DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters

A/N: Rather late Tim's birthday fic, since I was on holiday and couldn't post anything. Hope you enjoy it, despite the fact it's almost August!

-MESSAGE-

Received: 10:43

Dick GRAYSON: Baby Bro, u better not b working xoxoxo 3

Received: 10:44

Dick GRAYSON: The doctor said u needed rest

Received:10:46

Dick GRAYSON: A sprained wrist anf bruised ribs don't heal by themselves.

Received: 10:46

Dick GRAYSON: R u ignoring me or smthing?

Received: 10:50

Dick GRAYSON: The only good excuse u have for ignoring me is that ur sleeping. U better b sleeping, baby bro. Sleep well. xxxx

Tim sighed, groping forwards for his phone as it buzzed yet again, ridiculously loud against the coffee table.

His eyes were heavy, and his ribs hurt where they'd been bruised. His wrist, trapped in a cast for the next few months, itched, and the grazes all across his body stung slightly. His laptop was on his knees, with several case files open. A shoal of fish silently swum across the screen.

Tim's mobile buzzed again.

Received: 10:56

Dick GRAYSON: Timmy I swear if u dont reply now Im going 2 come round there and throw that laptop out the window.

Tim sighed, typed 'I'm not working, Dick.' And settled back into the sofa, pulling his duvet around him and tapping his laptop keyboard. The fish disappeared, replaced by the files on his latest cases.

Slowly, started to type. He stopped. Hit backspace and deleted his last sentence. Typed it out again. He tapped the edge of the laptop for a moment. This wasn't working. He settled down slightly, allowing his body to relax. He wasn't going to fall asleep, but if he was prepared to, he might position the cushions like so, and pull the blanket up just a little more, there, and… He'd just close his eyes for twenty seconds.

Tim's phone buzzed again, but Tim didn't see the message flash across the screen.

Received: 12:00

Dick GRAYSON: MIDNIGHT! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! xxxx Since ur not sleeping Im coming over. Expect friends 3

"Hey, Timmy!"

"Replacement!"

"Tt. This is ridiculous."

"Oh shush, Damian."

"You said he wasn't asleep!"

"He wasn't!"

"Tt."

"Can I wake him up?"

"Can I stab him?"

Tim opened one eye, jumping slightly as four faces loomed above him.

"Mmhuh?" He groaned, stretching out his legs, "wha'timeisit?"

"Twenty past midnight." Jason said, drumming his hands on the back of the sofa in a way that somehow managed to look menacing.

"Happy Birthday!" Stephanie and Dick chorused, eyes glinting behind their masks. Damian scowled.

"What? S'not my birthday…" Tim mumbled, before looking at the date on his watch.

The 19th of July.

Oh. Well, that made it two years in a row he'd forgotten his own birthday. Sighing, Tim watched the others make themselves comfortable around his immaculate living room. Dick disappeared and then reappeared, Nightwing suit taken off up to the waist, shirtless, one of his old tshirts in his hands.

"Timmy, is this shirt mine?" He asked, and Tim shrugged slightly, turning red. Dick grinned.

Jason was still leaning on the back of the sofa, looking down at Tim. He seemed to notice the cast on his arm for the first time.

"Woah. Who messed up Replacement's wrist?" he smirked, tapping his knuckles on Tim's cast. Damian snorted. Tim's face seemed to turn slightly red.

"Ifelloffaroof." He muttered into his duvet, and Jason's smile turned into a smirk.

"What was that, Replacement?"

"I fell."

"You what?"

"A rooftop. I fell." He said, exasperated. Jason laughed, vaulting over the back of the sofa and landed next to Tim, plonking a six-pack of beer on his lap.

"Dumbass." He snorted, punching Tim on his uninjured arm. Dick sighed, flopping down between Tim and Jason in exasperation.

"He's injured and it's his birthday and you should be nice to him," he complained, not taking a pause for breath. "Anyway, we brought snacks and films. I don't know what films though, because Jason picked them." Stephanie picked up a bag Tim hadn't noticed before, dropping it onto Tim's lap. Tim paled slightly.

"Bruised. Ribs." He muttered, shoving the bag into a more comfortable position. Stephanie shuffled onto the sofa next to him, so he was squashed between her and Dick, who was already reaching out on arm to cuddle him. With his free arm Dick grabbed Damian by the wrist, pulling the ten-year-old gracelessly into his lap, where he struggled for a moment before realising he was trapped and giving up.

"There are other chairs, you know." Tim sighed, shifting to get comfortable. "It's July, and way too hot for this kind of treatment."

"Shush." Said Dick mournfully. "You're ill and you need cuddles. I don't care."

"Injured, not ill." Tim replied ungraciously.

"Still need cuddles." Dick murmured, resting his head on Tim's shoulder. Tim sighed again, giving in and shuffling through the DVDs with an air of resignation.

"Jason, why did you bring The Little Mermaid?" he asked after a moment, throwing the offending DVD onto his coffee table. "Why do you even own a copy of The Little Mermaid?" Jason grunted.

"Well I don't know what you like watching, Replacement."

"Still doesn't explain why you own the DVD in the first place."

"What's wrong with The Little Mermaid?" Dick mumbled over the top of Damian's head.

"Nothing." Stephanie answered, glaring round the room, defying anyone to disagree with her.

"We should have a Disney marathon." Dick suggested.

"I'm going home if we Disney marathon." Jason complained, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table just to see the flicker of annoyance on Tim's face.

"Says the man who brought a copy of The Little Mermaid." Stephanie countered, raising her eyebrows. Tim sighed, sensing an immanent argument.

"I want to watch Star Trek." He said, settling more comfortably on the sofa. "Only someone else has to put it into the DVD player because I'm injured."

At some point in the night Tim must have fallen asleep, because he woke up at half past nine that morning, laid out on the sofa with a pillow and a blanket over him – a sure sign that Dick had been here. The room was clean, and the only sign that anything had changed was a small pile of cards and presents left on the table, stacked neatly with a bottle of painkillers on the top.

Sitting up slowly, Tim pulled his laptop onto his knees, starting it up with an over-dramatic sigh. He did really need to finish what he'd been working on the night before. Humming softly, he typed in his password.

And typed it in wrong.

After another two incorrect tries Tim groaned, shutting his laptop.

On top sat a note he hadn't seen before.

Jason changed your password because it's your birthday and we don't want you to work. We'll tell you what it is tomorrow.

Dick xxx

Below that, scrawled in a messier handwriting were the words;

Might want to work on your computer security, Replacement

And underneath that, in purple ink;

Happy Birthday, Tim xxx