Work Text:
Tim would usually ignore the ache in his bones, the soreness in his throat, and the chill in his body. But goddamn it— what ever this was…..certainly was just evil.
Tim groaned and curled in on himself more in bed being followed by a string of very painful coughs.
Yeah, no. Tim was not dealing with this. He'd rather sleep forever than deal with what he can only assume was the beginning of this bullshit.
Tim kept his eyes closed, he felt like death. He groaned again slightly louder, part of him hoped someone would hear him and come help— another half didn't know what he wanted. He felt so foggy, so gross. Everything hurt.
Tim glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed, it read 3:28AM. He remembers feeling a bit under the weather yesterday. Sore throat, coughs here and there, headache, etc. but overall it was just a cold. Tim did not want to question how it has escalated into this but whatever. He could handle this.
Grabbing the softest blanket on his bed Tim wrapped himself up and dragged himself out of his room slowly. He couldn't tell if he was hot or cold but in this very moment he knew he was freezing. Tim knew he needed to start by taking his temperature, but in the meantime he could get some tea started to help with his sore throat.
As Tim quietly stumbled his way downstairs he was making a plan. He started by grabbing a thermometer from the bathroom closets to the kitchen and turning on the sink light. He silently thanked whatever god or gods were out there at the lack of nausea he was feeling because with how hot his throat felt he did not want to be throwing up on top of that. It already felt like he had been smoking for 30 years already or something. He didn't want stomach bile further irritating it on top of that. He would rather die than deal with that right now thank you very much.
Tim tried to quietly cough to himself as he started heating up some water in an electric kettle— he would have just used the microwave but he figured the less brain power he has to use right now, the better. Regardless, the whole quiet thing did not go as Tim planned. His whole body shook as he coughed. Throat exploding with pain as he did so. Tim tried to push them down but knew letting it happen would make them stop quicker. So he did. Letting out a quiet whine afterward at the sheer new irritation his throat was in.
This did not stop Timothy Drake-Wayne, 17 year old boy genius, from taking his temperature. Now sitting in the cold tiled floor and pressing his face against the equally cold cabinet, he waited.
When it finally beeped, Tim read the thermometer unimpressed. It read: 97.5F. Bullshit. Tim put the damn thing back in his mouth. He rarely had fevers as a kid, his body just ran a bit cold. So yes, very convenient for him school wise— and Bruce wise (at first…now the man knows about his almost consistent 95.9F body temperature…it had taken him ages to prove to Bruce that no he was not going into hypothermia, he's just always been like this), regardless, Tim refused to feel like this and not even have 100 degree temperature. It took the thing not even a moment longer to mockingly beep at him again reading back the same 97.5F. Still a temperature for him…but didn't look like it exactly. Sick Tim was very much not content with this.
Begrudgingly, Tim got up off of the floor to finish making his drink, and then took his tea and honey, with said thermometer back to his room, Tim quietly grumbled to himself the entire way.
Once he finally arrived back in his tomb…er, room, Tim popped 5ish idreprofren, emailed some people that he would be unable to attend some meetings the next day (or rather later today), took the biggest dose of Niquill he was allowed and scribbled down the next dose time, finished his tea, and promptly passed the fuck out.
If there was anything Tim knew, it was, when he felt this sick, the best thing to do was sleep through it. Because there was no way in hell he was dealing with this. Or so he thought.
— — —
Tim woke up a few hours later by coughing himself wake. He couldn't stop and it hurt like hell. He felt 10x worse than this morning, and god he seriously did not want to deal with this. He groaned and looked around in a daze, what the fuck was happening? He wanted to cry, sleep, and scream all at once. It felt like someone broke all of his bones and super glued them back together, and do NOT even get him started on his throat right now. Tim wishes that it didn't even exist at the moment. Tim sniffled, fuck he needed to blow his nose, and drink some water or something.
Grabbing his trusted blanket from yesterday, not even caring to look at the time— Tim start his way down stairs. First he blew his nose in his bathroom…then started on his way down stairs actually. If anyone cared to ask, no, it did not help. Not even a bit.
