Work Text:
"I want it to be perfect"
Please
Let it be perfect
Am I living in another world?
Tim muffles another sneeze in the sleeve of his coat, taking care not to drop his camera on the frigid rooftop. He knows that he shouldn't be out tonight. Not when it's so cold, threatening to snow, and not when he's already sick. He's not sure if it's just a cold or something more, and he can't ask anyone without getting more questions in return that he doesn't know how to answer. His parents are supposed to be back by the end of February, anyway. It's only a few more weeks. The housekeeper isn't supposed to visit until the end of the week. His mother told him that he's mature enough to be left home alone for longer periods. The last thing he wants to do is disappoint his parents (again).
His throat burns when he swallows, and despite the freezing temperatures, he can feel sweat slide down his back, sticking his sweater to his skin. The tip of his nose is red and cold.
But Batman and Robin are supposed to come by this way, and he can't miss it, he just can't-
Excitement lights up his face as he sees a familiar outline against the wintry sky. Batman! There's nothing really going on in the street below, not that Tim can hear, anyway, but Batman stands there for a moment anyway, waiting for...
Robin! Tim's mouth splits into an enormous smile. It's just such a good framing that he lifts his camera almost without knowing he is, and snaps a quick photo. He's tucked away against the roof entrance on this building, so he has no fear of being seen.
Batman disappears into the night moments later, and Tim sighs reluctantly as he packs his camera away into his bag. He needs to go home. It's getting late, and he doesn't want to miss the bus.
He doesn't mean to slip.
Not far- it's only a few feet down the fire escape, and he catches himself, but it sends a loud, echoing clang through the alleyway, and his knees hurt, and he thinks he hit his cheek against one of the freezing bars because his cheek suddenly burns with cold. Unbidden, tears spring up and Tim has to bite down on his bottom lip nearly until it bleeds to avoid sobbing out loud. He has to get down all the way, before anyone shows up to check what happened.
Except he lifts his head, eyes still watering, and nearly falls the rest of the way. Because as soon as he properly looks down at the ground, he sees Robin standing there, looking up at him.
"Hey, kid," Robin calls, a little cautious. "What are you doing up there?"
"Uh-" Tim's mind blanks for a few moments. "I slipped," he says, forcing himself to his feet with a wobble. "I just uh, I need to get home, sorry, I didn't mean to make noise."
"Are you okay?" Robin asks. He sounds coaxing now. His Robin with victims and little kids voice. Tim fights the urge to scowl. He is neither, thank you! He's not little at all!
"I'm okay," Tim says, nodding rapidly. "I'm going to get down now." And without waiting for an answer, Tim scurries down the rest of the fire escape, making it to the ground in record time, despite the dizziness rolling through his skull.
"Where's home, kid?" Robin asks gently. "What's your name?"
"Ti-" Tim stops. "Uh, it's just over there," he changes tack, pointing vaguely. "Bye!" Tim adds in a chirp, darting off as fast as he can around the corner. He's afraid that Robin will start chasing him (or that Batman will see him running and think he's committing a grievous crime and chase him, too), but to his relief (and maybe sudden, slumping disappointment), there's no Robin behind him.
It's for the best, Tim comforts himself, trudging the rest of the way to the bus stop. Mr. Wayne might report my parents, and they aren't doing anything wrong. It's complicated. He wouldn't understand. He likes his k-
Well, anyway, he's really busy, anyway, what with being Bruce Wayne and Batman, and Tim never really sees Jason at school, because they're in different grades, so it should be fine, even if Jason figures out what his first name is.
And he got a really cool photo of the two of them, before he fell. His spirits lift a bit, and Tim finds himself grinning when he gets home, even though the house is as empty as he left it.
It's fine. And, Tim thinks optimistically, he thinks he might be feeling better. Like a jaunt in the cold might be just what he needed to turn his illness around.
"I'm telling you, B, I swear that was the Drake kid," Jason pleads, as he shimmies out of his uniform. "He was just on a fu- freaking fire escape, and he looked real cold and he wouldn't let me take him home!"
Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"It's not that I don't believe you, Jaylad," Bruce says. "It's just that the Drakes are out of the country. They aren't scheduled to be back until the end of February. How would Timothy be out on the streets of Gotham? I checked, there are no missing persons reports for Timothy Drake."
"He started to say Ti for his name," Jason says, stubborn. "Sure sounds like Tim could be his name. And he looked like him, I saw him last month, remember? At that stupid gala." Jason scrunches his nose up at the reminder. If one more rich asshole tried to pinch his cheek or insinuate that Bruce was going around adopting street trash-
"All right," Bruce says, placating. "We can go over to his house tomorrow and look around. Maybe the Drakes came back early or something. I don't know why their itinerary would still look right, but sometimes things glitch. We'll check tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," Jason says, shoulders slumping. He supposes it is as good as he's going to get. But he just knows that kid he saw was Tim. Tim, not Timothy, he remembers that Tim had very quietly asked for that when his parents' backs were turned. He doesn't know why Tim Drake would be out in the middle of the night, all alone, but seeing him sprawled on the fire escape had pinged every something is wrong! alarm Jason had.
Tim wakes up absolutely miserable.
He doesn't know what time it is, and his head throbs so much he can't look at his alarm clock. It still looks dark, though. Hardly any light is peeking through his window blinds, but it feels like it's stabbing him in the eyes, anyway. He groans, and it sounds like a croak.
A wave of nausea hits him, and Tim's eyes widen. He can't throw up in bed, it will be so hard to do the laundry by himself, and if he knocks anything over, his mom and dad will have his hide-
Shoving all his blankets out of the way (how is he so cold and so boiling hot at the same time, this isn't fair), Tim stumbles out of bed, shambling toward his bathroom. He can't turn the light on, his fingers sliding over the switch, before he gives up and fumbles the toilet lid up, everything he's eaten in the last 24 hours spilling out in a hot, noxious rush.
Tears spill down his cheeks as he heaves. It's disgusting. It's gross and disgusting and it's even come out of his nose, and he feels so, so sick, and he's alone. He bets Robin isn't alone when he throws up. He bets Batman always rubs his back and gets him a glass of water to rinse his mouth out. He can't even remember his parents doing that. Neither Jack nor Janet.
For a moment, Tim thinks he's done. Then he doubles over the toilet again, and it feels like maybe his entire stomach is actually coming up his throat. His raw, burning throat that feels so much worse now. More tears run down his face, salt tracing the corner of his mouth. His knees are throbbing from his fall last night.
Finally, Tim's able to stand up on wobbly fawn legs and flush. He blows his nose and then rinses his mouth out at the sink, wincing at the ice cold water against his flushed skin. He thinks he might have a fever. He isn't sure where the thermometer is to check.
Look for it, Tim, he scolds himself, his internal voice sounding much like Janet Drake's. What are you, an infant?
Squeezing his eyelids tightly shut, he flicks the light on. The light makes a pained cry burst from his sore throat. It's so bright. He lets one eye open, just enough to see, and starts fumbling through the drawers. He finds the thermometer all the way in the back of the bottom drawer and yanks it free, turning the faucet back on and waving it through the stream. That's enough to clean it up, right? At least it's a digital thermometer.
He sticks it in his mouth, regretting it when he clamps his lips around it and realizes he now has to breathe through his nose only. His very congested nose. It is painful waiting for the thermometer to beep, and he's feeling more lightheaded by the second.
101.8. Tim squints at it. That's...that's bad, isn't it? The thermometer display is lit up with yellow. Yellow for danger. Tim frowns, then paws through the drawers again. There's a children's Tylenol bottle, and when he rips the cap off, he discovers a singular pill, rattling around in the bottle.
That...maybe that's enough for now? Enough for Tim to sleep some more. At least until it's actually daytime. Maybe- maybe this is enough for him to call Mrs. Mac in the morning? She has kids of her own, maybe she could at least get him some more Tylenol.
Yeah. Tim nods sluggishly to himself, taking the pill. It tastes gross. He'll just go back to bed and when he wakes up, he won't have a fever anymore. And he'll be fine.
He doesn't know how he gets back into bed, but it feels like it takes only seconds. Darkness swallows him whole and Tim sinks gratefully into its burning cold embrace.
