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“I have come to a realisation,” Jason said, causing Tim to look up from his meal.
Several people immediately groaned, Tim included.
It was one of those rare occasions where dinner at Wayne Manor was more than a protein bar before patrol, but rather a full meal, and what’s more, a full meal around the rarely used dining table attended by most of the “families” members. It was so rare that everyone looked slightly stiff in their seats, unaccustomed to the formality of the situation.
Tim had been busy pushing the meal around his plate to make it look somewhat eaten, not wanting to mess up the first family meal in over a year just because he was allergic to seafood, even if it came at the expense of insulting Afred’s cooking.
Cas was watching him from across the table - her eyes slightly narrowed in a way that made him wonder if she knew. It wouldn't surprise him if she could tell he was allergic "from how his body language displays slight nerves and distaste" or something ridiculous like that. If she did she didn't bring it up, which was one of the main reasons Tim loved Cass. Whilst she can discern all your secrets with a simple glance, she wasn't in the habit of spilling them. Although he wasn't sure how much of that was loyalty and how much was just the fact she simply disliked talking.
Dick had been attempting to spark conversation for the majority of the meal, layering on the enthusiasm a little too thickly to hide how dead he’d been feeling inside lately. You didn't need to be super-trained in body language to recognise that much, although perhaps the hacking skills had helped. Tim liked to keep an eye on his brothers - not in a freaky way - to make sure they were safe. He was aware of the hefty sum leaving Dick's account each month and the spare pill bottle sat in his room at the manor in case he ever forgot his own when visiting.
Bruce looked on the verge of collapsing into his plate, eyelids constantly flickering shut as he tried desperately to stay awake - not that this was new behaviour. They hadn't been dealing with anything too out of the ordinary lately, but Bruce had been throwing himself headfirst into League work more often. Probably because being one of the only normal humans in a group of superheroes made him feel the need to work twice as hard as everyone else. Tim understood that feeling perfectly.
This was the most normal meal Tim had experienced in a long time, which was saying something seeing as it was made up of several vigilantes, a crime lord, and at least two assassins.
“It has taken you long enough,” Damian muttered. “Twenty years and you’ve finally had a coherent thought.”
“Shut up,” Jason said, jabbing his fork at Damian. "I never said it was coherent."
Bruce made a disjointed grunting noise in an attempt to defuse the two.
Damian just rolled his eyes and motioned for Jason to continue.
“As I was saying, I have come to a realisation about Bruce,” Jason explains.
“Someone get me more coffee,” Tim replied, glaring down at the lobster as if it were somehow responsible for what he suspected was about to become an offending argument.
“I’m gonna need something stronger than coffee,” Steph said under her breath, for which she received a glare from Bruce.
“Bruce is a deontologist,” Jason said conclusively.
“A deon-what-ist?” Steph asked.
“A deontologist.” Damian retorted. “Or are you too incompetent to understand simple morality, Brown?”
“I understand that if I didn't have to be moral I’d stab you with my fork right now.” Steph countered, although her tone was too joking to be serious.
“I would also stab you with my fork,” Tim replied, much less jokingly.
Damian scoffed, “I’d like to see you try, I could disarm all of you before you get anywhere near me.”
“Are we still talking about forks?” Dick asked, his brow starting to pinch together in worry.
“I’d still like to know what a deontologist is without someone insulting me,” Steph said with a pointed look at Damian.
“It means he believes the morality of an action is dependant on whether it is his duty or not,” Jason explained. “And he believes he has a duty not to kill, even if it’s the Joker.”
Tim groaned, “Did you come to family dinner simply to complain about that again?”
“No,” Jason said defensively. “I came for the lobster.”
Well, at least one of them is interested in the food.
“I can confirm Bruce believes it’s our duty not to kill, he told me as much,” Damian replied.
Bruce set down his fork and leaned back in his seat. Clearly he did not have the energy to input into this conversation. Tim suspected he was just hoping it didn’t spiral out of control. Although he suspected that would take a miracle.
