?
“You,” he said, because clearly Jason didn’t understand him the first time.
That was okay! Tim would just have to tell him again how nice it was of him.
Jason stared at him.
Tim stared back.
Then he looked at Bruce, because maybe Bruce could explain why Jason was being weird.
Okay. Bruce was also being weird.
Everyone was being very weird.
Tim tried to sit up.
This was immediately revealed to be a terrible plan.
Pain sparked through his side, muted but sharp enough to make him gasp. Bruce moved at once, one hand settling gently against his shoulder to ease him back down.
“Don’t move.”
Tim obeyed mostly because his body had already voted no.
“Rude,” Tim mumbled at his side. “We talked about this.”
Jason leaned forward now, elbows on his knees. “Tim.”
Tim looked at him.
Jason’s face was a little blurry.
“How do you know it was me?”
Tim blinked.
The cotton wool in his brain drifted gently past.
“How do I know what was you?”
“The cape.”
“Because you’re Robin.”
Jason’s mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened again.
Somehow, he went even more pale.
Bruce inhaled very quietly.
Tim looked at him. “You’re doing the thing.”
Bruce’s voice was low and tense when he asked, “What thing?”
“The Batman thing.”
Jason made a strangled sound.
Bruce didn’t react.
Tim frowned at them both. “Are we pretending? I can pretend.”
No one answered.
Tim nodded, deciding that no answer meant yes.
He looked toward the door and lowered his voice into what he thought was a whisper, but was probably not even close.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd that you’re Batman and Robin.”
Jason choked.
Bruce’s eyes closed.
Tim smiled faintly, pleased with himself.
“See? Good pretending.”
He sagged back into his pillows, staring up as the sentient ceiling spun in circles above his head.
Jason stood up so suddenly that his chair scraped back against the floor loudly.
Tim flinched.
Jason froze.
Bruce’s hand stayed on Tim’s shoulder, warm and steady through the blanket.
“It’s okay,” Bruce reassured quietly.
Jason looked like he had been hit in the face with a brick, which was strange, because Tim had seen Robin get punched several times, and he usually handled it better than that.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Tim said, because that seemed important, and maybe it would make them stop being weird. “I’m good at secrets.”
Jason made a sound from behind his hands that might have been a laugh or a small breakdown.
Bruce opened his eyes.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
Tim thought about it. This was difficult because time was currently more of a suggestion than a system.
“I don’t know,” he said. “A long time.”
Jason and Bruce were both watching him silently with full Bat-stares. It was a bit uncomfortable.
Tim continued, because they had asked, and it was rude not to answer questions when people asked them nicely.
“I mean, I knew about Dick Grayson because of the quadruple somersault. Nobody else moves like that. Not even Olympic gymnasts, because they land differently. And then Robin changed, and he got smaller and did the shoulder thing—”
“The shoulder thing?” Jason interrupted weakly.
“Your left shoulder drops when you’re tired,” Tim informed him, very solemnly.
Jason stared.
“It’s not bad,” Tim added quickly, because maybe that hurt his feelings. “You’re still very good. Excellent, actually. But it makes your landings easier to predict if someone is watching from the north side of Robinson Park with binoculars.”
Jason slowly turned to Bruce.
Bruce had gone very quiet.
Tim looked between them,“...was that weird?”
“Yes,” Jason said, instantly.
Bruce sighed, “You watched us from Robinson Park?”
“Only sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Jason repeated, voice faint.
Tim squinted at him. “Well, not in the rain. The binoculars fog up.”
Jason sat back down. He didn’t seem to mean to. His knees just sort of… folded, and the chair caught him.
Tim understood. Bodies were unreliable.
Bruce said, “Timothy.”
Tim made a face.
“Tim is fine.”
Bruce paused.
“Tim,” he corrected, and for some reason that made Tim feel warm and squirmy inside. “You were following us.”
