Work Text:
Tim was not sulking. He was not . He wasn’t even brooding- and if another person opened their mouth to compare him to the broody Bat himself Tim was gonna knock their fucking teeth in. Okay- so maybe he was a little wound up. And a touch salty. But this sucked!
Last night on patrol he had taken a hit- one fucking hit! Unfortunately, it had been a steel pipe to the face. Penguin’s henchman thought he was the biggest badass on the block for about half a second after he landed the blow- until he realized that Red Robin was not about to stay down. Tim’s vision whited out as his head seemed to reverberate like a struck gong, but he didn’t even wait for his sight to settle back into place before lashing out with vicious precision, downing the guy with one swift hit to the throat. The pipe clattered to the ground as the goon wheezed and collapsed.
By the time Tim could actually see properly again, Nightwing was at his side.
“You good?” he asked, trying to make eye contact with Tim while also fending off his own baddie.
“Yeah,” Tim said with a shake of his head. Nothing felt broken, though he could already tell that the left side of his face was starting to swell. “Just a lucky shot,” he reassured as Dick finally managed to get a good look at his face. But then something caught Tim’s eye just behind Nightwing and he yelled, “Duck!”
Not needing to be told twice, Dick immediately dropped into a crouch, sweeping a leg out and around just as Red Robin surged forward. The man’s legs were taken out perfectly in sync with the punch to the face and he went down hard, joining his colleagues now littering the ground.
The pair of them took a beat to survey the industrial park around them, searching for any more lingering goons. Luckily the lot was still undeveloped, so there were just a few shipping containers and a smattering of construction supplies scattered about and therefore not a lot of places to hide. Nothing appeared to be stirring in any of the shadows.
Tim looked down and noted that Nightwing was still crouched in what Jason had teasingly started calling his ‘Spidey squat’ with one hand on the ground and one leg sticking out to the side. Tim watched as his shoulders relaxed and he started digging for something in his utility belt.
“How many zip ties you got on you? I think I’m almost-” But Tim didn’t quite catch the end of Dick’s statement as the air was suddenly knocked out of his chest.
Okay- so maybe Tim had taken two hits on patrol last night… Whatever.
Whipping around, he caught the guy’s arm as he went in for another blow. With a painful twist, that same damn pipe clattered to the ground once again. Red Robin pulled the man in, arm pinned behind his back, and wheezed/growled in his ear, “Fucking- stay down!” before sending him careening head-first into the side of a nearby shipping container. With a satisfying clang, the man crumpled to the ground once again.
Straightening up with a wince, Tim said, “I vote we secure him first,” a little breathily. As Dick moved to grant his request, Tim stooped down to scoop up the bit of pipe that had become his sworn enemy over the last few minutes and threw it as hard and as far as he could. Despite the action pulling at his now tender ribs, it felt good.
“Jeez- what’d that thing ever do to you?” Dick asked with a smirk. Even through the cowl, Tim’s unamused expression was evident. “Zip ties?” he asked again.
Tim pulled a handful of them out of one of his seemingly infinite pockets and tossed half of them at his idiot of a brother- just far enough away that Dick almost toppled over as he leaned out to catch them.
As they split up to secure the rest of the henchmen, Dick took it upon himself to update the rest of the Bats. “Nightwing to channel. Red and I are wrapping up with Penguin’s goons now, then we’re gonna head in for the night. Red took a few hits. Oracle- if you wouldn’t mind letting GCPD know that there are a couple of presents waiting for them at our current location in about… five minutes? It’d be much appreciated.”
“Five minutes- heard, Nightwing,” came Oracle’s quick reply.
There was a few seconds of static on the line before, “Red Robin- status report,” came over in Batman’s gruff voice.
With a roll of his eyes, Tim reached up and activated his own communicator. “I’m fine, B. It was just a lucky hit.”
“Which one?” Dick added helpfully.
“Okay- it was just two lucky hits.”
“You ain’t getting out of a concussion check that easily, Babybird,” Dick grinned.
Batman’s growl could have easily been mistaken for more static if everyone on comms wasn’t highly trained in the art of detecting an angry Bat.
“Do I need to arrange a refresher course on how to give a proper status report Red Robin?”
Tim sighed. It was already bad enough that he’d slipped up in the field- the last thing that he needed right now was a verbal dressing down from Batman while every vigilante in town was on the line. “No,” he had to bite back the ‘sir’ that instinctively tried to follow. Even after so many years, his parents’ training still ran deep. “I took one hit to the head and one to the side. Nothing apparently broken and no signs of a concussion. Likely just some bruised ribs and a black eye. Nightwing and I will finish up here and then return to the cave. No additional assistance required at this time.”
Bruce just grunted in response.
Tim and Dick made quick work of securing the rest of the goons before vanishing into the night. Dick offered to take the long way home or even summon the Batmobile knowing how much it sucked to grapple and run the rooftops with injured ribs, but Tim insisted that he would be fine with their regular route. He did his best not to wince with every landing.
It was no surprise that they were the first ones back to the cave that evening, given how early in the night it still was. When Tim tried to duck into the showers Dick seemed to materialize out of nowhere in his path.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he said with a wag of his finger. “Just because big, bad, Bats isn’t here doesn’t mean that the rules suddenly don’t apply. Med bay before showers.” When Tim didn’t immediately yield, Dick’s shoulders seemed to slump a little. “Come on, Babybird. It’ll only take a couple of minutes. I just gotta look at those clear baby blues and double check that nothing’s broken. No punctured lungs on my watch.”
