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Febuwhump 2023 | Day #10 | Difficulty Breathing
Tim comes back to consciousness in the middle of throwing up.
It's not the most dignified way to wake up.
Especially when he glances to see who is holding onto him.
Damian has his hands underneath Tim's shoulders as he hauls the older boy the rest of the way out of the pool.
A body is slumped over near the edge of the water. Tim doesn't check if the man is breathing.
Thankfully, they don't have to with Damian anymore.
Usually.
Unless it comes to Tim.
Damian isn't trying to actively kill him anymore, most of the time.
But Red Robin isn't exactly certain if the kid would care if Tim kicked it.
Or wasn't.
Until a few seconds ago.
Robin has helped Tim before, in battle, but there were usually others around or higher stakes. Tonight, Tim had been alone. No one even knew Red Robin was investigating the media mogul slash mobster's top floor penthouse.
"Tt," Damian huffs, kicking the man just moments ago holding Tim underwater, moments ago murdering him. "One would think the criminals of Gotham would know better by now than to attempt homicide on a rooftop. You're lucky I was passing by, Drake."
Tim only coughs more water onto the concrete. Damian lets go of the older boy rather suddenly, causing Tim to almost topple over. He can still feel the ghosts of the guy's hands on his shoulders, another on the back of his head. Holding him under the water until the world bled to black and his mouth gasped open without Tim's consent and water forced its way down down his throat until it was closing up and there was no air and -
"Hm," Robin paces along the poolside, "this is a nice place. Central location to downtown. Not only rooftop access, but the entire top of the building to yourself."
"Going," Tim sputters, "into real - estate?"
"Clueless as ever," Damian sniffs, sticking up his nose a little. "I am growing older. One day soon I will need to strike out from father's home and be my own man. Until I return and take over ownership of the Manor, of course."
"One - day - soon?" Tim leans back, gasping. "You're not even - in high school yet."
"Ponder and deliberate before you make a move, Timothy."
"Are you going to be making decorating decisions while we take on the rest of his security team, who are now," Tim checks his lenses, watching the red outlines below, "one floor away?"
"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity."
Tim levers himself up on wobbly legs.
"Stop quoting The Art of War to justify moving into a mobster's apartment before even hitting puberty."
"I'll have you know that I -" Damian stops himself, scowling, "- never mind. We are wasting time."
"I'm not the one picking out floor plans in my head." Tim rubs at his chest.
"We wouldn't have to deal with these idiots," Damian moves to a tactical position closer to the deck, "if you had taken them out in the first place."
"I wasn't here - to take anyone out," Tim takes up a good spot too, "it was just supposed to be recon -"
"Did he keep fish in the pool that you were trying to interrogate?"
Tim opens his mouth to reply but the doors are bursting open and a handful of men, all with automatics, storm the roof.
The fight is short.
Mostly, because of the part where Tim stops breathing and falls off the roof.
He's holding his own against his half of the goons just fine, thank you very much. He can feel every bump and bruise and cut and that bullet graze from right before his head got dunked earlier. There is a band of pressure thrumming around the rim of his skull. His throat scratches with every insult to his attackers, and every breath. But none of that matters right now. It can't.
For their in-fighting, Tim and Damian fight well together now. Not at first, not for a long time, when it was Damian trying to outdo Tim or just plain leave him behind. Now, there's a rhythm. Tim spent time with the League. That, and his early training with Lady Shiva, helps him understand Robin's style. They even have some of the same moves - apart from the ones all of them know from Batman.
A boot hits Tim's too-tight chest and he stumbles backward. A bird-a-rang to the temple sends his attacker down, but Tim is crumpling too. Because, because -
Tim.
Can't.
Breathe.
It has been difficult to draw breath since coming up from the pool, but this? This isn't 'hard to breathe'. This is not breathing. No air.
His gasps are wet and stupidly loud and they draw Damian's attention.
Damian, who is having to pick up his slack and is basically surrounded.
Damian, who a man is setting in his sights with a gun.
They had disabled all of the automatics with a few gadgets within the first two minutes of the fight.
Of course the mobster would have others hidden around the penthouse, and apparently around his deck.
Tim doesn't think, just moves.
He tackles the man, a sharp elbow to the jaw and the other hand relieving him of his weapon. Tim can't stop his momentum, though. His vision is blurred and his chest is on fire and the rooftop's edge is too close.
He barely manages to skid to a stop before face planting over the side.
He straightens, catching Damian's eyes through the haze. The kid is still fighting, but his focus is on Tim.
Why?