“Observing,” Tim corrected. Because following made it sound creepy.
Jason laughed once. It sounded slightly hysterical.
Bruce looked like he was trying very hard not to react.
Tim frowned.
“I wasn’t going to interfere,” he said. “Except tonight. But tonight was different, because you were going to miss the route.”
The room was quiet, as if they didn’t quite know what to say.
Machines beeped softly beside him. The IV pole was still standing guard. Robin’s cape lay folded on the table.
Tim wanted to touch it, but his arms felt very far away. He twitched his hand toward it, and then sort of just… stared mournfully at it.
Jason noticed. Of course, Jason noticed. Robin noticed things too. And Jason was Robin, and Robin was Jason.
He stood, picked up the cape carefully, and brought it over.
Bruce watched him, eyes soft.
Jason hesitated beside the bed, suddenly looking awkward.
“Here,” he said, holding it out.
Tim just stared—because… wow, Robin was giving him his cape—and didn’t take it, because, WOW! ROBIN WAS GIVING HIM HIS CAPE!
Jason shifted awkwardly on his feet when Tim just stared with wide, bug-like eyes, and then laid the cape over the blanket, careful not to jostle any tubes or wires. The yellow lining spilled bright across Tim’s chest, soft and warm and real.
Tim touched it gently with the tips of his fingers.
“Wow,” he whispered.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just a cape.”
Tim shook his head.
It was not just a cape. It was Robin’s cape.
And Robin had given it to him. Had left him something because he had liked it.
Tim’s eyes grew watery again, which was embarrassing and probably the fault of the medication.
“Thank you,” he said, in an utterly sincere tone.
Jason looked away, cheeks warming until they were pink. “Yeah. Don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t.”
“You already did.”
“Sorry.”
Jason’s mouth twitched, and he flopped back into his chair, edging it a little closer to Tim’s bed.
Bruce’s expression softened as Tim stroked the cape, very carefully.
“I—I’m sorry I know your secret identities,” Tim muttered, still stroking the cape. “I didn’t mean to.”
Bruce leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice quiet. “Tim. We’re not angry.”
Tim looked at him warily. “But you’re doing the Batman voice.”
Bruce paused.
Jason muttered, “He only has the one voice.”
“I heard that,” Bruce said, shooting him a sideways glance.
“You were supposed to.”
Tim giggled.
It slipped out of him before he could stop it, small and breathy. Then he stopped because laughing hurt, and Bruce immediately looked like someone had stabbed him.
“I’m okay,” Tim whispered. Which was absolutely a lie. He wasn’t.
Jason glanced at the monitor as it beeped a little faster.
Tim looked at it too. “Is that one sentient?”
Jason followed his gaze. “The heart monitor?”
“It keeps telling on me.”
Jason blinked. Then grinned despite himself. “Yeah. Total narc.”
“I knew it.”
Bruce sighed, sounding tired. “Jason, don't encourage him.”
Tim’s eyelids were getting heavy again.
That seemed unfair. He had only just woken up, and there were so many things to ask. Like whether Jason had weighted cape edges. Like whether Batman had a poetry degree. Like whether Bruce Wayne owned the hospital, because rich people owned things, and if he did, then he should really do something about the organ cartel branding problem.
“Bruce?” Tim mumbled.
Bruce leaned closer. “Yes?”
Tim forgot what he was going to say for a second.
Then he remembered.
“Your hospital has bad security.”
Bruce blinked at him.
“I escaped with bare feet.”
Jason turned sharply toward the window again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Bruce looked like he was getting a headache.
“You won’t be escaping again,” he said, voice certain in the way that adults got when they were very serious.
Tim considered that, frowning. “You don’t know that. I’m very good at escaping.”
Jason wheezed.
Bruce said, “I’m increasing security.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “Organ cartel behaviour.”
“Tim.”
“Just saying.”
“You need to stay in bed.”
“Don’ wanna,” Tim frowned.
