There are senses that all animals, not matter how evolved, still have. Base senses, ones that signals when danger is near. They're primal things, born out of survival, that most people followed without thought. They're the gut feeling that tells you run sometimes when you hear running footsteps behind you or to lie perfectly still in your bed when an unfamiliar creak just outside your bedroom door at night. You tense for a second and listen to that little voice that tells you to fight or run. Some people go with their instinct, whatever it may be, while others fight against it with arguments of sensibility. Sometimes it works: others, it doesn't.

Bruce had spent a better part of a decade sharpening his own. Instincts were, after all, designed to keep you alive. If you could just trust yours, train yourself to know when a situation warranted fight or flight, it freed your conscious mind to face the challenge in a more logical way. See what needed to been. Deduce what needed deduction. That way the solution could be found.

Instincts like that weren't something that you could turn off. Even when he was home safe in his bed, they were still active. Which was why he became very aware of a pair of eyes watching him in his sleep. However, there was no sense of danger. Nothing that told him he should spring at whatever was staring at him nor try to protect himself from an oncoming attack. Just that someone was there, waiting.

Slowly, Bruce opened his eyes and glanced towards the foot of his bed. A few feet to the right stood Tim. It placed him at an awkward angle, one that would have made it nearly impossible to reach should Bruce had awaken and decided to attack. The best possible place to be that had to have been carefully chosen.

Bruce was torn between being proud that Tim figured that out and dismayed that a six-year-old would think to do such a thing.

"Tim?" he asked as he slowly sat up.

A quick glance at the clock told him that he had only gone to bed an hour or so before, which meant Alfred shouldn't be getting the boys up for school for at least another two and half.

There was also the fact that this was Tim. Out of all the children in the house, he was the least likely to wake up in the middle of night and seek him out. He didn't know Janet Drake that well still, but it was obvious that Tim had been taught from a young age to be more independent than most children. He couldn't see her indulging in such behavior as this unless it was for an emergency of some sort, so Tim's being here was causing an uncomfortable knot to form in Bruce's chest. It wasn't as overbearing as the one that formed when he got a call from Alfred that Damian was missing, or as painful as he sat next to Jason's hospital bed waiting for the boy to finally wake up, but any traces of fatigue he might have felt otherwise was quickly evaporating as he sat up to give Tim his full attention.

"What are you doing in here?" Bruce asked.

Tim fidgeted and began to play with the hem of the Star Lab t-shirt.

"Jason said to come get you," he replied. In a rush, he added, "Dick's sick."

Some of the tension in his chest released a little as the more terrifying thoughts – someone missing from their beds or a serious injury that needed attention – began to fade from the forefront, but his confusion still lingered. True, he knew children would on occasion wake an adult in the middle of the night if they or one of the others were sick – Bruce himself had vague memories of standing next to his father when he was very small and felt awful and knew his parents needed to know. However, he had just assumed that if the boys ever found themselves in such a state that they would retrieve Alfred instead of him. Alfred was a doctor once, after all.

Maybe that was where Jason was, since he sent Tim to get him. It still didn't explain why they wanted Bruce there.

He still should check on Dick anyway, even if Alfred probably had everything under control. Tim was worried, which worried Bruce in itself.

Slipping from his bed, Bruce followed a relieved Tim into the dark manor halls.

The boys' rooms weren't too far from his own. Doors were opened to darken rooms, thought fainted bit of light could be seen coming from inside of Dick's. The light sound of running water, wet coughs, and Jason's somewhat berating voice echoed in the silence and pushed Bruce to walk a little faster than he had before.

The harsh light of Dick's bathroom completely illuminated his bedroom, which made it easy for Bruce to dodge the unrepentant mess that Dick had managed to cause in the past twelve hours. That tight ball returned in full force once he stepped into the bathroom.