And then Damian is knocking a mobster back and hurling himself across the roof toward Tim, a hand outstretched and mouth wide, Tim's name on his lips. At least, Tim is pretty sure it's his own name. He can't exactly hear anything anymore.
His eyes droop.
He sways.
And then, tips over the edge.
"-back off -"
"-doing - wrong! Step aside, I shall - mouth-to-"
Tim sputters, arms pinwheeling as he jolts upright. There is some sort of small mask over his mouth and he pushes it away. The coughing comes next, tearing through him and he clutches at his sore chest.
"Easy, Red."
"Back up and give him space, Hood."
"You're the one trying to smother -"
"Wha."
It's a pathetic attempt at a word and Tim winces at how much his voice scratches and cracks on the single syllable.
"Took a nose dive off a building." Hood grunts. "I heard you two getting your asses handed to you over the comms, so I decided to swing by and save you damsels."
Tim had been radio silent during his recon. He doesn't remember switching to an open line. Had Damian -
Tim stares over at the boy. He is shifting from side to side on his tip toes. His face bears the usual scowl but there's a sort of nervous energy to the rest of him.
Well, crap. If Damian had turned on his comms as a precaution, Tim must have looked pretty dang bad after his dip in the pool.
"You," Tim turns and squints at the red helmet, "caught - me?"
He can't quite get the hard consonant sound on 'caught' out between a rasp.
"Flew right in, caught the falling little bird, and then rescued baby bird, too. What can I say? I'm that good."
"I didn't need rescue, Todd. I had it under -"
"All you had, kid, was about five guys basically dogpiling you."
"Retreating is the coward's -"
"You were outnumbered. Tim was - down."
Sometimes it's jarring to hear the expressive Jason behind the emotionless metal mask.
Tim takes a second to process that. And cough, again.
Jason, Red Hood, caught him. Saved him.
Last time he had been plummeting from a skyscraper, when Ra's had kicked him out a window, Tim had been so sure that was it. And he was ready for it to be done.
But then Nightwing had swooped in and Red Robin acted like his brother's intervention was all a part of the plan.
No one had believed him about Bruce being alive. No one had helped him, except Cass there toward the end of it all.
Tim had learned a long time ago sitting in a lonely large house with parents in another country that he was alone in this world.
That he would always have to look out for himself.
And then he had become Robin and he had a mentor, a partner. And then Nightwing. The Titans.
But then his best friends on the team had died and his dad, who had been trying to be there for the first time ever, was dead, and Bruce was missing and no one believed him and Damian took the role of Robin and he was alone alone alone.
Him and Nightwing have long since mended fences and Bruce and Kon and Bart are all back. He knows he isn't in this alone anymore, but a part of him will always somewhat feel that way now.
Even if he has started to heal with the others, Tim would never have expected Jason Todd, Red Hood, to save him.
Of course, he never would have expected Damian to either.
And yet, here they were.
"-with us?"
"Huh?"
Tim blinks and suddenly both boys are in his face. The small mask is back over his lips. He shoves it away again and then glares at the contraption, finally recognizing the device. It has a very small oxygen supply built into the mask itself. The vigilantes usually use it for gas attacks or surprise dips in the water.
He couldn't exactly get to his before.
Tim coughs and palms his chest.
"Ok, we're going to Doc Thompkins."
Tim tries to shake his head, but the pounding protests.
"Your breathing sounds like shit," Hood huffs, "the same breathing that, you know, you stopped doing for awhile. Again."
Tim waves a hand, the other rubbing his bloodshot and burning eyes from the chlorine.
"Cave."
"Hmph," Damian stands back up straight from leaning over Tim, "you know as well as I that Pennyworth is accompanying father on business."
Right, business. More like, investigation into shady shell companies sniffing around Wayne Enterprises overseas disguised as business.
"'M fine."
"You say that now," Hood grips Tim's arm, helping him slowly, "until you're passed out on the Cave floor and we have to call the doc to come over anyway. We're just saving her the trip."
Tim tries to push him off, but it's sort of like a kitten batting at a large full-grown dog.
"You can come willingly," Jason steadies Tim when he stumbles, "or I can let Robin sit on you while I tie you up and then haul your stubborn ass over my shoulder. Take your pick."
Less than five minutes later, they're in front of the clinic.
They didn't tie him up.
But Damian did hit a pressure point on Tim's body that made him go all limp, or well, limper, and unable to further struggle as Hood hauled him in his arms.