“Which is totally ridiculous. It leads to moral fanaticism.”
“Learn a new word there, Jason?” Steph asked with a laugh.
“You don’t get to criticise me when you have no idea what we’re talking about.” Jason snapped.
“I’m well aware what morality is thanks. I studied Utilitarianism in school. That’s the one where you do whatever makes the most people happy, right?” Steph asked.
“Exactly.” Jason nodded, “And if you think about it, killing the Joker will make more people happy than returning him to Arkham where his breaking out is guaranteed.”
“You mean it will make you happier,” Dick replied.
“First of all, you’ve killed that bastard before, so you cannot talk,” Jason replied with a scoff. “Second of all, that freak has a confirmed kill count of over two thousand people. I don’t think I’d be the only one to celebrate.”
“Todd has a point,” Damian replied, looking to Bruce for a response. “Killing the Joker would prevent him from hurting others and save many lives.”
“It is not up to us to act as judge and jury,” Bruce replied. “We support the law; we do not replace it.”
“Murder bad,” Cas said, the first words she’d uttered all evening.
“Yeah, but if any of the cops were remotely good at inflicting order we wouldn’t have to.” Steph pointed out.
“Hey.” Dick protested. “We’re not all corrupt.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t just spend all the money spent on creating Batman to reinforce Arkham. Then there would be no break outs and virtually no need for crime fighting.” Tim suggested, attempting to bring some reason to the conversation.
This idea was not heard.
Steph was too busy complaining about cops, something Jason was all too happy to back her up on. Dick was desperately trying to defend his corner. Damian was trying to explain why the League of Assassins were superior. And Bruce just looked like he’d honestly be happy if the time stream swallowed him up again.
None of which was happening quietly.
Tim swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.
Regular family dinners had never been a part of his life, but when they did occur they were always coupled with arguments. Even before his parents’ deaths, the few he’d attended ended in shouting.
It would either be his parents accusing him of being ungrateful, his mother reproving his father of cheating, or his father complaining about business. He remembered one dinner where they’d gone out to some fancy restaurant. He’d been sweating in the too-tight shirt even before he’d eaten the shrimp. His mother had been furious at him for making a fool of himself by forgetting his allergies and even more furious he’d thrown up on her new dress.
There had been a lot of shouting that night, but Tim’s throat had been too tight for him to reply.
He looked down at the lobster and up at Cas who looked equally uncomfortable with the level of noise.
“If we kill we’re no better than the criminals we fight,” Bruce said, raising his voice to be heard by Damian
“So what?” Jason yelled, turning to Bruce. “I’m no better than the people you put in Arkham?”
Suddenly no one was talking.
“No that’s not what I-“ Bruce started, only to be cut off by Jason.
“I’m no better than the Joker?” He hissed through clenched teeth, abruptly standing.
And whilst Tim could tell from the look in Bruce's eyes that he'd been about to say no, the sleep deprivation did him no favours. He looks a moment too long to respond, a moment that was interpreted as hesitation.
“That’s ridiculous.” Jason snarled, pulling a pistol from his tracksuit trousers and setting it on the table.
“You brought a gun to family dinner!” Dick yelled, jumping from his chair.
“That’s pathetic, Todd.” Damian scoffed, drawing a katana from under the table.
Dick automatically flinched back from the blade, his eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and horror.
“Wow, okay, can’t we go back to threatening each other with forks?” Steph asked, slowly standing up.
“Murder bad,” Cas said, but the words were barely audible over the noise.
“Jason put the gun down,” Bruce said with a slight waver in his voice.
“What, so Damian gets to keep the sword, but I have to put away my gun?” Jason complained, lifting it so it was aimed at Bruce. “That’s stupid.”
“Can everyone put their weapons down?” Dick asked, holding out his hands in an attempt to look calming, except the way they were shaking ruined the effect.
“Are we counting forks?” Steph asked, holding up a fork in each hand. Tim wasn't sure whose fork she'd nicked to end up with two.
