Chapter Text
When Tim wakes up, his mouth tastes like dirt and his eyelids are stuck closed. Really! When he opens them, they actually peel apart. It’s gross.
His first instinct is to panic because he certainly isn’t in his room and though he tries to reason that this is a hospital, he knows it’s not.
Sitting by his bedside is a dark haired man in an appalling neon polka dot shirt. His head is bowed as he scrolls through his phone, his chin propped up on his hand.
Tim tries to talk but a dry wheeze escapes his throat instead.
The man’s head shoots up. “Tim! You’re awake!”
So this man knows Tim. Okay. He can work with that.
“Hey,” Tim croaks. “What… what happened?”
“Motorcycle crash, if you’d believe it,” the man says with a chuckle. “Icy streets and a wrong turn.”
“Well, shit.”
He laughs again, bright and bubbly. “How you feeling?”
“Uh, my head is killing me right now. And I’m feeling pretty sore. Shouldn’t I be on painkillers or something?”
The man gives him an odd look. “Do you want them?”
So, he doesn’t usually like painkillers. Good to know but also very unfortunate for him.
“Nah. I’m fine,” Tim says nonchalantly, trying to hold back the flinch that comes when he shrugs. “What’s the prognosis?”
“Full recovery with bed rest. So you have to actually stay in bed.” He narrows his eyes, but it’s in a jovial way that eases Tim’s nerves.
“Can’t make any promises,” Tim jokes.
“Don’t think any of us really can.” He smiles softly. “But Bruce has already made sure your telecommute is worked out and your room upstairs has been prepared if you want to stay here,” he leans in, “which I’m sure Alfred will insist. He changed the sheets and everything.” He perks up. “Speaking of which, we’ve got some nice soup for you ready to be microwaved when you’re ready to stomach it.”
“Sounds great.”
Tim thinks back on what the man said. Bruce. Bruce? Yeah, not ringing any bells. He must be his boss if he’s changing his work situation. And Alfred… yeah, nothing there either. He lives here, or Tim can assume he does. Maybe his guardian? He’ll have to look into that.
Before Tim can inquire more, the rev of a motorcycle rings outside his room and loud shouting erupts.
“Uh… is everything alright?” Tim questions.
The man sighs. “One sec.” He jumps out of his chair and runs out of the room, his shouts mixing with the pandemonium.
There’s a light knock at his door before a blonde in a strange purple body armor enters with a cheeky grin.
“Well look who’s finally up.” She plops herself into the chair and rests her feet up on Tim’s lap. “Dick catch you up to speed?”
Dick. That is… an odd choice of words. Unless that’s what she calls the man who was in here before.
Tim nods. “Yeah. Icy roads. Motorcycle accident.” His brows furrow. “Why was I even out on the icy roads?”
She frowns. “You were checking out that deal with Jason, remember?”
Deal. Deal can mean many things. Deal at a store, drug deal— yeah, it can mean many things.
“Did he get to the deal?” Tim asks.
“Yeah. Guns ablazing as per usual. Even got a first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice.”
Book sale. Not… what he was expecting.
“But what about you? We still going out this weekend? You did promise me to take me to that Indian place.” She bats her eyelashes. “C’mon, pookums, don’t tell me you forgot?”
He did forget. But he can’t let her know that. His… girlfriend? She doesn’t feel like his girlfriend. Then again, he doesn’t really know what it’s supposed to feel like.
“Of course I didn’t,” Tim says with what he hopes to be a charismatic grin. “Just not sure if I’ll be able to take you when I’m bedridden.”
“Like you’ll actually stick to protocol,” she says with an eye roll. “C’mon, cuddlebumpkin, don’t I matter more than some stinky recovery?” She bats her eyelashes again.
“Of course you… matter?” Tim stutters.
“God, you really hit your head, huh?” she asks, her demeanor shifting entirely. “Can’t have my favorite ex-boyfriend dying from brain damage before he can take me to Indian food.”
Ex- boyfriend?
“You’ve already broken my heart, don’t break it again,” she says with a pointed look but a big grin.
“I’ll… try not to?”
She nods. “Good.” She leans back in her chair. “Now, what’s your recovery binge show?”
Tim doesn’t know any shows.
“You got any good recommendations?” Tim finally says.
She rolls her eyes. “Like you’d ever watch anything I like.” She scoots closer to him and drops her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “How about I break you out of here so we can go watch Justice League animatics on YouTube?”