“Robin would stay in bed,” Bruce tried, glancing over at Jason. “Wouldn’t he, Jason?”
“Uh—yeah.” Jason choked down a laugh, looking almost pained by it. “Totally. Robin’s the best at bedrest.”
Tim frowned. That wasn’t true—he’d seen Robin out when he was supposed to be resting, and then Batman would get mad and scruff him like he was a kitten and then—
“See, Tim? Robin would rest.” Bruce turned his attention back to him, almost looking a little pleading. “And it’s very important that you don’t hurt yourself again before you’ve healed.”
“But I don’ like it here,” Tim murmured, still frowning. “Gon’ escape again.”
“No.” Bruce shook his head. “You need to stay, Tim.”
Tim narrowed his eyes at him, scowling a little. “Can’t make me.”
Jason snorted.
“Actually, I can,” Bruce told him, raising a brow. “Batman, remember?”
Then Tim said, with the absolute certainty of someone both ten years old and extremely medicated, “I could escape Batman.”
Jason choked.
Bruce just blinked. “You… think you could escape Batman?”
“Yeah.” Tim nodded, blinking drowsily.
Jason bent forward, shoulders shaking, and pressed his face into his hands.
“Batman is very difficult to escape,” Bruce said. “More difficult than escaping hospital staff.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed again. “That’s what you want people to think.”
Jason lost it.
Not loudly, because Bruce immediately shot him a warning look, but enough that he had to turn away and press a hand over his mouth.
Tim looked smug for about half a second before his eyelids started drooping again.
Bruce sighed. “You are not escaping Batman.”
Jason lost it completely and loudly, tears leaking from his eyes as he laughed mercilessly into his hand.
Tim looked at him fondly.
Robin had a nice laugh.
Jason caught him looking and stopped immediately, dropping his hand. “What?”
He sounded defensive.
“You have a nice laugh,” Tim said, sincerely.
Jason’s face went blank. Then bright red.
Bruce looked at Jason and then laughed at his expression. “You okay over there, Jaylad?”
“Shut up,” Jason grumbled softly, face still pink.
Bruce’s laugh faded, but not entirely. There was still something soft tugging at the corners of his mouth when he looked back at Tim.
Then his expression changed, becoming more serious.
Tim didn’t like that.
That was an adult-about-to-have-a-serious-conversation face.
Those were dangerous.
Tim tugged Robin’s cape higher on the blanket, just in case it could provide tactical cover.
“Tim,” Bruce said. “Do you remember why you’re here?”
Tim looked down at the blanket, then at Robin’s cape. Then at the IV pole, who offered no useful support whatsoever.
As usual.
Traitor.
He shrugged.
Bruce’s voice stayed low and gentle. “You had a splenectomy.”
Tim blinked.
That was a lot of syllables.
He tried to inspect the word from several angles.
Sple-nect-omy.
No. Bad. Suspicious. Probably Latin. Doctors loved Latin because it made organ theft sound professional.
“A what?” Tim blinked, blearily.
“They removed your spleen,” Bruce explained carefully. “It ruptured.”
Then he added, when Tim only continued to blink at him, “Do you know what a spleen is, Tim?”
Tim stared at him, then at Jason, then back at Bruce.
“My spleen,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
Tim frowned.
That was… probably bad.
He didn’t know his spleen very well. It had never introduced itself properly. But it had still been his. You couldn’t just take someone’s spleen without asking. That was exactly the kind of thing the organ cartel would do.
Tim looked down at his covered stomach with deep betrayal.
“I knew it,” he whispered.
Jason leaned forward. “Knew what?”
“They stole an organ.”
Bruce rubbed his forehead with two fingers, briefly closing his eyes with a very tired expression.
Jason made a small, helpless sound.
“It was medically necessary,” Bruce said.
“My spleen.” Tim lamented mournfully, tone sounding genuinely sad. “They stole it.”