Slowly but surely, after a handful of painful coughing fits Tim made his way to the kitchen where 5 sets of eyes locked on him almost immediately. Part of Tim, (the sick side), wanted to cry with joy. Because holy fuck he didn't have to deal with this hell alone and someone would could help him— the logical part of Tim, was less than happy. He knew they would all baby him, and make it seem worse than it was….but is there really anything that felt worse right now?
Quietly lost in thought Tim started to debate himself. What else sickness wise has he dealt with that was worse?…
"…You ok there Babybird?" Dick asked in a gentle voice. Everyone else momentarily waited. Everyone knew how Tim was when he got sick. It usually took a lot of coaxing, coddling, and convincing to let them help…but Tim usually hid it better? As bad as that sounds, it felt like someone was setting a trap? Very world shattering stuff going on here… so everyone was very much ok letting Dick test the waters.
"I'm handling it," Tim grumbled out, he shocked himself by just how bad his voice sounded. Totally swinging back around to that whole 30 years of smoking thing because it took him a second to even reccogise his own voice.
But before anyone could protest, Tim's body spoke up for him! As he coughed himself into a hacking fit, followed by a painful groaned. Yeah screw that, he didn't want to move.
"On second thought, Dick can you break Bruce's rule please? I'd like to sleep forever now thanks," Tim wheezed out.
Just like that the kitchen sprung alive. Bruce was out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell, bee-lining it to the nearest bathroom. No doubt looking for the thermometer that was already in Tim's bedroom. Alfred who was cleaning up from breakfast, started making mental notes of what they had so he could get started on homemade chicken noodle soup for Tim, as well as tomato, and possibly a bean and ham soup? You could never have too much variety of soup when you were sick.
Damian and Jason on the other hand were more of the…entertainment per say? No no, planning on moving in the shadows. They have to keep up their appearances after all.
Damian was making mental notes of where the best pillows and blankets were for Drake— not that he'd admit that. The moment Bruce gets back he plans on making his escape to prep the other boys room further for him.
Jason gave Tim a look of pity, and started planning out what books to read to him while he was awake. No doubt on the rotating shifts they were all going to be taking to keep an eye him. But by the look of him Jason had a gut feeling the kid was going to be in and out of sleep. So maybe bring the books as a backup plan…get some cases wrapped up on his laptop for now?
Dick was on the floor by Tim in a moments notice. Mother henning away. Tim just blinked slowly too tired to care. Asking the common questions: What hurts? Where? How long? What have you taken already? Bruce where are you with that thermometer already—? All the while Tim just blinked at him. Everything hurt too much to care right now. It all just seemed too silly to him. Tim still much preferred the original plan of a bullet between his eyes thanks. Maybe if he asked Jason later….
Soon after all that he was back in bed, Vix on his nose, chest, and throat. Cough drops on the dresser as well as a fresh water bottle. An update on his temperature— (97.7! Ha .1 degree higher), and a refresh on the meds he was due.
Honestly? Tim's head was too foggy to care. Too much pain to care really. This shit sucked.
"How're you feeling Babybird?" Jason's voice asked him through the haze.
"Like someone hit me with a bus, backed up, said sorry, shoved 30 cigarettes down my throat, then ran me over again," Tim stated with a rasp, deadpanning over at Jason.
Jason made a pained face, "Yeah…not to be rude, but you kinda sound like it too?" He said not helpful at all. But still. It made Tim laugh.
Said laugh irritated his throat and sent him once again into a coughing fit. Jason whinced, handing him the bottled water, "Easy there," he murmured.
Tim accepted the water gladly and rolled his eyes. He pretty much downed the thing in seconds. He handed the empty bottle back to Jason before cuddling up in bed.
"You did this to me you funny bastard. Everything hurts," Tim grumbled.
"I know…sorry about that," Jason said biting back a laugh of his own, bring his fingers through his younger brothers hair. "I mean, at least it can't get any worse?"
Tim grumbled, "You know what would help prevent that even more? A bullet between my eyes—"
"Tim, no. It's just a cold. I'm not killing you over a cold," Jason said, giving him a very unimpressed look that may have even rivaled Alfreds. Ok, maybe not that good.
"Just a cold? More like a cold from hell!" Tim mumbled to himself angrily. He said a few more….colorfully worded statements to himself as he drifted back off to sleep….at least his family was here with him. He couldn't imagine dealing with this on his own…he'd never admit that out loud though. I mean, he hopes he didn't at least?