The place is packed. So much so that Leslie sets Jason up with a suture kit so he can get to work on the sluggishly bleeding graze along Tim's calf, despite Tim insisting he can do it himself. (Well, maybe, probably. Bending over that far to demonstrate did send him spiraling into a coughing fit.) The doctor does make Hood take off his helmet first though.
"Alright, well, let's get a listen to that chest and then we can go from there. How does that sound?"
"Like I don't have a choice."
"Gold star." Jason smirks from his spot at the end of the cot.
Leslie smiles, swinging the stethoscope off from around her neck. It's nice that after all this time, she still waits for Tim to nod before sliding it under his shirt. He inhales and exhales when she prompts him, and then again once the stethoscope is on his back.
"Do you remember breathing in any water?"
Yeah. A lot.
Too much.
He thinks back to the black and the pain and being so sure he was going to die.
Tim nods.
"Well, I can hear crackling in both of your lungs and your oxygen saturation is low. I'm going to need to get you started on some oxygen and take a chest x-ray."
Tim rolls his head back.
"We can just - do this back at the Cave, really."
"And when you can't breathe again halfway there?" She raises an eyebrow. "Which of these two do you want to give you mouth to mouth?" She cocks her head toward Jason and Damian.
She offers him one more warm smile before stepping out to gather supplies. Damian stalks after her.
"You both - can leave," Tim waves a hand.
"You kicked a damn hornets nest tonight, and there are plenty of bees still buzzing around looking for you."
"Bees, and hornets, aren't the same -"
"Oh shut up. It was a metaphor, moron."
"You staying - to protect me," Tim digs knuckles into his sternum, "or to gloat?"
"Gloat?" Jason cocks his head and it looks a lot less threatening without the helmet. "About what?"
"Both of you," Tim gestures toward the door, "especially him. Always - ragging on me. Telling me - I'm not - good enough. I mean, it's a step up - from trying to kill me, so, you know, hooray."
"Brat's right," Jason huffs, "you are an idiot."
"Wow. Thanks."
"You know he's in there right now," Jason juts a thumb back toward the door, "asking the doc if you're actually okay."
Tim squints at the wall. Can Jason really hear that? Should Tim be worried he can't? His ears have been ringing and that head pounding is pretty loud.
"You know," Jason shakes his head, "you weren't exactly awake to see the kid, you know, when you weren't breathing. Thought you were dead. You looked it, too. Didn't help that you also took a tumble off a damn roof right in front of him."
Tim blinks a few times.
He sees Damian's young face, his mouth forming Tim's name in a silent scream underneath those wide eyes.
"And," Jason sighs, wiping a hand down his face, "you know I don't actually want you dead anymore, right? I never really did."
"Could've fooled me."
"Thought we talked about this touchy feely shit already."
"Oh, sorry," Tim tries to sit up and winces, "sorry I haven't - entirely - moved on - from being beaten or a knife to my throat or a batarang in my chest. Or Damian cutting my line - or pushing - me off that - stupid dinosaur or -"
The cough racks through Tim's whole body like a jagged edged blade. Tim is shaking from the effort of sucking in new breath.
Jason somehow looks in more pain than him.
Leslie rushes back into the room as the coughing subsides, wet sucking sounds coming from somewhere in Tim's throat.
She hooks up the oxygen mask that was in her hands and quickly brings it over Tim's face.
"Slow breaths, Tim."
The edges of Tim's vision had been going blotchy again and he doesn't realize that he's reached out until Jason is gripping his wrist. His chest heaves and there is water prickling at the corner of his eyes. The rest of him is shivering.
And then, slowly, it passes.
"Good," Dr. Thompkins nods.
Tim blinks up at her, a blurry, short familiar figure standing right beside her. Right beside him.
Once he is settled, Leslie and a nurse that Tim has seen volunteering here before wheels over the portable x-ray. The girl is staring at each of them with a little awe, and a little fear. Once finished, she and the doctor leave again, Damian trotting close behind once more.
Jason and Tim sit together in silence this time for the next five minutes.
"Okay," Leslie returns, "the x-ray shows some fluid in your lungs, Tim. The best thing to do now is just maintain your oxygenation with that mask. So no popping it off, got it?"
Tim offers a lazy thumbs-up. This isn't his first rodeo, or his second, or third or - yeah, he's worn an oxygen mask probably too many times for a teenager. He knows the rules. Doc Thompkins knows he doesn't always follow them.
"I'd like to get you started on some IV meds, too. They should help reduce the fluid buildup. You had a little scare just now," she glances at Jason with something that isn't quite a glare but sort of reminds Tim of Alfred's signature look, "but you seem to doing a lot better with the mask already. I'll have you stay here like this for about an hour to start and then I'll check on you. If things haven't improved, we will move onto other methods, okay?"
