Hey look, I have another chapter! I totally forgot to upload it here, since I mostly use AO3 these days.
But enjoy some more sillyness.
"Uuuuggghhh…" Tim says.
First he was too hot. Now he's too cold. His blanket is tangled around his legs because he tried to kick it off when he was too hot but now his feet are stuck. He pretty sure his fever is rising and his stomach is not happy with him at the moment. Life without a spleen sucks.
"huuugghhffhhh." He says again to no one in particular.
From the other side of the den Dick lowers his comic book and sighs, "What is it this time?"
Tim makes sure to groan enough to make it known how miserable he feels as he rolls over to his side to face his older brother. Then he pointedly shifts his eyes to his tangled-up blanket and back to Dick.
"Really, Tim?" Dick says, but he gets up anyway to untangle the blanket and cover Tim's shivering form once again. When he tries to feel the teen's forehead his hand is batted away.
"I think your fever's getting worse."
Tim just rolls his eyes at him. He already figured that out an hour ago when he started feeling hot and cold at the same time. But instead of telling Dick that he pokes one hand out from his blanket and makes a drinking motion. Then he quickly pulls it back because it's cold in the den. At least he thinks so. His internal temperature is a little screwed up at the moment.
"Words, little brother. Use your words." Dick grumbles even though Tim knows that Dick knows perfectly well what Tim means. Dick is pretty much fluent in Tim-speak.
Tim coughs in his hand then says "Fuck you." in a barely audible whisper before turning his back on his brother.
"You're mean when you're sick." Dick whines, "Want some tea or just water?"
Tim's shrug is barely visible from under his blanket, but he hears Dick's footsteps leave the room anyway. He dozes a bit until he hears Dick put down a glass with a clunk on the side table next to him. Then a finger pokes his back.
"Wake up, Timmy. I brought you juice."
Tim doesn't want juice. He also doesn't want Dick hovering over him like a mother hen. So he ignores the poking and feigns sleep. But Dick was the first bird to be trained by the world's greatest detective so he sees through his act pretty fast.
"Tim." Dick says, "You can't give me the silent treatment all day."
Tim raises his head and gives Dick a glare over his shoulder that says watch me, before pulling the blanket all the way over his head. It results in having his feet poking out on the other side but it's a sacrifice he's willing to make. After about a minute it becomes a bit hard to breathe though, so he lifts the blanket a little bit to create an air hole.
"Fine. Don't talk to me then." Dick sighs.
For a second Tim thinks that Dick is actually going to leave him alone until he feels a pull on his blanket. He tries to hold on to it for dear life but being sick has made his muscles feel like jello and the only thing he can do is make a weak whining sound as his brother pulls the blanket away from his face and back over his feet. Dick then pulls him into a sitting position and places the juice in his hands.
"Drink." He orders.
Tim glares at him for a full minute before finally giving in and slowly sipping from the juice, pointedly ignoring the look of triumph on Dick's face. He gets about halfway through the glass when his stomach decides its enough. With shaking hands he places the glass back on the side table and lies back down, closing his eyes as he tries to breathe through a wave of nausea.
It's not working.
Dick must have realized that too because as soon as Tim shoots up from his laying position, a look of desperation on his face, a bucket is shoved in his hands.
He feels one hand holding back his hair and another rubbing circles on his back as he empties his stomach. As his retching turns into dry heaving he hears Dick give an awkward chuckle.
"Look at that. You could almost put it back in the glass."
Tim would have laughed at his brother's dry tone, but he's too busy with laying back down and taking deep breaths, trying to get his shaking body under control. The vomiting has taken the last bit of energy out of him and right now he's slowly sinking into that nice floating sensation of relief after throwing up. Distantly he hears the bucket being taken away. He's not sure he's entirely awake when Dick hold a glass of water to his lips so he can rinse his mouth.
As he feels a hand gently carding through his hair he whispers, "This is all your fault" to Dick before drifting off to sleep.
.
Later he's dimly aware of someone carrying him to his room and tucking him into his bed. He's not sure if its Dick or Bruce. He's too tired to care either.
.
The second time Tim wakes there are voices outside his door.
"He'll be fine without you, Dick. Alfred will take care of him. I need you on patrol."
That's definitely Bruce. He would recognize the low timbre in his voice anywhere.
"I know…. I just feel guilty because I know he caught if from it me. I knew I was still sick and should have steered clear from him. It always hits him so much harder."
That has to be Dick. Tim may feel the slightest bit of guilt about the hard time he's been giving him.
