Chapter Text
Dad, it’s Tim. Can you - I know you’re busy hosting the party, but I don’t feel so good. I think - I think someone put something in my drink and I - can you come get me? Please. I promise I won’t take you away from the party for too long. I just really don’t feel good.
Tim’s hands were starting to shake.
He stared at his phone screen, head throbbing in time with his heartbeat and waited. His mother was on a business trip, but he’d called his father twice and sent a text - Jack was busy with the party, but he checked his messages pretty regularly in case the company needed him, or someone important was trying to reach out. You had to be available when opportunity called, he always said.
He heard footsteps outside. The click of dress shoes on the tile floors.
Tim’s hands shook a little harder. He was pretty sure no one would find him here. It had been his favorite hiding space as a kid, when he’d been scared by thunderstorms, or strange noises at night, or if his nanny was drunk again. He’d creep downstairs, through the kitchen, into the laundry room and crawl into the little storage cupboard in the closet. As a kid he’d curl up on the piles of clean sheets and towels, and fall asleep with cupboard doors closed, and wait for it to be over. The scent of specific laundry detergent still made him feel calm to this day.
He hadn’t done it in years, and was almost too big to fit, but he’d made himself as small as possible and tucked himself in.
He was starting to feel sicker, and the headache was getting worse. If he was just coming down with something, that was no big deal, though his father would be mad at him for embarrassing him at the party. But he had felt fine, right up until he’d been talking to one of his Dad’s business partners.
The same business partner who had followed him out of the ballroom when he started feeling unsteady.
Tim’s hands shook again, and he almost dropped his phone. Bruce always told him to trust his instincts, that it was better to call for backup and not need it than to get hurt (or worse, so much worse, he’d seen a flash of that now-familiar grief in Bruce’s eyes when he said I don’t ever want you to be hurt because you were afraid to ask me for help).
Bruce wouldn’t be mad if Tim called. Just in case. If he was wrong, Bruce would tell him so, and then at least Tim would know for sure he was safe. And he was already here, at the party, so even if Tim was wasting his time it wouldn’t be more than a few minutes.
His fingers mostly made the decision without him. The phone was ringing before he realized what he was doing.
“Tim. Where are you?”
“Bruce,” he said. His tongue felt thick. Slurred speech was a side effect of certain kinds of drugs, wasn’t it? “I don’t - I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t feel so good.” He shuddered, and added, quickly, in case Bruce thought he was just being a baby, “I think someone put something in my drink.”
“I’m coming, tell me where you are.”
“Laundry room,” Tim said. He heard footsteps on tile again and dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “Someone’s here.”
“Don’t go anywhere with them. If they try to make you, scream. I’m coming.”
“If I start screaming Dad’ll kill me,” Tim joked.
“I won’t let him,” Bruce said and it was just a hair shy of Batman’s voice, angry and protective and somehow so reassuring. Not even Jack Drake could argue with that voice, Tim thought. He’d probably try, though.
He heard new footsteps, moving quick, and then voices. Bruce - Brucie, Dick called him when he was like this, his voice a little higher pitched than normal, words a little too languid. He was pretending to be tipsy so no one would wonder why he was wandering around the house, or think twice about him leaving early.
Another voice answered, an uneasy chuckle. Tim could hear it echo through the still open phone line, but muffled, as if Bruce had put the phone in his pocket. Vince Carson, one of his dad’s golf buddies, and the guy who’d handed Tim the cup of Zesti while he was hanging out by the dessert table. There was a burst of laughter and then Tim heard the measured click of dress shoes on tile as someone walked away.
Not Bruce. Tim clutched the phone tighter in his hands. Bruce wasn’t leaving.
No footsteps this time, just the cupboard doors opening, letting light into his hiding place. Tim squinted against the fluorescent white lights in the laundry room, his head pounding double time.
“Hey,” Bruce said, and his voice echoed back at him through Tim’s phone before Bruce took it and ended the call. “There you are. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Don’t feel good,” Tim warned him. His stomach felt a little flippy, but it was mostly his head so far.
“I know, buddy. It’ll be okay. Come on, you’ll be more comfortable upstairs.”
Bruce held his hands as Tim untucked himself and crawled out of the cupboard, and all but pulled him to his feet. His hands were strong and steady as Tim’s legs shook. “Can you walk?” Bruce asked.