After a brief, masked staring contest, Tim caved, grumbling, “It was one time,” as he altered his course in the direction of the medical bay. One freaking time that he had forgotten to properly take care of a few busted ribs and had mildly almost suffocated in his sleep and they just couldn’t let it go.
Hopping up on the side of the bed, Tim got to work shedding the outermost layer of his costume so that they could get this over with. When it came time to remove his cowl, Tim sucked in a little breath. He knew that it was going to hurt. And, in all likelihood, the tight material had probably been keeping the swelling down a bit- acting kind of like a compression bandage in a way- and his face was about to look way worse than he was willing to acknowledge.
As Tim pried his cowl off, Dick let out a low whistle. “Damn, Timmy. That’s gonna be one hell of a shiner. You sure you’re feeling okay? No dizziness? Nausea? Vision problems? Light sensitivity? Headache?” Tim shook his head in a negative response as Dick crouched down in front of him. “You know the drill- look at my nose.” Dick shown a pen light in each of Tim’s eyes before saying, “Good. Now, follow my finger,” and making sure that he could smoothly track the movement. “And what were we doing tonight?”
Dick waited patiently for Tim to get over his exasperation before he answered. “We were disrupting the Penguin’s operation. They were using the construction site for their new club to store hot items.”
“And what is the Penguin’s full name and date of birth?”
“Aren’t you supposed to ask me my name and date of birth?” Tim asked wearily.
“Traditionally, yes. But I think that’s going too easy on you, Encyclopedia Brown. Unless you really do have a concussion?” Dick challenged.
Tim huffed. “Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot was born on July 26th, 1970 at Gotham General.”
“Show off,” Dick muttered.
“Would you even know if I was wrong?” Tim challenged.
“I’m gonna look it up while you’re in the shower and drag your ass right back here if you are,” Dick threatened. “You wanna amend your answer?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Dr. Blainesfield delivered him,” Tim added with a cheeky smile. “Dr. Theodore Humphry Blainesfield- though his friends called him Teddy. Pretty fitting for an OB, right?”
“I would hate to live inside your head kid- waayy too damn crowded,” Dick shook his head. “Do you need help with the shirt?”
“Nah,” Tim brushed him off, already fiddling with the last few latches and straps to get it off. “And here I’d think it awfully annoying to constantly hear the echo of the one thought bouncing around in yours.”
Dick glared good-naturedly at Tim as he finally liberated his torso. A dark bruise had already formed, wrapping around the kid’s left upper ribs and back. The kevlar in their suits worked miracles against knives and bullets, but it really didn’t provide much protection against blunt force trauma. Dick poked and prodded until he was satisfied nothing was truly broken and Tim really could breath okay. As he released Tim to his shower, Dick called after him, “But don’t think I’ve forgotten about Dr. Teddy!” Tim just flipped him off over his shoulder.
After emerging from the showers, Tim sat down at the Bat-computer and set to a bit of work. Dick walked over and silently handed him an ice pack wrapped in a hand towel that Tim grudgingly accepted. With one elbow propped up on the edge of the Bat-computer, he dutifully rested his face against the numbing cold and got back to work with his free hand. Eventually, he heard the telltale rumble of the Batmobile’s engine as it glided into the cave. Choosing to ignore the new arrivals, Tim hunkered down in his chair and began typing even faster, wanting to get the case notes he was working on wrapped up before he was inevitably kicked out. In the background, he could hear footsteps and a few quiet conversations, but he tuned them out. Only when Jason’s obnoxious bike tore into the cave, making a ridiculous squealing noise as he whipped to a stop- like he was auditioning to play stereotypical badass #3 in some cheesy action flick- did Tim acknowledge that his respite would soon be coming to a quick end.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he hit save on six different documents and made a couple more shorthand notes to remind himself where he was at when he got a chance to circle back on a few of his theories later. He opened up a new case file he had been wanting to do a little background research for in the off chance that he might get away with hiding in plain sight. After all, Tim wasn’t going to cede ground unnecessarily. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, right?
“Tim…” When the boy he knew currently occupied the large chair in front of the Bat-computer did not respond, Bruce let out a weary sigh. “Tim- this doesn’t need to be difficult. Please turn around.”
Tim’s currently unoccupied hand paused in its near-constant motion before he let out a small sigh of his own. Knowing there was no point in pissing Bruce off unnecessarily, he burrowed just a little deeper into the oversized hoodie he had thrown on after his shower, set the mostly melted ice pack down, and he swiveled around in his chair to face the Bat. There was a long moment as Bruce studied Tim’s face, his own expression inscrutable, even with the cowl pulled down. It didn’t help that Tim’s left eye had completely swollen shut sometime between when he changed and then as he sat staring down Batman.
“And the rest?” Bruce asked in a flat tone.
“What? You don’t trust Dickie to have done his due diligence? He’ll be crushed,” Tim teased as he pulled up his shirt, twisting around to give Bruce a proper look at the bruising that had blossomed around his torso.
“This isn’t about Dick,” he said with a frown before finally making eye contact with Tim.
“Don’t say it,” Tim said, almost pleadingly, letting his sweatshirt fall back into place.