It is nearly eleven in the morning by the time Bruce has had enough of Jason's pestering and agrees to check out the Drake place. Jason has to bite his lip to hide his worry, shuffling into the Robin costume as quickly as he can. By the time he's done, Bruce is already Batman, of course.
"Maybe I should have stayed as Bruce Wayne," Bruce mutters absently to himself. "Just knocked on the door..."
"Like they'd answer," Jason scoffs, tugging on Bruce's arm. "Come on."
They walk the way there, after informing Alfred where they're going. Alfred looks concerned about the potential missing child, but promises to stay on standby.
It's a pretty winter day, but all Jason can picture is the startled look on the child's face when he looked up and saw Robin. There had been a whole lot of emotions that flashed across maybe Tim Drake's face, all at the same time. He should have followed the kid, but it surprised him to see him just run off, and then he was a little worried that he would provoke the kid into running too quickly and getting hurt.
Bruce scouts the outside of the house first. It is dark and still, exactly what one would expect from a place whose inhabitants have fu- fricked off to another country for months.
"We aren't just leaving yet though, right?" Jason persists. His stomach feels like someone's tied a massive knot in it.
"No," Bruce says. It sounds heavy.
The house feels like a mausoleum. Jason refuses to believe anyone actually lives here. There is no dust hanging in the air (a regular housekeeper or cleaning service?), but there is no sign of life. There is no sign that anyone actually lives here. No toys or children's things left out either. If he didn't know better, Jason would be entirely willing to believe that Tim Drake had never been here. Did they even have neighbors or was this some kind of weird haunting?
Bruce looks a little disturbed, too, though it's hard for Jason to tell. They slip up the stairs, quiet as a shadow, and Jason sees a door, halfway open.
The only door halfway open.
He jerks his head a little towards it, and Bruce nods. Jason slides toward it, just peering over the edge of the door, and nearly falls through it in shock, Bruce hauling him back by one arm.
Tim Drake's there. It has to be Tim Drake. The same bag he wore last night is tossed on a child-sized desk, and the same puffy coat is slung over a chair.
Tim Drake himself is asleep in a huddle of blankets, his face flushed and sweaty, as he tosses and turns. He looks ill. There is a purple splotch of bruise on one cheek, probably from last night.
Jason exchanges an alarmed look with Batman as he steps into the room. There is no one else home. It looks like no one else has been home in quite a while, and it makes Jason feel unnerved. The Drakes are rich. Why the hell would they not even hire a nanny for their son?
"B, he's-" Jason whispers, but Bruce stops him, giving him a solemn nod.
"Try to wake him," Bruce murmurs. He sounds like himself, not Batman. "I'm going to call Leslie-" He steps back out, lifting his cell phone to his ear. Jason swallows, then approaches the bed.
"Hey, Tim," Jason says, at a normal speaking volume. He doesn't reach out and try to shake him, not yet. "Tim, can you wake up for me?"
Tim sleeps on. His breathing sounds rough, his nose congested. There is snot drying on his cheek. Gross. Jason soldiers on, reaching out and giving Tim's shoulder a firm tap.
"Tim?" Jason asks again, pitching his voice a little higher. "Tim, wake up. It's time to wake up. You're sick. You gotta-" Jason lifts his hand, touching Tim's cheek, and wincing. His skin is burning hot, like there's coals nestled in the pouch of his cheek.
"Tim?"
Tim's dreaming.
Tim's dreaming or he's dead, because he's in bed, but he swears he just heard Robin's voice. Robin, knowing his name. Robin, calling out to him. Wanting him to wake up.
"R'b'n," Tim slurs, seeking the cool fingers that just brushed his face. It's not quite the same as skin contact, he thinks Robin is wearing gloves, but it still feels nice. "Don't- don't le..." His voice trails off into a sigh. His throat crackles.
"Tim," Robin says more firmly. He cups Tim's cheek with more care, and Tim is certain that he's dead now. "Tim, wake up."
"No," Tim protests, but sleep is fleeing, sleep is dissipating further and further into the horizon, and he finally manages to crack his eyes open.
Robin, Jason Todd, is leaning over him.
