all I can say is that I love Sick Dick Fics, and that is my only excuse for this. There will be more of this coming after I finish up with thank you fics for donating! Speaking of, thanks to nopenopeblook for donating!
noisypainterong asked: 18 with Dick and Tim? :)
18. I've got you.
Dick wakes up to a splitting headache. His room is dark, and he's spread out over the blankets, apparently having not been bothered enough to get underneath the blankets. Which might have been a good thing because he's hot, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead and his clothes stick to his skin. There's this ache in his bones, too, and he thinks he'd be happy if he didn't have to move for the next couple years or so.
In short, he feels awful.
He thinks that maybe he should remember why he feels so horrible, but the only thing his aching brain brings up are flashes of Tim in the Red Robin uniform, quirking his eyebrows at him and asking, you sure you're up for this? And of Bruce saying a swift, let's go, and after that there's only vague feelings of aching and floating.
He must have made it back to the manor somehow, though, because Dick's here, in his old bedroom. He's dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and he's not wrapped up in any sort of bandages.
He's sick, he finally catches on, and at that moment, a cough builds up in his chest, and he barely has enough energy to sit up enough to let his lungs work properly. A coughing fit later, and Dick's breaths are making a horrible wheezing sound that makes him sound like one of Titus' chew toys.
That's bad. He's pretty sure that's bad.
The thing is, though, is that he can't remember what he's supposed to do about it. He wants to curl up in a ball on top of the covers again and hopefully fall asleep, but he also wants to find Bruce or Alfred or somebody and just let them take care of him instead of trying to figure it out on his own.
He doesn't think he could remember how to even if he wanted to, though. Bad, he thinks again.
He settles on finding Bruce.
Standing is a bigger struggle than sitting was, but Dick manages to push his achy body into an upright position and slowly shuffle out his bedroom door. Bruce's room is just down the hallway, usually just a few seconds away, but by the time Dick leans his sweaty forehead on the smooth wood of Bruce's door, it feels like an eternity has passed by.
He's just about to barge in and flop on top of Bruce and whine at his dad to make him feel better, but reality decides to hit him in the face, and that's when Dick remembers Selina's here, too. Probably in bed with Bruce. They're engaged now.
Dick doesn't know how to deal with that, so he turns around, shuffles back down the hallway, and flops down on top of Tim instead—who is actually asleep for once. Go figure.
Tim jolts awake with a squawk of protest as soon as Dick lands on him, but Dick whines pathetically into Tim's shoulder, and that's pretty much all it takes for Tim to freeze.
"Dick?" he asks, and an arm snake around his back. Dick just moans pathetically in response. He feels Tim swallow. "What's wrong?"
"Don't feel good," Dick mumbles.
Tim curses, and he helps Dick sit up. The motion has Dick's head spinning again, and he has to close his eyes to fight down the nausea while Tim wipes Dick's sweaty hair away from his forehead.
"You're burning up," Tim whispers.
Dick hums an affirmative, leaning into Tim's cool hand. It certainly feels like he's burning, and from the inside out, too. But the air is hitting his skin, and his insides are starting to soak up all his heat, leaving his skin with goosebumps. His head is still hot, but he shivers once, twice, and then he can't stop. He moans again.
And then reality decides to slam into him again, and Dick's eyes shoot open. He stares at Tim for a good five seconds before he's pushing away Tim's hands and scrambling off the bed. His lungs decide that then, right then, is when they want to stop working again.
"Dick?" Tim asks, bewildered as Dick stumbles to the door.
"Go back to bed, Timmy," Dick tries to order, but it's drowned out by his coughing fit.
He makes it to the hallway before he feels Tim's hands tugging on his shirt and arms wrapping around his waist. Dick knows the position. Tim's going to try to haul Dick back into the room. Back to the bed. Dick twists out of his arms—or. He tries to. Somehow it goes wrong, though, because everything goes dark for a split second, and then Dick's on his back. Panting. Staring up at Tim's concerned face in the dim hallway.
"Dick?!" Tim cries. There are fingers on Dick's wrist, monitoring his pulse, and a hand brushing away the hair from his forehead again. He meets Dick's eyes, and he must see something there that relieves him, because the tension in his face and shoulders loosens just slightly, and his expression goes soft. "Hey. I've got you, Dick."
"Go away," Dick gasps, and Tim recoils.
No, that's not what Dick had meant. He'd just meant—He'd just thought—
"I'm sick," Dick tries again, and his words are just barely audible. "You'll get sick, Tim."
"I'll be fine. Can you stand up."
"No," Dick moans. "No, no, no, Timmy, you're gonna get sick. You don't have a spleen, kiddo. You can't be near me."
Tim expression tightens, and he repeats, "Can you stand, Dick?"
But Dick's not listening anymore. There's something wrong. His stomach flips, and Tim's voice is muffled. Like he's trying to eavesdrop through a wall. Black spots dance across his vision, and the darkness grows and grows. The last thing Dick remembers before he passes out is Tim calling his name. Tim shaking him. The shrill call of, "BRUCE! BRUCE, HELP!"
And then everything goes dark.
Updates will be sporadic, because frankly I'm a mess and I keep starting new stories, but I'll be back home in a little more than a week, so I'm going to try to use my four week break to update everything I can, as well as finish the last of the thank you fics. Thanks for being patient, you guys!