She gives one last adjustment to the mask.
"You need to use this time to rest, Tim. If you get worked up," she looks over at Jason again, then Damian, "it can make things worse. If you feel it's getting harder to breath before I come back, have one of them come and get me."
"They," Tim huffs underneath the mask, "really, don't need - to stay."
"Well, one of them does," Leslie crosses her arms. "I'm swamped and someone needs to monitor you. And when I say someone, I mean someone who knows you, and who knows that you don't stay put, and that you won't actually tell me if it got worse. So, it's up to one of them. Rock, paper, scissors. Flip a bat-coin. I don't care." She shoves a finger toward the older and then younger boy. "But one of you is staying and telling me if there are any changes. Got it?"
Jason and Damian both offer silent nods. Yeah, she definitely has the Alfred look.
Once she is gone, the pair share some silent exchange over Tim's head.
"You can go," Tim's voice is a little muffled by the mask, "I won't - snitch."
"There you are, being foolish again," Damian scoffs, but stalks toward the door.
"Take Cass."
Damian spins on his heel, hands going to his hips.
"Take her," Jason repeats, "or I'll strap you into that chair next to Tim and I'll go."
Damian takes a small step forward and for a second Tim thinks he is about to watch them brawl at his bedside. With a sniff, the boy clicks his tongue and turns back away, pausing at the door.
"I will back in exactly sixty minutes," he reports, "do try not to die in that time, Drake."
And then he is gone and Tim is scratching his pinched forehead.
"He's going after them." Tim says, dryly.
"He's going after them." Jason confirms, brightly.
Tim frowns.
Jason grins.
"Oh, don't worry," Jason chuckles, "he won't kill anyone. Probably."
Tim tosses his head farther back into his pillow.
"Great."
They're quiet again for a long while.
"Tim."
Tim opens his eyes, unaware they were closed.
Jason is standing now, farther from the bed.
"Look, I," he turns away, "I can't speak for the brat, but, but none of that - it wasn't fair, to you. I was," he sighs, "messed up, for a long time. In the head. It's - that's not an excuse. I - I'm sorry."
Tim's head snaps up.
"And, well, as for the kid," Jason grunts, "I was only with the League for a little while. You've faced off against Ra's. Imagine growing up like that."
"That's - the same thing Dick says - all the time." Tim rubs at his eyes. "It - it doesn't make what Damian did, or the things - he still says, hurt any less." Tim shakes his head. "What you both say. I'm - an idiot. Screw up. Not 'worthy' of being Bruce's son, or Robin - or - alive."
"You get where that comes from right?"
"I dunno," Tim lifts the mask, "lack of - anger management? Hatred? Unresolved - issues?"
"It's jealousy, idiot."
Tim lets the mask fall back on his face as he furrows his brow.
"Look at that," Jason chuckles, "the smart one doesn't actually know everything." The older boy paces a little, finally deciding to drop back down into the chair. "Damian came into B's life, and the old man already had kids. Already had a sidekick, a partner. The demon wanted what you had."
"Yeah," Tim swallows, "and he tried - to take - it."
"Ain't saying what he did was okay. What - what either of us did." Jason runs a hand across his mouth, his leg twitching against the chair leg. "I was pissed at B, at the whole damn world. There are a lot of bullshit, fucked up reasons I did what I did. But one, one of them, was 'cause I was jealous, too."
Tim coughs, and it might not be from the water in his lungs.
"You got - got to be with - Bruce. Had parents. A good, a good relationship with Dick. The Titans." Jason wipes his face again, moving the hand to the back of his neck. "And then - then you got to be Robin. And not just be him. You chose him. Dick was going after the people who killed his parents. B wanted to set me straight or some shit. Damian needed to be made a hero so he wouldn't be an assassin. But you? You picked this. You were already a hero before you put the stupid cape and tights on. I knew it. The brat knows it. Fuck, kid."
Jason clears his throat.
"You're the best of us."
Tim isn't quite sure he can say anything after that. Neither of them do at all.
Well, except for Jason to threaten Tim's manhood if he ever tells anyone about their conversation.
Damian returns sixty minutes later, on the dot, demanding answers from Jason whether Tim has been complying with his rules and if the older boy's breathing has gotten worse. Tim is in the middle of telling the kid that he is right here and can answer himself, when Damian gives up his line of questioning and starts examining Tim himself.
"Have any trouble?" Tim rasps.