“Tim,” Bruce began with his own ever so slightly desperate edge to his voice. “You know as well as I do that you can’t-”
But Jason saved Tim from having to face the end of that sentence. “Damn, Timbelina!” He almost looked impressed. “That is one hell of a shiner. I’d love to see the other guy.”
“To pity him or shake his hand?” Tim asked, raising his good eyebrow.
“Point me in his direction and I’ll let you know how I feel.” Jason flashed him a smile that was all teeth.
“I should’ve broken his arm,” Tim muttered. “Maybe then the idiot would’ve taken the hint and stayed down.”
“No-” Bruce cut harshly into Tim’s vengeance fantasy.
“Hey! I didn’t do it! Besides- I’m not the one here who needs a lecture on proper restraint,” Tim said with a glare at both of the men in front of him. Was it a bit of a low blow against Bruce? Maybe. But Tim also thought it was the height of hypocrisy for Bruce to be warning him against the use of excessive force. There would likely never come a day where somewhere in the back of his mind Tim was not secretly harboring a fear of Bruce going full Dark Knight again.
“Too bad they failed to knock you off that high horse,” Jason snorted, attempting to dispel some of the tension that suddenly filled the air.
“I’m not on a high horse- you just choose to operate out of the gutter,” Tim shot back. “It’s not my fault you look up to me,” he smiled as cheekily as his face could manage.
“Only in your dreams, Timbit.”
“Speaking of-” Bruce stepped back into the conversation, “You should go get some rest. I’ll contact Tam in the morning to let her know you won’t be in.”
Tim’s face fell. “B- I can come up with a cover story. Tim Drake has done plenty of dumb shit over the years. Any number of things could explain away this,” he motioned vaguely towards his abused face.
Bruce crossed his arms, squaring up his stance as if physically grounding himself against Tim’s resistance. “You know the rules. No leaving the Manor with anything civilian visible that is not civilian explained .”
“But I can explain-”
“People are gonna think your boyfriend’s been beating on you or something.” Tim’s eyes- well, his good eye- snapped to Jason when he said that. “Especially if you start giving out some piss-poor excuse trying to cover it up.” Tim just continued to stare at him. “Have you even looked in a mirror? Anyone with half a brain would know that doesn’t just happen unless some asshole tried to knock you into next week.”
Tim’s hand had snuck up to feel at the bruised and swollen side of his face. Because no, he hadn’t actually looked in the mirror since getting back. He hadn’t really wanted to, knowing that it wasn’t going to be pretty. He hadn’t wanted to face the implications of it all. But even as his fingers ghosted over the tender flesh, Tim had a sinking feeling that Jason was right. He really didn’t have to phrase it that way- but he was probably right. If a coworker had come in with a face looking like his probably did and told the story that Tim had half developed in his head, he would have already opened a mental case file before they had even finished getting out the self-deprecating tale. Fuck.
“Manor confinement sucks,” Tim complained instead, his shoulders falling in defeat. “This is probably gonna take weeks to heal. People are gonna think I’m dead!”
Bruce’s stance relaxed a bit as well. “I don’t have to say that you’re sick. What if you’re just out of town?” Now that Tim had accepted his fate, Bruce was much more willing to bargain. While the easiest excuse would be that Tim and his lack of spleen had come down with something that he was just having a hard time shaking off, Bruce was willing to settle for less low-hanging fruit if it made his son a little less miserable for the next few weeks. He knew saving face at WE was important to Tim. As the wheels turned, Bruce continued thinking out loud for Tim’s sake. “What if there was a potential future investor for an upcoming R&D project who needed a little schmoozing and someone to talk shop with and you went to cover for me? While you’re gone, maybe you pick up a couple of ‘in-person’ meetings here and there with a couple of personal days mixed in. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to be out of office for that, right?” Bruce looked steadily at Tim, but Tim could see that glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Fine,” Tim huffed.
And then he had slunk up to bed.
Which led to now, where Tim was trapped in the Manor with absolutely nothing to do. Bruce had taken the liberty to tell everyone that he was “traveling” today and would be out of reach, so he couldn’t even do work. He was supposed to be “resting”- whatever that meant. He’d been banned from the Batcave and Alfred had confiscated his laptop for the day. Tim still had his phone, but honestly- endlessly scrolling on it with only one working eye had given him a headache pretty fast.
This sucked! And it had only been a few hours. Breakfast had been a trying time between Dick’s apologetic looks, Damian’s scathing comments, Bruce’s trademark ignoring the problem, and Alfred’s “chin up” attitude. His only saving grace was that Jason hadn’t surfaced yet, so at least he wasn’t there to make fun of Tim as well. They say “misery loves company”, but while Tim felt rather miserable, he couldn’t wait for his stupid family to get the fuck out and leave him the hell alone.
But now that he was alone, he felt like he was going stir crazy. He couldn’t stand to look at his phone or watch TV, he couldn’t train or work on cases, he didn’t want to take a nap. Heck- he couldn’t even go outside and take a walk around the freaking garden! Even on their own property, it wouldn’t be the first time that some overzealous paparazzo had done a little light trespassing in order to get the latest gossip about Brucie Wayne and his brood.
So Tim had opted to pace. And think. And no, he was not brooding! Or sulking. (Whatever Alfred may say.)
And then it happened- quite suddenly, as it often did. Between one step and the next, Tim’s vision blinked out. Unlike usual, though, this caused him to stumble. He let out a silent curse. Of course this would happen now. When it rains it pours, right? Well, the universe can fuck right off .