“Tim.”
“What does a spleen even do?” Tim asked, suddenly suspicious, looking at Bruce. “Was it important?”
Bruce opened his mouth.
Jason opened his mouth too, then paused, clearly realising he didn’t know either.
Tim pointed weakly at him. “You don’t know.”
“I know stuff,” Jason said defensively.
“Not spleen stuff.”
Jason looked offended. “Nobody knows spleen stuff.”
“Doctors do,” Bruce said.
Tim looked at him and nodded solemnly. “Organ thieves.”
Bruce exhaled through his nose.
Jason looked like he was going to lose the fight with his face again.
Bruce leaned closer. “The spleen helps filter blood and supports the immune system. You can live without it, but you’ll need follow-up care. Vaccines. Antibiotics, possibly.”
Tim stared at him.
That was too much information. But also not enough information.
Also, awful.
“I have to take care of a missing spleen?” he pouted, put-out.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“That seems unfair. It’s the one that left.”
Jason put a hand over his mouth again.
Bruce’s face twitched once, but he managed to keep his voice steady. His face grew serious again. “The doctors also told me you called 911 yourself.”
Jason stopped laughing.
Tim’s stomach did something unpleasant.
He looked away.
The cape was very yellow. Very bright. Too bright, maybe. It was hard to look directly at it and also think about the phone call. About lying on the floor. About the stairs above him and the bannister beside him and the terrible, hot pain in his side.
Bruce was watching him. He did that a lot.
Tim stroked the edge of the cape with one finger.
“Did I?” he asked, because maybe if he sounded vague enough, the question would go away. That’s how it usually worked, anyway.
“You told them you fell,” Bruce said. “That you were hurt badly.”
Tim swallowed. His throat felt thick.
“That sounds like something I might say.”
“They couldn’t get hold of your parents.”
Tim kept looking at the cape, brushing his hand back and forth repetitively. It felt nice under his fingers. Nicer than the questions Bruce kept asking.
Jason was very still in the chair now.
Bruce’s voice was gentler when he asked, “What happened?”
Tim didn’t answer.
The heart monitor beeped faster again.
Narc.
Jason and Bruce both glanced at it. Tim continued to stare at the cape intently, brushing his fingers back and forth.
Brush forward—brush back—brush forward—brush back.
It was nice. Every time he did it, the fabric made a soft sssshh sound.
Bruce waited.
That was worse than asking again.
Tim shifted under the blankets, then immediately regretted it. Pain tugged at his side, dull and deep and awful. His fingers clenched in Robin’s cape.
“I fell,” he said.
Bruce’s gaze didn’t move from his face. “From where? It must've been a bad fall to rupture your spleen.”
Tim’s ears went hot.
Oh no.
No.
Absolutely not.
He couldn’t say.
He couldn’t say the thing in front of Bruce Wayne, who was Batman, and Jason Todd, who was Robin, while he was currently wearing Robin’s cape like a very sad blanket burrito.
That was impossible.
He would rather have another spleen removed.
Well. No. Not that.
But almost.
“Somewhere,” Tim muttered.
Jason leaned forward slightly. “Somewhere?”
“A location,” Tim clarified.
Bruce’s eyebrow lifted.
Tim hated that eyebrow. It was Batman’s eyebrow, even without the cowl. Very unfair, very intimidating. Probably trained.
“Tim,” Bruce said, tone firm and expectant.
Tim pulled the cape higher until it nearly reached his chin.
“No.”
Bruce paused, eyebrow dropping. “No?”
“I object to this line of questioning.”
Jason blinked.
Then his mouth started twitching again. “You object?”
“Yes.”
“On what grounds?”
“Embarrassment.”
Bruce’s expression softened in a way that made Tim want to hide under the blanket entirely. “You’re not in trouble.”
That was a lie adults said right before you were in trouble.
Tim gave him a look.
Bruce amended, “You’re not in trouble for falling.”