Tim nodded. He was strangely hesitant to speak now that he was back out in the open. What if Mr Carson was outside? If he heard TIm he might come back.
Bruce would make him leave, though. Bruce would stop him if Vince tried to make Tim go somewhere with him. Bruce had never been afraid of causing a scene, anyway, and he’d never let someone do that to anyone, especially not a kid.
Bruce’s arm was strong around his back, holding Tim close to his side.
Maybe especially not to Tim.
They didn’t run into anyone as Bruce led them through the mansion to the back staircase. Tim’s legs shook on the stairs but Bruce just took them slow, let Tim steady himself each time before moving on, one hand on Tim’s back to catch him if he needed it. Tim swallowed the urge to apologize with every step, to force himself to rush. Bruce wasn’t going to lose his temper and drag him up the rest of the stairs, and he wasn’t going to give up on him and leave him there. Bruce cared more about doing things right and being safe than he did about being quiet and not causing trouble.
“Just a few more steps,” Bruce said, and his voice was calm.
Bruce coaxed him up the last steps, and down the hall to Tim’s room, all the way at the end. Tim had a brief flash of certainty that Mr Carson was going to be waiting in there for them, but his room was empty. Bruce locked the door behind them.
“How long has it been since he gave you the drink?” Bruce asked. He guided Tim by his shoulders to sit on the bed and then crouched down so they were at eye level. His hands gripped Tim’s knees, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable.
“Fifteen, twenty minutes?” Tim guessed. “Maybe. I wasn’t looking at a clock.”
Bruce hummed. “That’s my guess too. I didn’t see what happened, but I saw you leaving. And I saw him follow you,” he added in a dark tone that usually meant someone was going to prison so hard. “I went after you, but you shook us both.”
“Hiding,” Tim said. He was tired. He wanted to close his eyes and lean forward and let Bruce catch him. But Bruce needed to be able to move fast in case Mr. Carson came back, so Tim had to stay awake.
“Smart boy.” Bruce smiled at him and squeezed his knees. “You handled yourself very well.”
The compliment made him feel warm, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. “Stupid,” Tim said, having to swallow against the unpleasant twist in his stomach. “Never take an open drink.”
“You’re not stupid,” Bruce said. “And it’s never your fault when someone tries to hurt you, do you understand?”
“Still dumb,” Tim sighed. His head was a little better up here. Bruce hadn’t turned on the lights and his room was dim, and quiet. He was feeling it a little more though. Tired. Shaky. His head was trying to float away. “Not taking any more Zestis from him.”
“No one will,” Bruce growled.
Tim heard knocking and he jerked his head up with a gasp, eyes locked on his door. Mr Carson, he thought. But Bruce was there. Bruce wouldn’t let him in.
“It’s all right,” Bruce said. He let go of Tim’s knees and stood. “It’s just Dick.”
Tim blinked at him as he took a few steps away to open the window next to the dresser.
Dick was perched in the tree outside and didn’t climb in so much as swing himself over so he could perch on the sill. He was wearing jeans and a jacket over an old band t-shirt so he definitely hadn’t been at the party with Bruce, but he’d arrived too fast to have been in Bludhaven so he must have been staying at the Manor for the weekend. “Hey, little brother. Heard you needed some backup.”
Tim swallowed against the tears that were threatening. “Dick. I screwed up.”
“Hey, no.” Dick pushed past Bruce and sat down on the bed next to Tim, one leg folded under him so he was facing Tim. “B told me what happened. You did everything right.”
Bruce stood in front of them and cupped a hand around the back of Tim’s head. Tim leaned into it a little, liking the warmth. His neck was starting to feel like a noodle anyway. Bruce could hold his head up for a bit. He could handle Mr Carson one-handed anyway. “I’m going to go for a bit, make my excuses and make sure they see me leaving the party. Then I have to go run some tests. But Dick is going to stay right here with you, okay?”
Dick was safe. Dick wasn’t Batman, but Dick was safe. He wouldn’t open the door, either. “What if Mr Carson comes back?” Tim asked.
Dick took Tim’s chin in one hand and gently turned his head so Tim was staring at him. “Is Mr Carson the one who gave you that drink?”