Tim took a deep breath and a moment to collect himself. It’s not like he wasn’t used to this. As long as he can remember, he has gotten what a doctor once called ‘silent migraines’. For him, they were usually sudden onset with very little rhyme or reason. Just a part of life and something that he had learned to live with like so many people who suffer from what Tim internally called ‘real migraines’. Because for him, instead of getting a headache, he just temporarily went blind in his right eye. It had been terrifying as a kid- every time it had happened for years he’d always been secretly afraid that his sight might just never come back. But after a decade or so of regularly dealing with these episodes, Tim was able to move past that childish panic and learned to deal with it. Over the years, he had learned to adapt to the vision loss whenever it happened to the point where most of his migraines went completely unnoticed by everyone but him himself. Hell- he’d gotten so good at compensating for it that he was pretty sure even Batman hadn’t noticed. Which was exactly how he wanted it. What Bruce didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him- or get Tim benched, permanently.
The problem was, Tim’s left eye was currently swollen shut. So now, with his right eye also temporarily out of commission, he was essentially blind. And while Tim was quite proficient with only one eye, he did not have that same competency with zero. So when the world blinked out of existence, he stumbled. For a moment, it felt like everything was dizzyingly shifting around him. Tim’s arms automatically shot out in an attempt to stabilize him as his stomach rolled uncomfortably. He was blessedly close to the wall, thankfully, so when one of his arms knocked into it, Tim immediately shifted to lean bodily against the only solid and stable thing in existence.
He stood there for who knows how long with his forehead and palms pressed firmly against the wall, trying to take deep breaths and settle himself. Tim blinked and was distressed to find that he couldn’t actually tell if his eyes were open or closed. And for the first time in a long time, he felt himself panicking. No, he scolded himself, doing his best to not let that spark of panic catch- It’s only temporary, Tim firmly reminded himself. It’s always temporary .
With a little shake of his head, Tim did his best to refocus on the present situation. He needed to problem solve, not panic. Tapping his fingers on the wall, he considered his options. He couldn’t very well stand here forever- what if Alfred came by and found him? There would be too many questions and zero answers he could give. So, step one- he needed to move. Thinking back, Tim recalled that he had been in the living room. No- he is in the living room, he had to remind himself. Just because he currently couldn’t see it, doesn’t mean that it didn’t still exist. Jesus- it was a little scary how easily he had lost something as fundamental as object permanence.
Mentally, Tim pulled up his schematic of the Manor’s living room and did his best to recall exactly where he had been standing when things had gone dark on him. If memory served, he’d been almost to the hallway that led to the upstairs garage and one of the Manor’s many bathrooms. He was maybe ten feet from the nearest piece of furniture- the end table beside one of the sofas. If he could make it to the couch, then Tim could just sit down and ride it out until his already compromised vision returned. So then, step two- sit. Some may call it a simple plan, but hey- why overcomplicate things unnecessarily? But right then, even Tim’s two-step master plan felt a bit daunting.
Move and sit . He could do this, Tim told himself as he pushed slightly off of the wall, leaving just one hand lingering there as if to hold his place. His other arm instinctively drifted out in front of him to hover somewhere around waist height. Taking one last deep breath to firm his resolve, Tim took his first hesitant step into the void (and hopefully towards the furniture). It was a slow journey as Tim slid one socked foot out in front of himself about a foot before committing to each step. Eventually, his toes connected with what he believed to be the leg of the targeted end table. Quickly, he reached down to feel the top of it- almost knocking the lamp over with the back of his hand as he searched for the edge of the table. Once he found it, he followed the cool metal to the sharp corner that indicated the end. Shuffling another half step in that direction, his fingers ran into soft upholstery.
For a moment, Tim considered just climbing over the back of the couch right there so that he could flop down on the wonderful cushions and pretend that he had just laid down for a nap and nothing more. But that irrational part of his brain that he was doing his best to muzzle was losing its shit at the idea of throwing himself somewhere that he could not see. It really was crazy- he was a vigilante who threw himself off of rooftops on the nightly with less than half a thought and zero hesitation- but there was something so very different about how this felt. Even though he had jumped onto this very couch a hundred times, that deep part of his lizard brain could simply not be convinced that it would be there to catch him like it always had been. It felt like he was trying to convince himself to jump into a black hole and hope that there was a crashmat at the bottom.
Losing his internal battle, Tim decided to just negotiate his way around the couch and sit on it the normal way- the way where he could feel that the cushions were definitely there waiting for him. He was a little faster now that he was just following the back of the couch and soon enough Tim sank into the reassuring contact of having something solid beneath him, scooting as far into the corner as he possibly could. He fought the urge to curl up into a ball and tuck his head away. He was trying to look natural, right? He was also a little afraid that he might fall asleep and that childish part of him was still terrified that if he did, he might never see again. He didn’t want to close his eyes. He just needed to wait it out.
Tim sighed, propping his right arm up on the arm of the sofa and settling his head against it. And he waited. How long had it been? His migraines typically passed in anywhere between a few minutes to a few hours. While he wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d stood against the wall trying to get a grip, he didn’t think it had actually been that long. He might be in for a bit of a wait. But honestly, what else did he have to do today? Blindly sitting on the couch literally staring at nothing wasn’t even the worst way he could think of to pass the time. In an attempt to not let himself hyperfixate on the fact that he still couldn’t see, Tim let his mind wander.