"They were embarrassingly unprepared for our assault."
"Good," Tim closes his eyes again, "not happy you went off against them - but good."
"I admit," Damian straightens his shoulders, "I was torn between hunting down those miscreants myself or staying behind to make sure you didn't find some new way to die, but I couldn't let Hood be the one to visit a thousand hells upon them. And besides, then, if you died, then it would be Todd's fault, and not mine."
Jason and Damian are arguing when Leslie walks in.
Tim's oxygen levels and breathing are both better. He needs to keep using the mask for awhile longer, but is eventually released into his brothers' care on the conditions he goes straight home, goes back on oxygen once there, and is monitored for the next 24 hours. She texts Alfred the details of his medications and her exact rules as she just stated them, just in case.
No one mentions that Alfred is out of town with Bruce.
Jason drives them to the Manor. Tim expects him to drop them off and then speed out of there as fast as the vehicle's wheels will take him. When Jason offers his arm to help Tim out of the car, Tim almost hesitates too long. Jason is huffing and moving away when Tim hesitantly reaches out, letting the older boy help take his weight. He can walk just fine on his own, thank you very much, if not a little slowly. But this is - nice?
Damian scrambles ahead to the Cave, grabbing equipment from the MedBay. He barks a few orders at Jason, who complies, with some colorful cursing. Tim takes the opportunity to sneak off into the changing area and strip out of the rest of his outfit. He already had to lose the cape and armor at the clinic. He looks down at the bright band of bruising forming along his chest from the edge of the pool.
It's been hours and he can still taste the chlorine.
Nearly drowning is so very far from the worst Tim has endured, but does a fantastic job of draining a person of all their energy. It's partially why he accepted Jason's help to the Cave.
Partially.
He has to sit down to take a small break after pulling a loose t-shirt over his head. Breathing is getting a little difficult again and the motion sets off a drum line at the base of his skull and forehead.
Shuffling back into the Cave, Tim again thinks Jason, and Damian too, might already be gone.
"Tt," Damian squints at him from where he is untangling clear tubing, "you should have requested assistance."
"I think I can change my own clothes."
"You also thought you could take on an entire building of mobsters alone -"
"It was supposed to be recon," Tim repeats, running fingers through his tangled hair.
"And you're supposed to be on oxygen."
"I'm fine."
"The fact that it took you an extra minute and a half to change, despite lacking much of your costume, says otherwise."
Tim makes a face.
"Do you time how long it takes us to change?" He glances back from the changing area to Damian. "Why do you time how long it takes us to change?"
"For incidents such as this, Drake," Damian sniffs, "obviously."
Tim rolls his eyes and shambles toward the elevator.
"Leave that stuff," he calls over his shoulder, "I don't need oxygen, I'm just gonna go to bed."
"Nonsense," Damian snaps, "and besides, Todd is already bringing a tank up to your bedroom. I just had to find more tubing."
Tim hangs his head.
This has been such a monumentally long night.
And he has a feeling it isn't going to end anytime soon.
Actually, it does.
Because about five minutes after Damian has affixed the cannula into Tim's nose and fluffed and tucked the covers, and Jason has propped his feet up on the end of the bed as he lounges in Tim's desk chair with a book nabbed from one of Tim's own shelves - Tim promptly falls asleep.
He doesn't hear Alfred call Damian, after receiving the text message. Or Damian's thorough medical rundown of Tim's condition and detailed debrief of his - two - encounters with the criminals, when Bruce comes on the line. How there are still stragglers roaming about that Cass and Oracle are going to try to track down before they can finish the job with Tim. Or Damian refusing to let his father speak to Tim because he is sleeping, and according to the doctor, 'needs rest'.
Tim doesn't hear Jason laugh and then swear when he realizes Bruce heard him on the other end. Or Jason saying that he isn't going to let the 'twerp' have all of the fun and how he hopes that the other criminals try tracking them down to take a crack at Red Robin. Or Jason finally sending the brat to bed because 'tiny humans need sleep' and 'no, you can't keep listening to his lungs every ten minutes'.
Jason listens to them anyway every thirty after the kid finally leaves.
And the next day, whether Tim is awake or asleep, Damian continues to place an ear to Tim's chest every now and then.
He tries to make Tim some Campbell's chicken noodle and Jason makes a gagging noise - because yeah, they're both still here - and declares that Alfred's kitchen will not be used to make soup from a can.
Jason's homemade recipe is actually pretty great.
After being fussed over and a movie marathon and tinkering together with some new gear, well, Tim thinks the whole day is actually pretty great, too.