Tim nodded. “He’s a friend of my dad. He said he thought I looked bored all by myself.”
“Did he touch you?” Dick brushed his thumb over Tim’s jaw. Back and forth, real slow. Tim wondered if he even knew he was doing it. “I need to know if he hurt you,” Dick added when Tim didn’t answer right away.
Tim shook his head, then nodded. His head protested the movement and he grimaced. “Shoulder,” he said. “Back. He was pushing me a little. Wanted me to give him a tour of the house.”
“But nothing else?” Dick asked.
Tim shook his head again and clenched his eyes shut as his head started pounding even harder. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Head hurts.”
“It’s okay. You’re all right. The door is locked, and I’m going to stay right here. If Mr Carson-” Dick said the name with an angry snarl, “-tries to come in here, he won’t be able to get the door open. And if he somehow does, I won’t let him touch you. I promise, Tim.”
Bruce combed his fingers through Tim’s hair. “I have to go. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay.” Tim licked his lips. “Can I - I’m tired.”
“It’s okay to sleep. You probably won’t remember this in the morning, but you did a good job tonight.”
“Didn’t want to bother you,” Tim said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He saw Dick and Bruce exchange a look, but he was tired, and dizzy and he just wanted to lie down.
“You’re not a bother, Tim. Do you understand?” Bruce’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. “I want you to call me when you need help. Can you promise?”
Tim promised, but he wasn’t sure he was able to say so before he fell asleep.
He woke up, at some point. His head ached, but it was a steady, aching throb instead of the sharp pain from before. His whole body felt heavy, like his limbs had gone to sleep. He tried to move his hand, and it twitched a little on the pillow beside him at first, then slowly closed into a fist when he concentrated on it. Drugged, he remembered. Someone had drugged him.
It was pitch dark in his room, and the noise of the party was gone. His door was still closed. Still locked.
His dad hadn’t come to check on him. Tim realized it with a distant sort of pang. Like an old bruise that you just banged into a wall. More the memory of hurt than anything new.
Fingers combed through his hair. “Go back to sleep,” Dick said in a soft voice. “Bruce and I are on watch. It’s okay.”
Tim took a deep breath and used every ounce of concentration and strength he had to roll over. He put his back to the door, and the party, and his father, and Mr Carson. A strong hand caught his shoulder and helped him roll over the rest of the way despite the heaviness in his body. “You’re okay,” Dick said, and he wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders and held him against Dick’s side.
Tim could see Bruce, sitting in the chair by the window, where he could watch both of them and the door at the same time. He’d come back, just like he said he would.
His dad never came. But Bruce and Dick didn’t leave, so it was okay.
When Tim woke up the next morning he didn’t remember most of what had happened. Dick walked him through it, gentle and worried, but it felt like something that had happened to someone else. Bruce made him come back to the Cave for a blood test, to make sure the drugs were out of his system, and a checkup, just in case something had happened and Tim’s scrambled mind didn’t remember it.
Alfred’s hands were strong on Tim’s shoulders when he made Tim promise to call them if he ever saw Vince Carson again. Then he made Belgian waffles with a truly extravagant amount of powdered sugar and sent Tim to take a nap in the spare room that they called Tim’s.
Tim felt weird about sleeping in his own room. He knew Vince Carson wasn’t still in the house, and it was unlikely the man was a burgeoning supervillain plotting to climb in his window to finish what he started. But he found himself getting more stressed out as the evening approached and he’d have to go home.
It was Dick’s idea to call his dad and tell him he was spending the weekend with a friend. Dick stayed in from patrol that night and made Tim watch Romancing the Stone with him for the fiftieth time.
Two days later Vince Carson turned himself in to the GCPD, confessing to molesting a half dozen teenage boys over the last year. In the mugshot he looked like someone had worked him over pretty good. Someone had also broken both of his hands. When the cops asked, Carson just said one of the kids had an angry relative, and that was why he’d turned himself in.
Dick’s knuckles were scraped and when Tim looked at him Dick met his gaze and said, “He shouldn’t have put his hands on you, little brother.”
It wasn’t how they were supposed to do things, but Bruce didn’t say anything and Alfred didn’t say anything and Tim felt a little guilty at how much better he felt.
Tim cleared his throat, ignored the heat behind his eyes. “Next time I’ll call you guys first.”