“The fuck you staring at so hard, Replacement?” Jason’s loud voice made Tim jump much higher than he was comfortable admitting. Clearly, Jason had noticed the overreaction too. “Jeez- caught you on an off day? Or are you just really out of it?”
Tim could hear him now. He had likely just come down the stairs or had come out of the kitchen and spotted Tim on the couch from the main hall. Tim cursed his carelessness for not finding a better hiding place. He hadn’t thought past his immediate surroundings and was now paying the price. He tracked Jason’s movement as he made his way further into the room- past the bookshelf and the armchair until he came to a stop basically in front of Tim, most likely leaning up against the far wall. Tim could picture it in his mind’s eye clear as day, down to the arch of Jason’s quirked eyebrow and the glint of curiosity and humor behind the steel of his hard gaze.
Jason- for all that he was technically the older brother- had unfortunately spent many of his pivotal developmental years dead. That is to say- maybe he wasn’t the most mature of the family. And by that we mean, he most definitely wasn’t the most mature of them. And he had recently discovered that there was a way to flip someone off with not just one or two, but three middle fingers! He had been itching to test out the technique on someone and Timmy had oh so graciously just volunteered as tribute.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Tim could hear the grin in his voice.
“Fuck off, Jason.” Tim did his best to send a heated glare in the correct direction, even as the anxiety began to stir in his stomach.
“Awe, come on Timmy- I know you can count that high.”
“Can you?”
At that, Jason frowned. Not at the retort, or Tim’s acerbic tone- those were pretty par for the course in their interactions. No- but something was off. It took another second of studying Tim for Jason to put his finger on it. And then he realized what it was- Tim wasn’t really looking at him. Yes, he was looking in Jason’s general direction, but his gaze was actually directed somewhere just past his shoulder. With a quick glance behind him just to confirm that there was nothing more exciting there than blank wall, Jason’s frown deepened.
“Come here,” Jason beckoned Tim over and the briefest look of panic that flashed across his brother’s face did nothing to soothe his instincts that were screaming that something was wrong- like, really wrong - with the situation.
“No,” Tim said as calmly as ever. If Jason hadn’t been looking so hard, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the crack in Tim’s facade, it was smoothed over so quickly. But he had seen it. And he wasn’t about to let it go.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Jason asked again, much more seriously this time, holding four normal fingers in the air.
“I’m not playing this stupid game with you,” Tim scoffed, rolling his good eye and then turning his head and apparently doing his best to ignore Jason.
“Answer the question and I’ll leave you alone,” Jason bargained.
“How about you just leave me alone?” Tim said, his tone turning hostile, still refusing to look at the other boy.
“How. Many. Fingers?” Jason ground out.
Tim’s head snapped back towards him at the harsh tone. He bit his lip, hesitating. “Two?” Tim finally ventured. It was a calculated guess. He was praying that Jason was just double flipping him off like he usually does.
Jason’s eyes flickered towards his hands, as if to confirm what he already knew- some small part of him praying that it had been his mistake and not Tim’s. As his hand fell, Jason let out a long hiss that turned into, “Shit,” at the end. And then he was moving, swift as any trained Bat, and between one beat and then next he was crouched on the floor in front of Tim, peering into his bruised face. “Tim,” he said, causing the boy to jump at the unexpectedly close voice. “Can you see?” he asked seriously.
Tim’s start, his tense posture, the wandering gaze, and hesitation were answer enough. Just to be sure, Jason brought a finger up to Tim’s good eye as if to poke him and got no response. Not a flinch, not a blink, not even a tracking of the movement. The kid really couldn’t see. Fuck .
“How hard did they ring your bell last night?” Jason asked worriedly. “How long haven’t you been able to see?” The words rushed out of Jason as his own panic began to mount at Tim’s lack of response. “Shit- Timmy- Wait here,” he instructed, already fumbling for his phone and debating whether he should call Bruce, Dr. Thompkins, or 911.
As Jason moved away to have a little more privacy for his phone call- he didn’t really want to talk about the kid right in front of him- Tim seemed to snap out of his trance.
“No! Wait! Jason!” he called, scrambling to his feet. “It’s okay-” But even as he said it, Tim tripped over the coffee table and took a nosedive to the floor. Jason wasn’t fast enough to catch him. Tim let out a low groan as he rolled over, his bruised ribs screaming at the mistreatment. He panted slightly, but managed to get out between breaths, “Listen… please… it’s okay… not head trauma… will be fine… in a bit…”
“Right,” Jason said with heavy sarcasm, now hovering next to Tim, but still afraid to touch him. “Because suddenly going blind is totally normal.”
“Well, yeah,” Tim breathed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Excuse me?” Jason said, incredulously.
Tim sighed. Having finally gotten his breath back under control, he pushed himself up. Feeling around for a moment, Tim eventually found what he was looking for and pivoted so that he was perched on the edge of the coffee table. “It’s just a migraine,” he shrugged, turning towards where he thought Jason should be.
“A migraine?”
“Yeah.”
“That makes you go blind?” Jason asked skeptically.
“Only in my right eye,” Tim clarified, as if that was so much better. “And, well, the left eye is just usually not also out of commission…” He rubbed nervously at the back of his neck with one hand as the other was currently curled protectively around his chest. “It’ll fix itself pretty soon,” Tim said in a way that was clearly meant to be reassuring. It wasn’t.
