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“So…” Duke drawled, sounding suspiciously wide-awake for the day shift kid at two-thirty in the morning. “If I said Damian and I are in a bit of trouble, on a scale of Jason to Cass, how likely are you to kill us?”
Clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes to try to wake himself up, Tim grimaced. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Does Bruce’s training not include teaching you how to lie anymore? That was terrible, Duke.”
He could practically hear Duke’s scowl through the phone, but considering the fact that Tim had been rudely woken up by Walking on Sunshine, Steph’s idea of a joke for Duke’s ringtone that she’d programmed in Tim’s phone, Tim couldn’t really find it in himself to backtrack.
And, besides that, he knew Duke was a good liar. He either wasn’t trying or he’d gotten concussed, which would be impressive with the Signal’s helmet.
Duke wasn’t even supposed to be out tonight. He was supposed to be staying at the manor, watching over Damian while Bruce and Alfred were away for W.E. business. And Duke was many things, but reckless with Damian wasn’t one of them, so—
“Damian’s with you?” Tim asked, sitting up and letting his blanket pool around his waist. The cold air against his bare skin made him want to crawl right back under.
“Right here.” Duke sighed.
“Okay. Are either of you bleeding or maimed?”
“Define…maimed.”
“Permanently damaged, Duke. Is anyone permanently damaged.”
The pause after was far too long for Tim’s taste, to the point where he moved to swing himself out of bed.
It wasn’t like there was much he could do if someone had gotten badly injured. The whole reason he wasn’t out tonight himself was his foot, which’d gotten crushed on a Titan’s mission after a building collapsed with him still inside. He needed crutches just to get around the apartment and Bernard’s help to do the stairs, so a motorcycle was kind of out of the question, and he definitely wasn’t going to be able to suit up.
But Duke knew that and he’d called anyway. So it probably wasn’t a “come save our asses” situation, but “we did something stupid.”
Tim was about to stand when the other side of the bed shifted, forcing him to go completely still and hope Bernard went back to sleep.
He had work tomorrow, he didn’t need to be woken up by Tim and his brothers’ shenanigans.
“Nothing permanent,” Duke said eventually. “Damian’s—is there a way for me to say he broke his leg and passed out without you yelling my ear off?”
This time, Tim freezing wasn’t because of Bernard.
“That’s a no, then.”
“How?” Tim asked.
“You’re really not making me wanna tell you, here.”
“Duke.”
“We got into a fight, alright? Not a big deal, but Robin went down, so I saved him, gave the guy a lightshow to temporarily blind him, and we bailed. No biggie.”
“Damian lost a fight?” It felt like Duke was purposefully dancing around the important part of the story, and Tim really wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. He dug the heel of his palm into his eye and asked, “against who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
Another pause, Duke humming thoughtfully in that way he did when he was about to spout some complete shit and knew he’d get away with it.
“Duke, I want the truth.” Tim ordered.
And now he sounded like Bruce. Great.
“We just got in over our heads. He came in out of nowhere, otherwise we wouldn’t have engaged. Bruce said not to deal with the rogues and we were gonna listen.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? First of all, I don’t believe you for a second. You and Damian? You absolutely would’ve gone in.”
“Tim, I’m truly, deeply offended—”
“Second—” Tim stressed, speaking louder to cut Duke off. If he let Duke get going, he’d be listening to the kid wax poetic about how truly, he and Damian are both innocent angels who could do no wrong, ever. And that speech wouldn’t work because Tim knew them both, thanks, but it’d be pretty fucking annoying. “Bruce gave you guys one order about covering Gotham by yourselves, and it was to avoid the big rogues. You’re lucky you got away at all. Who was it?”
“C’mon, man. It’s not like you’ve never gone after the big guys solo.”
“I was older than you two and I had Alfred. Not to mention, they didn’t used to be this bloodthirsty. They’ve gotten worse since I was Robin, especially when it comes to pulling their punches on kids.”
Duke nodded so hard Tim could hear it. “You’re totally right.”
“Not the point.” Tim scowled. “Point is, that was stupid and reckless.”
Something tugged at Tim’s arm, and he glanced over to find Bernard sitting up, hair messy and in his eyes, drool stuck to the side of his mouth, and his eyes still half closed. None of that stopped Bernard from raising a knowing eyebrow.
“Metallo.” He mouthed.
So much for not waking him up.