"There's nothing to feel guilty about. These things tend to happen when you lose a spleen. Now go get changed. I'll check on Tim and then join you."
He hears Dick's footsteps fade in the hallway and then his door opens slowly. Bruce can move without making a noise if he wants to, the fact that he isn't lets Tim know that he wants to announce his presence. So he turns around in his blanket burrito to face his adoptive father.
"Huuuffggh" he says by way of greeting.
He feels the bed dip as Bruce sits on the edge. Then a hand brushes some strands of hair away from his face, before settling on his shoulder, "That bad?" Bruce asks.
Tim just lets out a hmm that could be interpreted as confirmation or as just another groan of misery.
"I'm taking Damian and Dick on patrol with me."
Tim's eyes have drifted shut again as he feels the weight leave his matrass. He dips his head in a faint nod.
"Alright, drink enough fluids."
He nods again, then feels Bruce's fingers gently brush his forehead, "Let Alfred know if you start feeling worse. He'll bring you some meds later."
Tim burrows himself deeper in his blanket burrito. Bruce's footsteps make it till the door, then he feels rather then hears the man turn around once more.
"And maybe you should cut Dick some slack." Bruce says before the door closes.
Tim waits until he's absolutely sure that Bruce has left the room before pulling his hand free from his blanket burrito and raising his middle finger to where Bruce was standing before.
.
Tim's revenge plan the next day is simple. Sneak into the cave, add some itching powder to Dick's motorcycle helmet, sneak back out. He waits until Bruce has taken Damian and Dick on patrol once again. Alfred comes by to check on him then heads to bed himself. Then he waits a bit longer.
When Tim is absolutely sure the Manor is quiet, he wraps a blanket around his shoulders like a cape and slips out of bed. He's been asleep on and off for the past twenty-four hours, finally breaking his fever, so he feels a little better. But the trek towards the cave takes him longer then he wants because his body is still sore all over and his muscles are stiff from laying in bed all day. He's forced to sit down several times to catch his breath. But he makes it down to the cave eventually.
Cracking the code to Dick's locker is a piece a cake, because his brother is a sentimental sob and hasn't changed his code once since Tim first entered the cave when he was thirteen years old. He can't help the juvenile grin breaking out on his face as he rubs a handful of itching powder into the lining of Dick's helmet. Jason would be proud.
Tim's in the process of getting rid of the evidence when he hears the roar of the batmobile in the distance.
Uh oh.
There's no way he's gonna make it all the way up the stairs in his state. So its time for plan B. Pretend to have snuck down here to work on some cases because he got bored. Which is honestly not even that far from the truth.
He settles himself in front of the batcomputer with his blanket around him and pulls up some files. Then he shuffles some papers around to make it look like he's been going over notes. To add a final touch he runs his hands through the mess that is his hair to make it look just crazy enough. By the time the batmobile rolls to a stop Tim looks like he has been there for hours. He's counting on Bruce causing a ruckus as soon he finds Tim's sick butt in the cave, hopefully providing him with a getaway before Dick finds his helmet.
Tim is not disappointed.
He can't help letting out a squawk of surprise as he swivels his chair around and finds the Batman looming over him at his full height. He didn't even hear Bruce getting out of the car.
"Timothy Jackson" Bruce growls, still using his Batman voice.
Tim winces at the use of his middle name, shrinking back in the chair as far as he can. Bruce acting the stern parent can be frightening. Batman using the disappointed parent voice is downright terrifying. From behind Bruce he can see Dick giving him a look of sympathy and once again he feel a twinge of guilt. But it's too late now.
"You're going back upstairs right now."
Tim's about to protest, put on a good show, but as soon as he gets up a spell of dizziness hits him and he has to sit back down. On the other side of the cave he can hear Damian huff. He makes a mental note to add Damian to his list of revenge pranks.
Bruce gives him all but five seconds to shake off the dizziness before he grabs Tim by his arm and marches him towards the stairs. And maybe, just maybe that's a good thing, cause Tim's pretty sure that he wouldn't have been able to make it back to his bed by himself at this point.
As he's being walked up the stairs he looks over his shoulder, giving Dick his sly grin that Jason calls his I'm-a-little-shit-grin, before leaning more heavily into Bruce. He can hear Dick choke behind him as Bruce slings an arm over his shoulders to support more of his weight.
The last thing Tim hears before exiting the cave is Dick sputtering, "Bruce. Bruce. He did something. Don't buy into his act!"