“Chill Dick, it’s not even loaded,” Jason replied, moving the gun so it was aimed at a painting on the wall. “Look.”
The gun, which was most definitely loaded, went off.
Several people flinched, not because of the noise, but rather because that bullet had just embedded itself into a painting worth several million dollars, and whilst they had no need for money, it had been over two thousand years old.
Alfred was not going to be happy.
“I swear I took those out,” Jason said in surprise.
Tim was also shaking now, the only one still sitting in his seat.
Jason, who had once slit his throat, had a gun.
Damian, who had once tried to kill him, had a sword.
Everybody was shouting.
Everything was too loud.
He’d be surprised if they got through the rest of the evening without someone sustaining at least a minor casualty. If he hadn’t been on the urge of a panic attack he’d have been willing to bet who.
Bruce was desperately trying to get everyone to calm down, which obviously wouldn’t work because Bruce himself wasn’t known for being calm.
Besides, Tim had learnt the only way to get his siblings to stop fighting was not through logic, but rather providing a distraction. Preferably one that would get them working together without a moment’s hesitation, but anything would do.
Tim looked down at the lobster.
He’d not had an allergic reaction in years.
Slowly, he shovelled the largest chunk of meat onto his fork.
“Little brother.” Cas gasped. “No.”
She jumped across the table, because of course she knew, but Tim already had the fork in his mouth.
“Well, that’s not who I expected to attack first,” Jason remarked, turning to look where Cas had knocked Tim’s chair to the floor.
“Pain,” Cas replied, head snapping around to look at him.
“Yes, I know he’s a pain.” Jason said with a laugh, “But he’s been the least annoying out of all of us this evening.”
“Pain,” Cas growled, looking back to Tim and attempting to pry her fingers into his mouth.
“I’m –“ Tim started, but the word ‘fine’ was immediately choked off by the clenching feeling around his throat.
He looked down to see if Cas was trying to strangle him, only to find her fingers hovering just beyond his mouth.
“Pain,” Cas repeated with much more urgency this time.
Tim managed a slight nod before he felt his stomach begin to churn. He lurched forward, knocking Cas out of the way to brace himself on the floor. It felt tighter than he remembered. Like an iron fist around his throat preventing the oxygen from reaching his lungs.
He could feel his cheeks reddening as he failed to breathe.
The sudden realisation dawned on him that he was about to die at the worst family dinner ever because he’d practically poisoned himself.
"Tim!" Dick shouted, rushing around the table to crouch where he had fallen. "I think he’s having an allergic reaction.”
“To what?” Jason said, any leer on his face suddenly vanishing.
“Lobster,” Cas replied helpfully.
“Does he have an epi-pen?” Dick asked, turning to look at Bruce.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know he was allergic to anything,” Bruce replied, his eyes wide with that hollow look he often got whenever he was tipping into a depressed episode.
Tim was beginning to think this had been a bad idea, but at least they weren’t trying to kill each other anymore.
Dick turned to Jason, “Get Alfred and the med kit.”
Damian returned the katana to wherever it had been secured beneath the table, his face turning pale as he watched Tim.
Tim was beginning to sense the itching feeling of a rash forming on his neck and lips. His breaths were coming in pained wheezes, and the sensation in his mouth slowly turned from tingling to nausea. This was not good. In fact, was practically the definition of not good at this point.
"We need to keep his airway clear," Steph said, stepping forward.
“If you know so much about shellfish allergies, Brown, why were you unaware of Tim’s condition.” Damian asked.
“Hey, you’re the ones who live with him,” Steph complained as she tipped Tim's head back. “But for the record, I have a peanut allergy.”
“Why didn’t I know any of this?” Dick asked. “Does anyone else have an allergy?”
Bruce slowly raised his hand, “I’m allergic to cats.”
“Excuse me!” Dick exclaimed, “You’re literally dating someone called Catwoman. Your son has a cat!”
“Selina’s not an actual cat,” Bruce replied, as though that required explanation. “And I take medication.”
