A/N: Hello, long time no see.

Another story to upload, and it has nothing to do with my other story for Batman. It might take some time to upload (as usual, sadly) but it will be done.

This story will be revolving around the Bat brothers catching a cold - minus Damian. I love the little guy!

Since I don't read much DC, do ignore the fact that some things are unrelated. Characters all belong to DC. But damn; reboot made a lot of my characters messed up.

Enjoy! ;)

The first person was Drake. Of course it was Drake. Damian was surprised the flu never caught him faster and killed him off before. Drake was all about vulnerabilities.

Damian smugly – but not quite happily either – watched from the door frame whenever Dick made quick check-ups on Tim. The eldest was constantly restless; re-adjusting the blankets or the pillows like none of the angles pleased him, or even fanning Tim when he thought the lad was sure to suffocate. Damian wished to roll his eyes (though unseen from others, of course): Grayson was the one who insisted in bringing the sick Drake to the Manor. How that was not suffocating enough he didn't know. Was it from a cramped-up room? Or cramped-up personal space by a pesky elder brother?

Sometimes the eldest's visits to Tim's room overlapped those of Alfred's, who came to the room sometimes to do the vital check-ups: measuring the temperature and filling up the glass of water. It was in these visits that the butler would cajole Dick that he was becoming "too anxious and certainly unnecessarily fidgety".

Dick would look glum, but if he did cut down the actions, it was only by a fraction. He still occasionally put a hand on exposed skin to feel Tim's temperature. Sometimes it was a forehead-to-forehead feel. Those were the moments when Damian was startled feeling very uncomfortably displeased.

"Goodness, Dick," Tim finally coughed, exasperated but – was that embarrassment? – "I'm fine. It's just a cold!"

Dick shook his head, looking solemn. "It may be some cold, but we seldom get sick."

"We" as in the Robin predecessors, Damian noted. It was true; come to think of it, Damian hardly heard of the past Robins falling ill. If they ever did, it was when they overworked and their antibodies were failing to protect them from viruses as they should. It happened to Grayson once when he newly became Batman – overworking himself to the brink of death, now that Damian realized it – and Alfred had to order Damian to distract the exhausted and ill-befuddled man while Alfred shot a sleeping dart to get him to bed.

Drake on the other hand, was too weak to even flail enough in Grayson's arm when he was carried home.

"But Dick!" he whined, "I can't stay here! The Titans need me. I have to be somewhere close for them to drop by in case of emergencies!"

"Emergencies for me are when my brothers are sick and refuse to be cured," Dick said sternly, "The Titans can cope without you. I'll go instead if you want. And Conner Superboy can fly all the way here if there really is something important going on."

"I can't let you go there! That's just bad enough!"

"I recall you saying some of them would be thrilled if I showed up."

"That's that and this's this! And I can't let Kon keep flying here! That's just plain mean!"

"We all play mean, Tim. Don't say you didn't, 'cause that would be a lie. Being under Batman has its color."

Tim groaned, and truthfully Damian could see the color of his face turning from a heated red to sickly white alternatively. It was pain to watch.

"Dick, if you haven't noticed, I am not in the mood to thoroughly examine riddles, so cut me some slack and talk simple."

"Which gives me more reason to not let you go out there in front of a computer or paperwork whatsoever to work your detective examining skills ever," Dick finalized.

Oh crap. Damian winced. This argument was a pain.

Tim stared at him, horrified. "But – "

"No buts!"

Again, Damian felt like groaning. Although it was directed at his ever-dislikable Drake, Grayson's overprotection could annoy the hell out of him, and seeing a feebly sick Drake having to deal with it defenseless made him feel sorry for the third brother.

Tim set his mouth into a straight line. Alfred had dropped by again to see what the commotion was about. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the two having a silent glaring contest.

"Master Dick," he coughed, "I think it would be high time for Master Timothy to have a rest and sleep. Glaring would not hasten recovery progresses. Perhaps Master Timothy would consider the stay in the Manor for full recovery then if we left him? On the condition that he does not leave the compounds, that is."

Wooo. Alfred was great when it came to compromising. You would think he was actually suggesting stuff, when in truth, if you replayed the whole speech, you'd notice he was actually giving out solid orders you weren't able to defy.

Dick saw the cue for his leave, which he was partially unhappy at, but since Tim wasn't going anywhere either, he decided it was the best compromise. Tim saw he was finally given peace, but could not suppress a groan upon realizing he could not leave the Manor.

Alfred nodded while he did the final environmental adjustments for Tim. Dick left the room, once attempting to give Damian a light push on the shoulder to call him away, but Damian remained back. Alfred left the room too, patting his shoulder when he passed by him. Damian still stayed there, watching Tim get under the blankets.

Realizing there was still a visitor, Tim sat up and glared. "What? Are you here to taunt me, you little devil?"

Damian grinned evilly. "Good luck, Drake."

Tim shouted a bark of frustration in the pillow when Damian closed the room door.

"So, why did you call me down for?" Damian looked unimpressed. Of course; he finally had a moment's peaceful sleep he never had in a long time, then Grayson came and woke him up to say something was wrong. Under normal circumstances, Damian would not have complained and jumped at the occasion of vigilante work. This time, he was freaking tired.