“I would hope you would certainly not do anything of the sort.”
Tim’s eyes shoot up and meets the eyes of an older man standing at the door. He wears a crisp suit and his words are spoken with British tones.
“C’mon Alfie. Don’t gotta be such a buzzkill,” the girl whines.
“Miss Stephanie. You know the rules.”
Stephanie. And Alfred. Two faces to names in less than a minute.
“Would you like me to warm up your soup for you, Master Timothy?” Alfred asks.
And, uh, weird. Why did he call him that?
“That would be great. Thanks so much,” Tim says.
Alfred smiles and heads out.
“Awake.”
Tim nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden additional voice. Behind Steph suddenly stands an almost ethereally attractive Asian girl. She wraps her arms around Steph’s middle and rests her chin on her shoulder. She looks Tim in the eyes and probably sucks his soul out of his body with the mere gaze into her all-knowing eyes. “Awake.”
Tim nods, mouth dry. “Yeah. Just woke up.”
She tilts her head curiously. “Tim… okay?”
Tim nods again, quickly. “Yeah I’m… great.”
Steph holds the girls hands. “C’mon, Cass. Since Tim is being boring, let’s go upstairs and makeout while we listen to The XX.”
Cass grins. “Okay.”
And then they’re gone.
“Drake!” a high, haughty voice screeches.
“Oh Jesus fuck—” a deeper, rougher, and extremely exasperated voice says following behind. “Get back here you little—”
“Drake!” The voice attached to a small child in an odd costume holding a sword yells. “Todd has committed the highest of crimes!”
“A higher crime than the people I’ve literally murdered?”
Before Tim can even process that, the boy continues his lament.
“He ate the last chocolate chip cookie that was left for me. Pennyworth is not easily persuaded to make the same sweet twice in the row, but because of your injury, you may be able to sway him—”
“It’s just a fuckin’ cookie—”
“Pennyworth’s chocolate chip cookies are to be cherished, not devoured like a ravenous animal—”
“I didn’t get any of the cookies—”
“Because you do not live here! Therefore you have no jurisdiction to eat the cookies—”
“Jurisdiction? What is this, a fuckin’ court—”
A man in a suit, more business-y than Alfred’s, enters the room with an exhausted sigh. “Boys.”
“A court would give you more mercy than I—”
The man’s face pinches with annoyance more. “Enough!”
The older of the two only stills slightly with a huff while the other goes ramrod straight and eerily still.
The man turns to the kid. “Robin. Report.”
“Todd has eaten the last cookie which was supposed to be mine and—”
“Okay,” the man interjects. “And Jason, what do you have to say about that?”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that cookie was his—”
“Jason,” the man says more firmly.
Jason groans. He narrows his eyes at the man and turns to the kid. “I’m sorry for eating your cookie.”
“Tt,” the boy says as he turns his chin up.
“Damian,” the man chides.
Damian’s hands tighten into fists. “I accept your apology, Todd. You were working with insufficient data, so I suppose I can disregard your incompetence this once.”
Jason takes a long breath. “And with that, I’m out. As per usual, this was a fuckin’ nightmare.” He throws up a peace sign. “Deuces.”
“Damian, don’t you have homework?” the man asks.
Damian shifts uncomfortably. “Yes, but—”
“You should go finish that in a prompt manner, then.”
The man and Damian have an intense stare off. Finally, the boy breaks and he stomps out.
The man turns back to Tim with a barely there sheepish smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Head hurts. Other than that, just a little hungry.” He shrugs. “Alfred’s getting me some soup.”
“That’s good,” the man says. “I’m sure you’ll have a smooth recovery.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” Tim says.
He studies the man who looks at him with tired but loving eyes, brows pinched with concern.
Ah. He can at least guess this one.
“Hey, Dad,” Tim says casually, “what can a guy do to get his phone?”
His dad stills. “I think we need to reevaluate for major head trauma.”
Tim frowns in confusion. “What?”
“Tim,” he says slowly. “Do you have amnesia?”
And suddenly, Tim’s cheeks are flushing with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. I do.”
His dad sighs and covers his face with his hand. “I”ll go call Leslie.”
“Uh, who’s Leslie?”
He sighs again. “Yeah. I’ll go call her immediately.”
And Tim is alone.
“Darn it. I’m not gonna get my soup, am I?”