“What the fuck.”
“Really- I’m fine. I promise! Please don’t call anyone,” Tim pleaded, reaching a hand out towards Jason. He bumped into his arm and his fingers slid down to wrap around the other boy’s wrist, as if he could physically hold him in place and stop him from calling in the calvary.
Tim’s grip was strong, but Jason was quite sure if that was reassuring or not.
“I got hit in the side of the head,” Tim went on, diving into his rolodex of rationals as to why Jason should believe him. “The vision center of the brain is in the occipital lobe in the back of the head. If something was happening related to getting hit, then I’d be aphasic. I’d be having trouble processing language or speaking. Trouble with memory or attention or balance. Those would make sense and actually be a cause for alarm. I promise- I don’t want brain damage as much as the next guy. This isn’t that.”
Tim could still feel the tension in Jason’s arm. He could picture the frown and concern still likely on his face.
“I’ve gotten them my whole life. I know what it feels like- and it feels like this. They usually go away within the hour and it’s already been at least twenty minutes, so it should be clearing up soon. Jason- please.”
Jason gave Tim’s face a long, hard, searching look. “Bruce doesn’t know, does he?”
“No,” Tim admitted softly, hanging his head. Jason’s arm slipped free from Tim’s now lax grip.
“And you just never thought it was worth a mention?”
Tim’s head snapped up to give him a glare. “I can handle my shit. It was never an issue,” Tim defended himself.
“Because a kid being half blind in the field isn’t an issue?” Jason asked accusingly.
“This is exactly why I never told anyone!” Tim huffed, crossing his arms angrily. “You don’t need two eyes to fight. Especially if you train that way,” he pointed out.
“Shit, Timmy-” Jason huffed out a breath, sinking back onto his heels as he looked at Tim. “How often is this shit happening?”
Tim turned his head as if to look away, which seemed almost silly given the situation at hand. “It happens maybe a few times a month,” he finally admitted.
“Shit- And you never-” Jason cut himself off and took a deep, calming breath. Berating Tim was unlikely to get him anywhere. “Have you at least talked to Dr. Thompkins about it?”
Tim turned back towards Jason at his shift in tone. “No, not Dr. Thompkins specifically- but I promise I’ve seen plenty of doctors about it. My parents didn’t want me broken either. I must have seen every specialist on the eastern seaboard by the time I was nine. But the truth is that even the experts don’t know why this shit happens. For some people, it just does. And vision migraines are pretty uncommon, so they know even less about them than normal migraines. I even tried a couple of treatments and meds when I was younger, but believe me- none of them did shit and with most of them, the side effects were way worse than the migraines ever were. And if you tell me not to drink coffee, I’ll slit your throat,” Tim warned. “Trust me- I have tried it all. I’ll be happy to show you the tracking journals I used when I conducted an elimination diet trial to see if any specific foods helped or made worse the migraines. I concluded that coffee does not correlate- despite what Dr. Google may suggest. Like I said- I’m used to it and I can handle my shit.”
“Okay,” Jason offered, if only to stop Tim’s rant. “Okay- I believe you. But just because you can handle your shit doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t still let the rest of us know, you know? That shit should be in your file right in between ‘missing spleen’ and ‘refuses to get his wisdom teeth taken out’.”
“They’re only on the bottom and I see no reason to have an elective surgery to remove a perfectly normal part of my body. They aren’t causing any problems, so why would I get rid of them?” Tim grumbled.
Jason rolled his eyes. That was a fight that Tim and Bruce had had about ten too many times. Jason cautiously reached his hand out and gently settled it on Tim’s knee, causing the other boys to start just the slightest bit. “And I’m living proof that the big, bad Bat doesn’t get to bench us,” Jason said, giving Tim’s knee a little, hopefully reassuring squeeze. “Well, living-ish,” he amended wryly and Tim gave a dry snort. “We would make quite the anti-hero pair. They’d call us Blindy and the Bullet! We could have our very own TV show and merch and everything. Put the Bat-chandise out of business.” Tim let out a slightly broken laugh that matched Jason’s strained smile.
He knew he’d hit Tim’s fear right on the head.
“Come on, Blindy-” Jason moved his hand from Tim’s knee to grab his hand instead. “I’ll give you two episodes of Avatar to get your head right before I call in the big guns- how does that sound?” Tim didn’t dignify that with a response, but he let himself get pulled to his feet and guided back over to the couch. “You didn’t mess up your ribs or nothing with that oh so elegant tumble earlier, did you?”
“No. They’re just as bruised as they were last night,” Tim sighed.
“Good,” Jason said as he gracelessly plopped himself next to Tim on the couch, giving the blind boy a good jostle. With a shuffling of remotes and few clicks, Tim soon heard the telltale opening monologue of Avatar: The Last Airbender. A few minutes into it, Tim realized that Jason had picked the episode where Toph was introduced. Asshole .
And then, just as suddenly as it had blinked out, Tim’s sight blinked back in. His vision focused just in time to watch Appa take off into the night at the end of the episode and the credits start to roll as the autoplay cued the next episode up. Tim and Jason watched the next episode too in companionable silence. Only when the next round of credits scrolled past did Jason let out a sigh and pause the show.
“Sorry Timmy, but your time’s up,” Jason declared as he got to his feet.
“Oh, I’ve been able to see for like half an hour,” Tim said as he looked innocently up at Jason.