They were at the Batcave, and Dick looked disturbed. "The flu."

"Uh-huh."

"It's not normal."

Damian raised his eyebrows. Dick turned to him, face solemn. "The thing's man-made."

Damian blinked. "Okay, so Drake got himself infected by man-made virus. I take it it was programmed to harm worse?"

"Not just harm," Dick shook his head, and looked truly battered, "Take a look at that."

He brought up a few materials on the Batscreen: newspaper articles, IC information, and virus photoshots. Damian came over to squint at it.

"Huh, these people died of the same virus."

"Tim has that too."

"WHAT?"

"But luckily, from what sources I have, it's not infectious like a normal flu," Dick sighed in relief, "that's something. So we don't have to worry about being sick."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just beat up of one of the scientists who claimed he was one of the creators," Dick smiled wryly, "that should cover for something."

It was unsettling, but Damian was a little bit tired to reconsider.

"But we need to find an antidote," Dick said later, "otherwise, Tim's condition would get worse."

The next victim had to be Todd. Out of all people, Todd. Fine, maybe Damian wouldn't mind if the bombshell died back in his safe-house, but the problem was that Nightwing had found the Red Hood out in the alleys, immediately recognizing the terrorist was infected by Killer Flu. Naturally, the eldest brother brought back Little Wing number one, baby brother number two.

Jason was all hell-broke-lose when he realized where he was the moment he woke. If it were't for Damian and the sedatives, the Manor would have been brought down, Damian was sure of it.

Naturally, Dick was there to pacify.

"Jay, come down! I'll explain."

"Explain, my ass! If you think you're going to get the chance to look after me, it's not happening!"

"Jay, please, just listen!"

"Oh no, I'm outta here – and don't think of stopping me or I'll shoot!"

Both Dick and Damian widened their eyes at the sight of the gun they apparently had not found to be removed.

Dick bent low and immediately stayed as still as he could; the way how Damian would approach giant security dogs that felt threatened. It was a move that promised animals no harm, and it was a very essential step if you were to gain the trust/friendship of the scared animals. Damian crinkled his nose: Todd would be a mutt, then.

"Jay," Dick said softly, trying to calm him, "it's okay. I didn't bring you here to just look after you. I don't mean to trample your pride."

Jason started. "Pride? Whoa, I must be hearing things – you guys don't have 'pride' in your dictionary! Maybe 'rule', but never pride!"

"Jay, this isn't normal flu." Dick said seriously. "It's man-made; the genes are technically modified to specifically really kill people. It doesn't have an antidote out there – but we do know of the group who might have created one. I need you to lie down and stay still so it doesn't get worst."

Jason narrowed his eyes. But Damian knew from the glazed eyes and swooning movements, Todd was already starting to lose rationality.

To his surprise, Jason seemed to realize this too. He shook his head furiously, groaning as he brought a hand to his temple.

"Fine, let's pretend I believe you," he growled, "I've never had a cold this bad."

"It's not normal, Jay," Dick said, relieved a little that Jason was cooperating, "I told you, it's man-made from the labs. Scarecrow was the founder, though."

The room stilled to a deadly silence. Damian stared at his mentor, horrified. Had Dick finally break under fear? The annoyingly-excessive-brother-loving eldest of the siblings never broke scary news to any of them brothers. Except Damian, who'd find his way to the truth eventually (on top of that, he was Robin too; Dick made sure no secrets were kept between Batman and Robin). But never Drake or Todd.

"Scarecrow?" Jason asked. Under that tired voice, there was sincere bewilderment.

Dick looked like he had been caught in a trap. Slipping his tongue to expose his nightmare made things worse too – the color from his face was beginning to drain, and the fear he did try hiding was slowly revealing itself behind crumbled walls.

Whether Jason noticed this or not was unknown, but he did try to make an attempt to bolt forward – only to slip his feet and fall backwards, horror written all over his face before his head hit the floor with a DONK!

"Oh my gawd, JASON!" Dick gasped and bounded over. Jason was unconscious, but the fever look like it had accelerated. Dick frowned when he realized Jason was groaning despite unconsciousness and his breathing was ragged.

"Alfred! Help, Jason needs to rest!"

The butler hurriedly arrived.

After hustling a heavy rag-doll named Todd into the room that used to be his, Damian decided it was high time for him to get out of the Manor before HE exploded.

Not nerving Drake with a cold was already good enough, but to help Todd into the manor and not hacking off at least one of his arm? He was being too nice that was worth at least a century of his lifetime.

He absolutely have NO intention to stay back and listen to Grayson wail.

"Damiiiiii!" Grayson began to wail rushing out from Todd's room, "What am I gonna do? Jason's down too!"

"Well, down to the cave do you!" Damian snapped, "Wailing as such would not help matters at all, Grayson. In fact, if you hadn't realized, wailing makes things almost unbearable in an even worse situation!"

Dick inclined his head in a questioning manner. "Like?"

"Like my mood, for instance!" he seethed, "and no, don't start reprimanding me or I promise you, I will be hell-bent to NOT cooperate with this flu case! I've done enough kindness to Todd and Drake or anybody else for that matter."