“Shut the fuck up.” Tim mouthed back. Just because he’d been forced to handle a guy like Metallo when he was Damian’s age didn’t mean it wasn’t reckless. And if Damian had called in Jon Kent like Tim had called Kon, he wouldn’t be complaining.
But, no. They’d been stubborn about it and Damian had gotten hurt.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Tim heard the word technically and immediately cut whatever Duke was saying off with, “where are you guys?”
Duke mumbled something, most likely debating with himself if he could get away with just hanging up on Tim, before there was a bit of reluctant shuffling.
“Gotham general,” Duke said.
“Fucking…of course you are. Clear across town. Goddamnit, Duke.”
“Would you rather I called Alfred?”
“No.” Tim sighed. “No, you did the right thing calling me, I just wish you’d done the right thing a little sooner.”
“We didn’t know Croc was gonna be there!”
“Killer Croc?”
“Oh, fuck.”
The call ended.
Gripping his phone and swallowing a strangled, disbelieving laugh, Tim debated just throwing it at the nearest wall. It was Waynetech, it would survive.
But he didn’t wanna deal with the dent it’d make, so he settled for dropping the phone into the sheets and clambered out of bed.
“So, where are we going?” Bernard asked.
“Berns—”
“You’re not driving with your foot like that, and you need a witness so you don’t wind up strangling your brothers. I’m coming.”
Tim grimaced and yanked on a mostly-clean shirt that smelled like Bernard’s shampoo. “You have work tomorrow.”
“It’s not a long shift. I’ll be fine.”
“Nine hours—”
“—isn’t twelve or twenty-four, which I’ve done way more sleep deprived. And I can always catch a nap on the stretcher between calls.” Bernard shot him a look. “I don’t wanna hear shit about working without proper sleep from someone who runs around Gotham all night in fancy tights.”
It wasn’t like Tim could technically argue with that.
He shut his mouth, put on a pair of basketball shorts and his walking boot, then grabbed his crutches. Bernard was already dressed and grabbing his wallet by the time Tim limped over to the bedroom door.
“You wait for me on those stairs,” Bernard said sternly.
“Yes, mom.”
They spent another five minutes getting Tim ready, Bernard helping him downstairs, then to get his jacket and put his shoe on his good foot, and finally settling him in the car. Bernard stowed Tim’s crutches in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat.
Tim’s apartment was on a moderately busy road, but it was quiet tonight. Maybe because Croc was loose, maybe because it was nearly three and a key part of being a Gotham native was knowing when to keep your head down, but when Bernard pulled onto the main road and pointed the car towards Gotham general, he only had to wait a few seconds for a gap in the whooshing traffic.
When Tim rolled down his window and let his head loll towards the wind, it chilled his face, numbing his nerves to a tingle in seconds. Warm lights poured out of tall windows as they went sixty miles per hour past building after building.
Bernard flicked on the radio. It played some random football game, an announcer’s voice pouring out until Bernard turned it to a whisper.
They merged off the highway. The fastest route to Gotham general was around the perimeter of the city a ways, right on the edge of the water, then to take a turn towards downtown. Tim had driven there enough times from his apartment to know.
He could see flashes of lightning over Gotham river in the direction of Metropolis, just white bursts against gloomy clouds. Even from so far away, the buildings stood out, the Daily planet’s familiar globe lit up so Tim could make out the silhouette.
Foot aching, he stretched a little and slid his chair back. Bernard cast a glance over, eyebrows furrowed.
Tim just shook his head, changing the radio station, before checking his phone to make sure Duke hadn’t called again. Jazz wafted through the air, a distant engine revving.
When Bernard turned onto a surface street, Tim let his head rest on the window frame again. The wind wasn’t cutting anymore, not when they were hitting the beginnings of the stop-and-go traffic, red light after red light as Gotham urged everyone to slow down.
If Tim was smarter, he’d roll up his window, make sure the doors were locked. But he wasn’t, so he just studied the vague shadows of people inside the bus beside them.
“Duke’s alright?” Bernard asked eventually, voice low, as if to avoid waking the sleeping city.
“Dunno. Think so.” Tim shrugged. “He’s stubborn, wouldn’t have told me even if I’d asked, but…he’s not too stubborn to have gotten checked out if they’re at the hospital anyway.”
“And Damian? You still haven’t told me the details.”
Tim let a bit of the radio’s humming and old-timey, feminine voice wash over him before saying, “don’t have many. Broken leg, sounds like.”
“You’re being pretty calm.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get over it as soon as I get my hands on them. They’ll wish Alfred was here.”