That was more specific.
Tim considered it.
Jason added, quieter, “We just need to know what happened.”
Tim looked at him.
Jason looked worried. He wasn’t amused anymore. Just worried, in a way that made Tim’s chest feel weird again.
Robin was worried about him.
Jason was worried about him.
This was terrible.
Tim looked back down.
“I was on the stairs,” he mumbled.
Bruce clarified, “At home?”
Tim nodded once.
“At Drake Manor?”
Tim nodded again.
Jason’s brows drew together. “Alone?”
Tim’s fingers picked at the cape lining.
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It’s my question,” Jason said.
Tim didn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself.
Jason went quiet. Bruce’s jaw tightened.
Tim could feel the room changing around him, could feel them filing things away in their heads. Empty house, no parents. A ten-year-old calling 911 by himself. Surgery. No one to answer the hospital’s calls.
He hated that. He hated being evidence. He’d just fallen. Why did it have to be such a big deal?
“I fell down the stairs,” Tim said quickly, getting it all out in one go.
Unfortunately, because Bruce was Bruce, he pressed further. “How?”
“Gravity.”
Jason scoffed, but he didn’t look amused.
Bruce just raised an expectant brow. A bat-brow.
Tim sighed.
Apparently, gravity wasn’t enough detail for Batman.
Of course it wasn’t. Batman probably interrogated gravity regularly.
“I tripped,” Tim forced out, eyes glued to Robin’s cape.
“On what?”
Tim closed his eyes.
No.
No, no, no.
He could not.
He could already feel his face burning. His whole face. Maybe his ears. Maybe his soul.
Tim pulled the cape up over his face so he couldn’t see them. Maybe that would help.
“Tim?”
“It was a cape,” Tim whispered.
Neither of them responded.
Tim kept his eyes squeezed shut, hiding under the safety of the yellow cape.
“A cape,” Bruce repeated slowly.
Tim nodded miserably.
There was a long pause.
Then Jason asked, very carefully, “What cape?”
Tim wished the bed would eat him.
It was a hospital bed. Maybe it had hidden functions. Maybe one of the buttons summoned a trapdoor. Like in the cartoons he sometimes watched that his Mom didn't like.
He cracked one eye open and risked peeking out from under the cape.
They were both staring at him.
The IV pole was also probably staring at him, but that was less important.
Tim made a very small sound of distress.
“You can’t laugh,” he said.
Jason sat back slightly. “I’m not gonna laugh.”
“You might.”
“I won’t.”
“You have a history.”
Jason looked like he had no idea whether to be offended or guilty. “A history?”
“With laughing.”
Bruce said, “Jason.”
“I’m not laughing!”
“You’re thinking about laughing.”
“I’m thinking about a lot of things!”
Tim pulled the cape up over his nose again.
Bruce looked back at him. “Tim.”
“You have to promise you won’t laugh,” Tim said, staring at him with wide eyes and red cheeks, almost entirely hidden by the cape now.
“We both promise that we won’t laugh, right, Jason?” Bruce said firmly, turning to him.
Jason nodded just as firmly. “I won’t laugh.”
Tim sighed and caved, pulling the cape back over his face. His voice came out muffled. “I tripped over my Robin costume.”
Silence.
Terrible silence.
Dead silence.
The worst silence that had ever happened in any room, including probably courtrooms and funerals.
Tim slowly lowered the cape enough to see.
Jason was staring at him like his brain had stopped working.
Bruce’s eyes had widened slightly.
Only slightly, because Bruce was Batman and Batman probably widened his eyes on a strict budget. He probably only got to widen his eyes three times a year.
Tim wanted to sink through the mattress.
“I—I made it, and I wanted to see if it was—like yours,” he stuttered out, a little desperately. “So I was testing mobility.”
Jason’s voice was faint. “In a homemade Robin costume.”
Tim nodded once.
“On the stairs.”