Tim made another pained wheeze, moving his hands up to clutch desperately at his neck.
"You're going to be okay," Dick murmured, rubbing his hands in a soothing motion along Tim’s back.
Jason burst back into the room with an unzipped med kit in one hand. Alfred moved past him; an epi-pen secure in his grip.
The group that had encircled Tim quickly dissipated, making room for Alfred to kneel beside him. Despite the obvious tension in the room, Alfred seemed entirely unfazed. He uncapped the epi-pen and administered it into Tim's thigh in one fluid motion.
Tim could feel the haze that had engulfed him slowly ebb away as his breaths became more even. He swallowed in an attempt to stop his throat feeling so dry. It didn’t work so he reached towards the table for a glass.
Steph was there first, passing it to him.
He tipped back his head and swallowed every last drop before setting it beside him and collapsing backwards onto the floor.
“Tim!” Dick cried, moving to support him by the shoulders.
“I’m fine.” Tim rasped. “Just tired.”
"Steady breaths, Master Tim," Alfred instructed softly, his hand steady on Tim's shoulder. "Just focus on breathing."
Tim nodded weakly, his eyes blinking as he tried to regain his composure.
Bruce, looking more awake than he had all evening, finally spoke. "Tim, why didn't you tell us about your allergy?"
Tim gave a weak shrug, "Didn't want to ruin the meal."
Jason let out a disbelieving snort. "You seriously almost died just to keep this dinner going?"
"Jason," Dick warned, clearly worried everything was about to descend into chaos once again.
"Well, it worked," Tim managed to say with a faint, tired smile. "You all stopped fighting."
“Tim, you shouldn’t have to sacrifice your health for the sake of this family. If you were uncomfortable you should have said something.” Bruce replied.
Tim laughed, shaking his head, “Yeah because this family is so good at talking about our feelings.”
“Don’t say that-“ Dick started.
“No.” Tim snapped. “You can’t talk, you’ve been hiding the depression behind smiles for over a year and have neglected to tell anyone you’re in therapy.”
“You’ve been what?” Jason gasped.
“And you,” Tim’s eyes burned as he glared at Jason. “You’ve been taking meds for social anxiety before every family event you attend.”
“That’s not true,” Jason said, but his voice was too weak for anyone to believe him.
“Bruce is running himself into the ground and hasn’t slept in seventy-two hours.” Tim accused.
“I slept this morning.” Bruce protested.
“You passed out for twenty minutes, there’s a difference.” Tim snapped. “Cas has been talking even less than usual.”
Cas sighed “True” as if to prove the point.
“Steph’s been camping out at school whenever she leaves the manor and hasn’t been home in over a week.” He continued.
“Are you stalking me again!” Steph said with a scandalised gasp.
"Damian's been researching homeschooling and whilst he says he doesn't need friends he's obviously lonely and struggling to get on with people his age." Tim continued, ignoring Stephenie's accusation.
"That is ridiculous, Drake. You're clearly still suffering from the allergic reaction." Damian retorted.
"And Alfred's uncle died, but none of you have noticed. I bet you didn't realise he had an uncle in the first place." Tim finished.
Alfred cleared his throat, "Whilst that leaves a lot open for discussion, we need to get Master Timothy to the hospital."
Tim groaned, "I'm honestly fine."
"Whilst I was unaware of your allergies, I am aware an epi-pen only offers a temporary solution," Alfred said, his tone firm.
"I'll get the car," Bruce said.
"No." Dick protested. "You shouldn't be driving on that little sleep, I'll do it."
Bruce looked like he was about to refuse, but then changed his mind and simply nodded.
Jason picked up his plate, "I'll, uh, help clear up. Is that okay?"
Alfred nodded briskly, "That would be very helpful. Thank you, Master Jason."
Tim let Dick pick him up, basking in the warmth of being pressed against someone else. As he was carried out of the room he could see the others starting to remove the offending meal. The sight caused a weak smile to spread across his lips as he leaned his head against Dick and let his eyes flicker closed.