“You- What?!” Jason gasped, narrowing his eyes critically at Tim, who finally managed to properly meet his gaze. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, showing off the full set.
“Five,” Tim smirked.
“And how ‘bout now?” Jason flipped his hand around to only show off his favorite finger.
“Just one, asshole.”
Jason managed to look offended. “You scare the crap out of me and then just let me stew in it and I’m the asshole?!”
“Yes,” Tim said, as if it was perfectly reasonable.
“Well, then, I guess I don’t need to feel guilty that I already texted Bruce that you and he will be having an official ‘Batdad’ conversation when he gets home later.”
“You dick!”
“No, I’m Jason . Maybe we do need to get your head checked again,” Jason said in mock concern.
“I can’t believe you took advantage of a blind guy.”
“Then clearly we haven’t been spending enough time together,” Jason frowned as a contemplative look crossed his face. “We’ll have to fix that,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than Tim.
When Bruce got home, Tim could see the man’s anxiety. It wasn’t written all over his face or anything, but it was carved into the way he stood, how he held his shoulders just a little too tight for Brucie and the way he barely greeted Alfred before setting his sights on Tim. Tim gulped, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. Even though he’d had all day to plan, he still had no idea what he was going to say to Bruce. What was he supposed to say?
Tim had half a mind to turn tail and run, but almost as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, Tim felt a presence at his back. Turning, he saw that Jason had appeared and was leaning casually, blocking the doorway and Tim’s only path of retreat.
“Any time, Babybird,” he said conversationally, as if he weren’t inviting Tim to his own execution. He motioned Tim towards one of the chairs at the table. Taking the cue, Bruce took a seat too. The anxiety was starting to bleed into his face.
“Tim- Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Bruce asked with increasing concern, his arm twitching a little, as if he wanted to reach out, but stopped himself. Receiving a ‘Batdad’ text from Jason in the middle of the day had been worrying enough- but the way he and Tim were acting was starting to really freak him out. ‘Batdad’ had become the family codeword for when they needed Bruce- not Batman- to show up and be a parent. It had been used for everything from awkward teen questions to ‘I’m having feelings and I need to feel them, but not alone’ moments to coming outs to soul-bearing confessions, so it really could be anything that Tim needed to talk about or get off his chest. He just wished whatever it was wouldn’t bring that terribly pinched expression to Tim’s poor bruised face.
Taking a deep breath, Tim said, “I’m fine- I promise. Nothing’s wrong.” But then his gaze fell to his fidgeting hands as a tense silence settled over the room once again.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jason erupted. “Tim’s been hiding a weird medical thing and sometimes he goes a little blind. He doesn’t want you to try and bench him. Discuss.” And with that, Jason turned on his heel and marched out of the room, leaving behind a now awkward silence.
Bruce just blinked dumbly at the spot that Jason had previously occupied as his brain tried to process what he’d said. He understood the words, but he couldn’t seem to make them make sense as a coherent concept in his head. For some reason, what decided to come out of his mouth was the question, “How does someone go ‘a little blind’?”
Thankfully, it made Tim laugh. It was a small and breathy laugh, but a genuine one nonetheless. “I- uh- only lose vision in my right eye,” he explained.
“Oh,” was all Bruce could think to say.
“The doctor I saw when I was a kid called them ‘silent migraines’. It happens probably a few times a month. And I only get a full blown migraine like once every few years- and that hasn’t happened in a while. Usually it’s just the vision that goes. It’s like, one moment I can see just fine and the next- nothing from my right eye. And then it comes back like someone turned my eye back on again. Sometimes I’ll get a little dizzy or nauseous, but nothing too bad. And it usually sorts itself out in anywhere from a couple of minutes to an hour or two.”
“Okay,” Bruce said slowly, simultaneously trying to take everything in, make mental notes about what he needed to follow up on, and not wanting to interrupt Tim because obviously talking about this was hard for him. “And this has been happening for a while?”
“As long as I can remember,” Tim admitted. “When- When I became Robin, I trained with an eyepatch when I was alone so that I wouldn’t become a liability in the field. I promise Bruce- I would never put people in danger like that.” Tim finally looked up and made eye contact with Bruce. The earnestness in his face nearly knocked the wind out of Bruce’s chest.
“Tim-” Bruce sucked in a breath. “While I always want you to be safe in the field, I care infinitely more that you feel comfortable enough to confide in me as a partner, a mentor, a guardian, or a parent. I know our relationship has gone through a lot of phases and changes and rough patches along the way, but I hope you know that I care about you and your life just as much as I do about Damian’s grades and Cass’ dancing and Dick’s mango allergy. We are a team and we are a family . And I’m sorry that you have never felt safe enough to tell us about this. That’s on us. That’s on me .”
Tim bit his tongue and chewed on it for a second. His knee-jerk reaction was to tell Bruce that it wasn’t his fault. Tim was the one who kept secrets and didn’t share something that he knew was important. He was the one that was broken. But one word that Bruce had said had stuck in his head and was now rattling around in it uncomfortably. Safe . He never felt safe enough to tell them. And that was true. Between the unstable Batman that he had first started working with, Jason’s murderous return, the demon brat, and the nightmare that was Bruce’s disappearance and the fallout ever since, Tim had never had a chance to truly settle in with the Bats. Or the Waynes, for that matter. Hell- both of his parents had died and it felt like it had barely been addressed before other things took over- took precedent. Tim was a footnote- there to help out, but not really part of the story. Footnotes shouldn’t have problems or bring their own baggage into the plot. At the beginning, Tim had been terrified that Bruce would find out and cut him like the dead weight he knew he was. Shit- Tim was still terrified. Case and point- how his hands were still shaking as he sat in front of Bruce, even as the man apologized to him .