“Well… actually…” Tim hedged.
Bruce closed his eyes.
“I was on the chandelier in the entrance hall—”
“You were where?” Jason sounded horrified. “How did you get up there?”
“I had to test vertical movement!”
“How did you get up there?” Jason repeated, a little hysterical.
Tim waved dismissively. “There’s a landing.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Bruce said, very quietly, “Tim.”
Tim sighed, as if they were being deliberately difficult. “There’s a balcony over the entrance hall. And the bannister has decorative ironwork. And if you stand on the post, you can reach the curtain rod.”
Both Jason and Bruce looked a little horrified.
“The curtain rod,” Bruce repeated, faintly.
“It’s load-bearing,” Tim informed him, cheerily.
“It is absolutely not load-bearing.” Jason cut in.
“It was load-bearing enough,” Tim said defensively. “Temporarily.”
Bruce closed his eyes again.
“And then I used the curtain to swing across.”
Jason made a strangled noise. “You used the curtain.”
“Only because the rope ladder doesn’t reach that far.”
Bruce opened his eyes. “The what.”
Tim shut his mouth.
Oh no. He’d said too much.
There was a pause.
Jason put both hands over his face.
Tim immediately panicked. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“I’m not laughing,” Jason said through his hands.
His shoulders were shaking.
“Jaaason,” Tim whined, cheeks burning.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Jason reiterated, voice strangled.
Bruce reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Tim stared at him in horror. “You too?”
“I’m not laughing,” Bruce said, but his voice sounded slightly strained, too.
“You both promised!” Tim said, pulling the cape up over his face, mortified.
Jason made a noise behind his hands.
Tim’s eyes burned again.
Oh no.
No, no. That was worse. He could handle them laughing, maybe. He could not handle crying about it. That would be humiliating on top of the first humiliation, creating a layered humiliation structure. Like lasagne, if lasagne sucked.
“I wasn’t trying to be weird,” Tim said quickly. His voice came out whiny. “I know it’s weird. I know. I just—Robin moves different than Batman, and I was trying to understand the cape weight, because it changes the turn radius if you pivot too fast, and I thought if I could replicate the drag—just a little bit, not exactly, obviously, because I don’t have the right materials, and the bedsheet was too long, so I had to cut it, but then it kept catching under my foot, and I knew it was a design problem, I knew that, but I thought if I adjusted for the angle—”
“Tim,” Bruce interrupted softly.
Tim stopped, peering out from under the cape again.
His breathing had sped up, and the monitor was beeping fast.
Tim glared at it with wet eyes.
Jason had lowered his hands.
He wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead, he looked… sad?
“So that’s how you fell?” Jason asked. “You were… on the chandelier?”
Tim looked away.
“Yeah. But then one of the chains snapped, ‘cause I guess it’s not made for swinging on.”
Bruce exhaled heavily, one hand buried in his hair as he listened. He looked… stressed, maybe?
But that made no sense.
Why would he be stressed?
“And so then I lost my balance and fell onto the stairs underneath it, and it was almost fine, but then I missed a step,” Tim whispered. “And my cape caught. I tried to correct, but I overbalanced, and I fell. I hit the bannister on the way down. Here.”
He touched the blanket over his left side, before Bruce could tell him not to, then winced when that made it burn. “It hurt. A lot. I thought maybe I broke a rib or something. But then it kept getting worse, and I couldn’t really stand, and there was blood in my mouth, I think, or maybe I bit my tongue, and I called 911 ‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to do if you can’t solve the problem independently.”
Jason stared at him.
Bruce’s face had gone pale.
Tim’s voice got smaller. “I didn’t mean to be stupid.”
Jason moved so fast that Tim blinked, and he was in front of him.
One second, he was in the chair. The next, he was at the side of the bed, close but not touching, face stricken.
“Hey,” Jason said. “No. No, don’t—don’t call yourself stupid.”