That earned him one of Bernard’s quiet, middle-of-the-night laughs, the kind that was weighed down by the darkness around them and, normally, the feeling of Tim’s head draped on his shoulder. Not now, not in the car while he was driving, but it was the same laugh anyway.
It warmed Tim’s chest. He rolled up his window, wind forgotten in favor of the nice, cozy heater.
As well-protected as all of Tim’s cars were, the window muffled almost all of the noise from outside. He sank into his seat, listened to Bernard’s soft breaths roll through the air with the music, and watched as they merged into the turn lane. The parking garage to their right was all that blocked Tim’s view of the hospital.
Worn city streets, a downward sloping road lined with dark cars reflecting the traffic lights glow, about a half a billion blue signs directing them to the right place. Sometimes, Tim forgot how pretty Gotham could be, in its own gloomy way.
His fingers itched for his camera. His foot itched to be out of its walking boot.
“Parking garage?” Bernard asked quietly.
Tim nodded. “Yep. They’re gonna need me to sign them out since Duke’s not eighteen yet. I just hope Bruce remembered to put me on their medical information, or this is gonna get a lot more complicated.”
“What would you even do, then? Call Dick?”
“Dick for Damian, yeah. But if I’m not on there for Duke, he probably wouldn’t be, either. We’d have to call either Bruce or Duke’s cousin.”
“Which would be hard to explain?”
“Yeah. I honestly don’t know if his cousin knows about Signal or not, yet. Duke’s kinda quiet about his bio family.” Tim nibbled on his upper lip.
Maybe it was because of the soft atmosphere, or because it’d been on Tim’s mind as something to mention to Bruce for a while, or maybe it was just because this was Bernard and he always made Tim feel like he could share his thoughts, but Tim found himself saying, “I think he misses his parents more than he wants to let on.”
In Tim’s peripheral, Bernard frowned. “Why would he not want people to know he misses them?”
“It’s probably like how I felt, sometimes, when Jack was in his coma. Like…I should’ve just been glad dad was alive, at least. It’s more than what Bruce or Dick had. He might’ve been in a coma, but he wasn’t gone, there was still hope. Duke’s a good kid. He wouldn’t want Bruce to think he’s ungrateful or that he’s angry that Bruce couldn’t save them in time.”
Before Tim could bite through his lip, a warm hand found his, wiggling until their fingers were entwined. It tore his gaze up and his teeth away.
“Both hands on the wheel, mr. Dowd,” Tim said softly.
Bernard just flashed him a gooey smile.
They pulled into a parking garage a moment later. Bernard paid the fee, then drove on, the car’s engine echoing off the cement as they searched for a spot.
Even in the middle of the night, Gotham general was hopping, and it took two floors for Bernard to find a parking space. Tim checked his phone one more time, not sure if he was hoping for news or not. The only text was from Babs. She wanted to make sure that he was looking out for the boys.
Of course she knew. It was Babs.
Tim had just sent a quick reply when his car door swung open. Holding up his crutches, Bernard gave a theatrical bow, and said, “your chariot, m’lady.”
With an exaggerated eye roll, Tim clambered out of the car and kissed Bernard’s knuckles.
And so began the long walk to the hospital’s main lobby.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the fact that Tim was on crutches and they were on the third level of the parking garage. Bernard refused to let Tim take the stairs and Tim refused to take the old, rickety elevator, so they had to walk along the ramps, dodging cars as they went.
Wind tugged at their hair when they finally reached the sidewalk and started towards the right building, bright red letters spelling out Gotham General over the automatic doors. Tim naturally drifted to the left, but Bernard boxed him over to the right, placing himself between Tim and the road. The path up to the entrance was brick, warm light spilling out from dozens of windows, and Tim could glance up and see people bustling around in their individual rooms.
Sirens sang in the distance. Something like a trash truck rumbled past. The doors swished open for them, and then they were in the lobby, with its gray tile and bright fluorescent lights.
Hands busy with his crutches, Tim couldn’t grab Bernard’s, but he did glance over with a carefully blank face.
“They’re fine,” Bernard said quietly, seeing right through him.
He put his hand square between Tim’s shoulder blades. It was warm, the pressure nice, more grounding than Tim should’ve needed.
“I know.”
“Duke probably saw it coming and saved Damian before anything really bad could happen. You said it was just his leg, remember?”
Tim swallowed. “Duke said he passed out. Could be head trauma.”
“I’m pretty sure he would’ve mentioned that.”
“Unless he didn’t know yet.”