"Robin!" Tim blurts out thickly. "You, you're here!" Tears prickle his eyes, reminding him of how sore they already are.
"Why are you still here?" Robin demands. Tim's brows furrow, confused.
"What do you mean?" Tim asks. "I- I live here."
"So do your parents," Robin says. "And they're- they're out of the country!" Oh. Tim's face falls. It's about that. Tim is proving that he can't be trusted home alone. That Janet was wrong.
"It's okay!" Tim hastens to reassure Jason. "It's okay, they- they're gonna be back real soon and I got Mrs. Mac once a week and I'm good, I swear! I'm not a baby!"
"You're burning up with fever," Jason says. He feels Tim's forehead and mutters what sounds like a mild curse under his breath. "You're a kid, Tim. You shouldn't be left home alone. You're sick."
"Hey," Tim says, indignant and not thinking. "You're a kid, too, Jason, and you get- oh no," he says, realizing what's just come out of his mouth. Jason freezes, and Tim can tell he's shocked him.
"What did you just say?" Robin whispers.
"I uh," Tim can't think of what to say. His head hurts too much, and his throat hurts too much, and his stomach is still unsettled. "I'm sorry!" He blurts out instead, tears spilling down raw cheeks again. "I haven't told anyone, I promise, you- I would never tell anyone, never ever, I-"
"B?" Jason shouts into the hallway, and Tim's shivering redoubles. He's gonna see Batman up close and personal, and he's gonna get murdered, while he's sick, and-
This isn't a dream, this is a nightmare. This isn't the afterlife he envisioned, this is hell.
"Yes, Robin?"
Batman appears in the doorway, like an avenging angel. Tim's sobs choke off into nothing, blank terror overwhelming him.
"He knows who we are," Robin says, and Tim pulls a blanket over his head, coughs shaking his shoulders. He feels like he might throw up again.
"I..." Batman stops, his voice confused gravel. Even through the blanket, Tim feels like he can feel Batman's gaze burning a hole through his head. "We'll deal with that later," he decides, and Tim hates it. Wishes that he would just get it over with.
"Tim," Batman says, and his tone gentles. "Where are your parents?"
Tim's shoulders slump miserably, and he lets the blanket fall off his head, puddling around his arms.
"Not here," he says, tearful. "I- I don't feel good."
"Can I take you to see a doctor?" Batman asks. "Her name is Leslie and she's very good at what she does. You can-" He exchanges a look with Jason. "You can stay with us until your parents return."
"Really?" Tim asks. His voice wobbles. "And- and you won't kill me?" He knows it's a stupid idea to ask, but he can't hold the words back.
"No," Bruce says. "I'd like to know how you found out and if anyone else knows, but no. I don't kill children."
"Okay," Tim says. Jason helps him sit up properly, and Tim's head spins.
"Oh no," Tim says, and pitches forward in a dead faint.
When he wakes up, he is tucked up in a guest bedroom, and there's a doctor there, talking to Bruce in low tones. Alfred is there, too, fluffing up Tim's pillows and arranging supplies on the bedside table.
"Ah, Master Tim, you are awake," Alfred says, and both Bruce and the doctor look up. Bruce and Jason are out of their costumes, and Jason's sprawled on the bottom of the bed, staring up at Tim with wide, worried eyes.
"Yeah," Tim whispers, worrying the edge of the blanket between his hands.
"You're very sick, Tim," the doctor, Leslie, says bluntly. "So I need you to hydrate as much as you can, and I need you to take all your medicine. Can you do that for me?" Tim nods weakly. "Good," she says, and her face softens. "I hope you feel better soon."
"You got tea," Jason says, jutting his chin out at the table. "And I can getcha a popsicle, if you want."
"What flavor?" Tim asks.
"Grape," Jason says, and grins. Tim can't help but smile shyly back.
"Yes, please," he says, and Jason bolts up.
"No running in the halls, Master Jason," Alfred calls after the fleeing Robin, shaking his head with a little sigh. "What do you like to eat, Master Tim?" He asks, when he sees Tim looking at him. "You need something in your stomach."
Tim's vision blurs with tears again.
He never wants to leave.