Dick was curled on his side on the bathmat in front of the toilet. His lanky frame shook every few seconds as more deep coughs tore from his throat. Jason sat in front of him, holding him on his side and making sure the wet washcloth didn't slip from his neck. Annoyance and worry pinched his face as he muttered about Dick being a "dumb-ass" and how he should have said something earlier instead of getting this sick. He looked up the instant that Bruce stepped through the doors and his shoulders relaxed.

"B," Jason said. How he said it struck Bruce hard: like now that he was there Jason could stop worrying because Bruce would somehow make this better. Like he could make Dick well again by simply being there.

Kneeling next to them, Bruce pushed Dick more onto his back so that he was now looking up at him. His too-bright cheeks stood out sharply against his pallid face, which his bangs were now stubbornly sticking to. His normally bright eyes were dull and slightly out-of-focus as he blinked up at Bruce.

"Hey, Bruce," he slurred and then frowned. "I don't feel so good."

"How long has he been like this?" Bruce asked.

Jason shrugged and said, "I heard something fall a little while ago and found him like this."

A coughing fit shook through Dick once more. Jason jumped slightly and grabbed Dick's shoulder to roll him back on his side. He held him there until the coughs quieted and then turned his wide-eyes to Bruce.

"Shit, B," he said. "Is he going to be okay?"

Bruce pressed his lips and replaced the still damp washcloth onto Dick's forehead. He estimated that Dick's temperature was probably somewhere between one hundred one to one hundred two degrees, and that whatever this was had firmly settled into his lungs. It was fast acting, too, since Dick had seemed fine at dinner. Maybe a little less hungry than normal, but nothing that had caused him nor Alfred any concern. Even when Bruce had checked on him when he was on his way to bed earlier – had it really only been about an hour? – he hadn't really noticed anything. Dick had seemed a little listless in his sleep and maybe a little snotty, but he hadn't noticed anything that could have singled anything this bad.

Clearly, he hadn't paid close enough attention.

Jason was still watching him and waiting for his answer. Instead, Bruce glanced over his shoulder to Tim, who was standing in the door silently sucking on the side of his finger.

"Tim," he said carefully like he would a frightened witness, "I need you to go get Alfred. Tell him that Dick is sick, and I need him to bring the car around. Then I need you to put on your shoes and your coat and wait for us downstairs."

The finger popped out of Tim's mouth as he gave two sharp nods and then disappeared back into the darkness.

Turning his attention back to Jason, he said, "Go get Damian and put him in something warm."

"Got it, boss," Jason said as he scrambled to his feet. He was a little less silent than Tim, and Bruce heard him pause in the doorway before taking off himself.

Bruce debated for about half a second before picking Dick up like he would Damian or Tim. Dick was at that awkward stage where his arms and legs were too long and too thin for his body. All knees and elbows, was the saying that came to mind, actually. It made carrying him anyway besides a bridal style, over the shoulder, or a fireman carry awkward, but Dick was too sick for the last two styles; and Bruce felt vaguely sick himself about carrying him the former way as images of bodies from past crept to mind. So he managed and was prepared to let Dick wrap around him like an octopus if he so chose.

The fact that he just loosely draped his arms over Bruce's shoulders and hung there worried Bruce more than anything.

"Bruce!"

He was running before he even registered the fact. Dick clung a little tighter to him in response and muttered nonsense to his chest, but Bruce's attention was temporarily focused on the nursery where Jason's scram came from. Small whimpers and angry cries echoed behind it as Bruce stopped in the doorway.

Damian was struggling in Jason's grip, his small face scrunched up as hot tears fell down his too-bright cheeks. After only a few seconds, though, he gave up the fight and pushed his face into Jason's neck.

Jason turned his wide-eyes to Bruce and said, "He's as hot as Dick."

That tight ball constricted ever more. A temperature as high as Dick's was dangerous for someone his age. A child as young as Damian...

They needed to get to the hospital. Now.

Dick's slight giggle sounded odd next to his ear as Dick lazily muttered, "You wish you were, Jaybird."