“I’m sorry.” And Tim wasn’t even sure exactly what he was apologizing for. For lying? For not feeling safe? For being broken? For screwing up and getting caught and causing them to have this terribly awkward conversation in the first place?
“Please, son- don’t be sorry.” The words came out soft, but firm. Bruce let the silence hang in the air for a few more seconds, in case Tim wanted to say something more, before he pushed on. “Now, I would like you to have an honest talk with Leslie about all of this and I’d love to be as involved in that as you want me to be. And once you’re healed up, we’re going to have to have another conversation about when this happens in the field. But maybe you can show me some of that one-eyed training you’ve been doing, huh?” Bruce flashed him a smile. “And I think you should tell your siblings- if you are comfortable with it. I’m glad you told Jason- even though it seems he forced your hand with telling me.”
It was Tim’s turn to smile. “If it makes you feel better- I didn’t willingly tell Jason either. He just figured it out.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It sort of happened earlier and with my left eye currently swollen shut, I kind of couldn’t see at all. I think he was about thirty seconds away from calling an ambulance because he thought that thug last night had bashed my brains in or I’d had a stroke or something. It took a while to sell him on ‘yes, I’m blind, but it’s not a big deal’.”
Bruce wasn’t sure if he was proud of Jason for noticing or mad that he hadn’t called that ambulance. But that was a discussion for a different time with a different son.
“Well, then I’m sorry that this didn’t happen on your terms, but I am glad to know, Tim. Thank you for explaining things.” Bruce paused before asking, “Was there anything else that you wanted to talk about or tell me? Anything else that you are worried about?”
Bruce could see the battle playing out within Tim as he hesitated to say what was on his mind. Bruce waited patiently for the words to come in their own time.
Finally, Tim said, “So you’re not gonna bench me?” The words came out in a rush, like water past a broken dam. Bruce had implied as much earlier, but Tim just needed to hear it spelled out in order to settle his gnawing anxiety.
“Not on principle, no,” Bruce said carefully. “As I said- we will have to talk about it. But if what you are saying is true- not that I am doubting you- and this has been happening for years without notice, then I am confident that we can come to a consensus on a way to proceed that is both safe and agreeable to all parties. And perhaps we can come up with something- like a codeword- that you can use to let us know when it is happening. That way we can support you if needed and you can know that we’ll be there for you,” Bruce proposed.
“You think that ‘one-eyed robin’ or ‘flying blind’ are a little too on-the-nose?” Tim pondered.
“I think you should go with ‘pipedream’, Blindy.” Tim and Bruce both looked over, surprised to see Jason back leaning in the doorway. “Pay homage to the little situation that brought us to this beautiful moment of understanding, forgiveness, and family bonding.”
“Pipedream?” Bruce said wearily.
“We’ll workshop it,” Tim promised, though he knew that Jason had already made the decision for the rest of them, even if they didn’t yet. “Oh,” he added, turning back towards Bruce. “And you should probably know that I’m allergic to coconut. I never had the heart to tell Alfred, but that’s the reason I always have plans on curry night.”
Two weeks later, Tim was finally deemed healed enough to be back in the cave and training. He’d suffered through multiple appointments with Leslie and a few specialists she had called in some favors with over his period of house arrest, but they all only confirmed what Tim already knew. But at least now Bruce could not argue with him.
After going through some warm ups and getting back into the swing of things, Tim decided that now was as good a time as any to bite the bullet. He told the rest of the Bats about his occasional temporary vision problems, but didn’t take any questions. Instead, he turned to Bruce and told him he wanted to get his stupid tests over with. So, Bruce produced a bat-themed eye patch out of god-knows-where and then had Tim face off and spar with everyone present in turn. Finally, Tim had to face Batman himself and Bruce did not go easy on him. He knew Tim had a weak side and he sought to exploit it at every opportunity, but even he was impressed with how Tim seemed to effortlessly compensate. In fact, he fought like he had been fighting that way for years- imagine that.
Going forward, they did end up instituting codeword ‘pipedream’ for whenever Tim had an episode in the field, much to Jason’s satisfaction. When ‘pipedream’ was in play, the other Bats did their best to have someone covering Red Robin’s right side- not that it has ever really been necessary. Tim could and always has been able to hold his own. But the others feel better with the system in place and deep down, Tim gets that slightly warm and fuzzy feeling seeing how much they care.
But out of the mask, Tim almost never mentions when he gets a migraine. It only comes up when he gets hit with a really bad one or a particularly long one that makes it too hard for him to stare at his computer screen after a while.
But now that Jason knows, he’ll catch it every now and then. Someone will have to try an extra time to get his attention if approaching from the right side, or Tim will turn his head just a few degrees farther than normal to look at someone or something. When they’re training, there’s a subtle shift in Tim’s fighting style where he rotates a little more than usual in his stance, guarding his right side. It was a shift that in the past he may have attributed to inexperienced or injury or being thrown off his rhythm, but now Jason can only view it with nothing but awe. The kid was fighting literally half blind and no one would know. No one did know- Tim was just that good.