Tim blinked at him.
Jason swallowed, looking furious for a second, but not at Tim. At something else. At the stairs, maybe—or the chandelier. At the empty house. At the fact that Tim had been alone on the floor with a ruptured spleen and a phone in his hand.
“You called 911,” Jason said. “That was smart.”
Tim sniffed.
“It was?”
“Yeah. Obviously it was.”
Bruce leaned forward too. “It saved your life.”
Tim looked at him.
Bruce’s voice was very steady and serious. “You did exactly the right thing.”
Tim absorbed that slowly.
“But I fell because I was pretending to be Robin,” he whispered.
Jason’s expression contorted until it looked painful.
Then he reached out and, very gently, tugged the cape higher over Tim’s chest.
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Well. Robin’s fallen off plenty of stuff.”
Tim stared at him.
Jason shrugged, faux casual. “Stairs. Fire escapes. Gargoyles. One time, even a billboard.”
Bruce turned his head. “A billboard?”
Jason pointed at him without looking away from Tim. “Not the point.”
Tim’s mouth parted slightly. “You fell off a billboard?”
“Don’t sound so impressed.”
“I’m very impressed.”
“Okay, sound a little impressed.”
“Jason,” Bruce interrupted. “What billboard?”
Jason ignored him. “Point is, falling doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you someone who needs a better cape.”
Tim stared.
His eyes filled completely this time, and tears started to spill over.
Jason’s face went panicked, hands hovering by Tim’s face. “No, wait, don’t—was that bad? That wasn’t supposed to be bad.”
Tim shook his head, which hurt, so he stopped. “No. It’s good.”
Bruce’s hand settled carefully over Tim’s fingers where they rested on the cape. “You were alone when it happened?”
Tim’s stomach twisted again.
There it was.
The real question under all the other questions.
Tim looked down.
“My parents travel a lot.”
Jason’s jaw clenched.
Bruce’s voice stayed gentle. “How long have they been gone?”
Tim tried to think.
Days were slippery right now.
“I… don’t know,” he murmured. “Mrs Mac checks in, but she only comes on Mondays and Thursdays unless there’s laundry.”
Jason looked at Bruce.
Bruce’s face had gone still and cold in a way Tim had only ever seen on Batman.
Tim hurried on, because he did not want that look aimed anywhere near his parents, even if they weren’t here to see it.
He’d never seen a look like that on Bruce Wayne before. On Batman? Sure. But never Bruce Wayne.
“It’s okay. I’m good alone. I have systems.”
Jason’s voice was rough. “What kind of systems?”
He was sitting on the bed next to Tim now. There wasn’t much space on the bed, because it was small, so that meant that Tim could feel his body heat through the covers where their legs were pressed together, even separated by the cape and the bedsheet.
(He could feel Robin's body heat through the covers where their legs were pressed together! Wow. This was the best. Day. EVER!)
“Food system. Emergency system. Roof system.”
Bruce said, very quietly, “Roof system?”
Tim immediately realised this was not a good thing to have said.
He swiftly backtracked. “I don’t have that one anymore.”
Jason made a strangled sound. “Anymore?”
Bruce’s hand didn’t move from his. “Tim. Is there any way I can contact your parents? The hospital couldn’t get through.”
Tim blinked.
“Maybe an emergency number they gave you?” Bruce suggested, searching his face.
Tim frowned.
An emergency number.
No, he didn’t have anything like that.
“They’re busy,” Tim said. “I don’t have—that. A number.”
Jason’s face went blank in the way Robin’s had—his had—back at the docks when Tim said outside blood.
Bruce looked at him for a long moment.
“Okay,” he said at last, exhaling slowly. “Tim, I need you to understand something.”
Tim pulled Robin’s cape higher.
Bruce’s hand stayed carefully over his, and he brushed his thumb gently over his skin. “Leaving you alone like this is neglect.”
Tim blinked.