“Then he would’ve called again,” Bernard said. He gently nudged Tim forwards. “They’re in a hospital, babe. If something's wrong, they've got it handled. It’s okay.”
Taking a deep breath, Tim steadied his crutches beneath him and started for the counter.
He’d spent most of the drive trying not to think about Duke and Damian being hurt, but now, clacking across the cold, impersonal hospital lobby, he couldn’t do anything else.
If Croc had been any faster, any more ruthless, any more dangerous…
And Tim wouldn’t have been there. He’d have been at home, asleep with Bernard’s arms around him. Completely unaware that his little brothers needed him.
He felt a little like Bruce when his mind immediately jumped to I’m putting more sensors in their suits.
He felt a lot like Bruce when he stopped in front of the front desk, flashed his best Brucie-style grin, and said, “Tim Drake-Wayne, here to pick up Duke Thomas and Damian Wayne.”
Ten minutes later, he and Bernard were walking into the correct waiting room.
It wasn’t hard to spot who they were there for.
They were sitting together in the furthest pair of chairs, little end tables on either side to prevent anyone from crowding them. Their backs were to the wall, making sure nobody could sneak up, either. Both kids were wearing baggy clothes that looked like they might’ve come from a safehouse’s emergency supply, especially the purple hoodie pulled low over Damian’s fluffy hair.
He was slumped over the rickety plastic arm, leg stretched in front of him in a cast and head resting on Duke’s shoulder. For him to have let down his guard like that in a public hospital, he must’ve been absolutely exhausted. Or, maybe he just trusted Duke to watch out for him.
Probably both.
And for his part, Duke was scanning the area every few seconds, which meant he spotted Tim and Bernard almost immediately. He lifted his hand in a silent wave.
He looked tired, too. It was in his eyes and his posture, the way he was holding himself upright like the second he relaxed the slightest bit, he’d pass out. One of his eyes was purple, turning shiny. He was holding his right arm close to his chest. But he managed a wry grin when Tim limped over.
“Hey, at least since you’re hurt, I can outrun you when you try to kick my ass for this,” Duke said.
Tim didn’t dignify that with a response. He just slipped one of his crutches to the other side and crouched in front of the pair, putting as much of his weight on his good foot as he could.
“You’re okay?” He asked quietly, scanning Duke over for anything else. The arm didn’t look bad, just a few scratches from Croc’s claws, but no stitches. “No need to call Leslie?”
Looking a little taken aback at the concern, Duke just shrugged, chipped green nails picking at a loose thread in his jeans.
“He worried the whole way here,” Bernard said.
“Did not.” Tim mumbled, putting a hand on Damian’s knee to try to wake him without getting punched.
“I could see it on his face. Y’know the one, Duke.”
“Yeah,” Duke said, “he goes all quiet and scrunchy.”
Damian began to stir, remarkably slow, and Tim shot Duke a raised eyebrow.
“Pain meds,” he said.
It didn’t completely squish the panic in Tim’s gut, but it calmed it enough that he was able to put on a collected face when Damian pushed himself upright and yawned.
He was almost fourteen, now, and he still yawned like a kitten.
“Hey, Dames.” Tim frowned. “How we feeling?”
Damian grumbled something unintelligible and slumped back into his chair.
“Pain meds,” Duke said again. “I don’t know what dosage or what they gave him, though. They didn’t really wanna tell me since I’m not his guardian. They were acting like I was as young as he is.”
“It’s not exactly like you have an I.D. on you,” Tim said.
Bernard leaned forwards, over Tim’s shoulder, and Tim could feel how careful he was being to not knock him over. “If you’d gone to the Wayne hospital, would they have recognized you?”
“Probably. Or, they would’ve heard Damian’s last name and done a google search to match their faces to their photos.”
With a small snort, Duke nodded to his arm.
“Next time I get run over by a crocodile that weighs as much as a small car, I’ll make sure to ask him politely to beat us to a pulp near the other hospital. Sounds like a plan.”
“Or,” Tim drawled, “you could just not pick a fight with a crocodile.”
He stood and leaned a little on Bernard to get his crutches back under the appropriate arms.
“I’ll wait with them. You go get Damian signed out,” Bernard said softly into his ear.
With a kiss to Bernard’s cheek and another glance at the boys, Tim headed for the waiting room’s counter. The man sitting there looked half-asleep with his nose buried in a magazine, but he sat up when Tim approached, jiggling the mouse to wake up the computer.