Neglect? No. That was when people didn’t care for something properly. And Tim was cared for, so that made no sense. He always had money, so he always had food, and clothes, and he got the bus to school every day, and Mrs Mac always checked on him, and— neglect. No. That— no.
“My parents travel,” he said, again, like that would suddenly make Bruce understand.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Bruce said, voice quiet. “You were alone, badly injured, and no one came. That was dangerous, Tim.”
Tim looked down at the cape.
His throat hurt.
“I handled it,” he whispered.
Jason made a small, wounded sound. “Yeah, you did. That’s the problem.”
Tim looked at him.
Jason looked furious.
Bruce said, “You’re not going back there alone.”
Tim’s head snapped up. “Wait. What?”
“You’re coming home with us,” Bruce said.
Tim stared at him.
Then at Jason.
Then back at Bruce.
“That’s kidnapping,” he said faintly.
Jason pointed at Bruce. “He’s a billionaire. They call it guardianship when he does it.”
“Jason,” Bruce said, sounding tired.
“What? Am I wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Legally or emotionally?”
Tim made a small, confused noise.
Bruce’s thumb shifted once over Tim’s fingers. “I’ll handle the legal side. For now, you need somewhere safe to recover.”
Tim swallowed. “But my stuff is at home.”
His voice came out smaller than he meant it to.
Jason’s expression softened. “We’ll get your stuff.”
“My notebooks.”
“Especially the notebooks.”
“My camera.”
“Camera too.”
“My roof system.”
Bruce said, “Absolutely not.”
Jason said, “We’ll workshop the roof system.”
Bruce turned his head slowly.
Jason lifted both hands. “In an indoor workshop. A ground-floor workshop. Maybe even an underground workshop. Very supervised. Very safe.”
Tim stared at him.
Bruce sighed.
“In the Batcave?" Tim whispered, voice awed.
“How do you know about— never mind.” Jason sighed.
Then his mouth quirked in a crooked smile, softer now. “Tell you what. When you’re better, I’ll help you make a new Robin suit.”
Tim stopped breathing.
Bruce also stopped breathing, but in a different way.
Jason pretended not to notice. “A safer one. With proper cape weight. And no bedsheets.” Bruce looked like he was two seconds away from having an aneurysm, so Jason added. “And no chandelier testing without adult supervision.”
Tim’s eyes went enormous. “You’d let me use your suit?”
“What?! No, I—” Jason started, then saw Tim’s wide eyes and faltered. “Uh… for… for reference. Reference only. No stealing.”
“I don’t steal.”
“You stalk vigilantes with binoculars.”
“That’s research.”
“Sure it is.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jason.”
Jason glanced at him. “What? You reinforced the chandeliers at the Manor for Dick.”
Tim’s head turned very slowly toward Bruce, eyes sparkling.
Bruce went still.
“You did what?” Tim whispered.
Jason grinned. “Oh, yeah. First Robin used to swing from them all the time. Still does, when he thinks Bruce isn’t looking.”
“He always knows I’m looking,” Bruce said tiredly.
Tim stared at Bruce.
Bruce glanced at him, then caved with a loud sigh. “When you are fully recovered, and only with supervision, we can discuss safe training equipment.”
Jason leaned closer to Tim and stage-whispered, “That means yes.”
“It does not mean yes.”
“It means eventual yes.” Jason leaned in and whispered loudly, “Don’t worry, Tim, I’ll get Alfred on our side, and then Bruce will have to agree.”
Tim clutched Robin’s cape under his chin.
His eyes were wet again.
“I’m going with you?” he asked quietly.
Bruce’s face softened.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re coming home with us.”
Tim looked at Jason.
Jason nodded once. “Yeah. You are.”
Tim blinked down at the cape.
“Oh,” he whispered.
Then, after a second:
“Can the IV pole come?”
Jason lost the fight with his face completely.
Bruce closed his eyes. “No.”