It took twenty minutes to get everything handled. He could see Bernard glancing over every now and then, having given Duke his phone to keep busy. Damian was back to leaning on Duke’s shoulder.
Tim’s eyes lingered on Damian’s cast. His own foot thrummed dully.
If anything had gone even slightly sideways, Tim wouldn’t be in a hospital, scowling at how long stuff always took. He’d be waiting for Dick to get to Gotham so he could go into the sewers and find whatever was left of their little brothers. Or Tim would be at the cave, trying in vain to comfort Duke while Damian’s body waited in the medbay for staging, in order to be found after a “tragic accident.”
But both of them were okay. Damian was injured, Duke was banged up, but they were okay. Safe, tired, and ready to go home.
Tim finished up with the paperwork and headed back to stand over the three of them.
“Ready to go?” He asked, keeping his voice low to avoid bothering the few other people scattered across the large waiting room. “Duke, wake up Damian, will you?”
“I don’t think he’s gonna be awake anytime soon, man.” Duke mumbled.
“I’ve got him,” Bernard said.
He took his phone back from Duke and tucked it in his pocket, then stooped in front of Damian’s chair.
“Bear—”
“It’s fine. He’s not armed, is he?”
Duke shrugged. “Probably not.”
“Then it’s fine. if he wakes up scared, I’ll just wind up with a broken nose or something.”
With a scowl, Tim said, “you make it sound like that’s not bad.”
“We’re already at a hospital.” Bernard pointed out.
He began to carefully gather Damian into his arms, tucking lanky limbs that Damian was beginning to grow into against his chest, then lifted. Damian’s head lolled easily against Bernard’s shoulder.
Damian was actually letting out quiet, mouth-open snores with every few steps towards the elevator. Duke ducked ahead to hit the down button.
Once they’d piled in, Damian stirred just enough to make Bernard shuffle in place.
“It’s a good thing he hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet.” Bernard mumbled. “Babe, get my keys, will you? Pass ‘em to Duke so he can get the car open.”
Tim slid his hand into Bernard’s pocket, kissed his cheek, and tossed the keys over. He would’ve protested more and said he could do it, but his foot really was beginning to ache from walking. It was better that he not trip and make it worse just to prove a point.
The elevator dinged. They slipped out into the hospital’s main lobby.
He did have to stop and talk to the woman at the desk to explain that Damian had been discharged, just to make sure nobody thought he was kidnapping the kid, but then they were walking out to the brick path from earlier.
It had to be four or four-thirty, now. Tim could tell just from the way the traffic had picked up while they were inside. The city was beginning to pick up again, early morning commuters heading into work and late night ones heading home. By the time they got home themselves, it would probably be close to six.
Bernard must’ve been thinking the same, because he glanced over at Tim and sighed. “I’m taking the day off work tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” Tim said quietly.
“Don’t be. Not like I mind. And there’s no way you could’ve handled this solo, even if you were able to drive here.” He gave Tim a frown. “What, would you have tried to carry Damian yourself, crutches and all?”
“I’m right here,” Duke said.
“Yeah, okay, don’t think I didn’t see those scratches,” Tim said.
“I carried Damian all the way from the bike, these scratches are fucking tiny.”
“They are not.”
“If they don’t bleed, they’re tiny,” Duke said, making a face at Tim. “At least for those of us with our spleens still inside our bodies instead of in a fucking jar or some shit. I bet Ra’s has like a dozen baby Tim clones training to be detectives as we speak.”
“Fuck you,” Tim said.
Bernard rolled his eyes, hefted Damian a little higher, and jabbed his chin towards the parking garage. “Can you guys chill for the next, like, two minutes?”
“Probably not.” Duke shrugged.
Tim flipped Duke off behind Bernard’s back. Duke gestured right back, then tucked his hands up under his arms with a jingle of the keys.
Humming suspiciously, Tim leveled him with a look.
If Duke had been hiding more injuries, he was going to be in so much trouble, both with Tim and with Alfred once he got back from his trip with Bruce.
“What? Am I not allowed to be cold?” Duke asked.
“Are you, though? Or are you trying not to let me see the scratches?”
Duke shoved his arms towards Tim, glowering.
Almost automatically, Tim stopped and balanced precariously on his crutches to study the damage. He wasn’t moving like he was hurt, so probably no broken bones, but Duke had managed to sneak a sprained wrist past Bruce before.
The goosebumps on Duke’s arms couldn’t be faked, though.
It was hard to shrug out of his jacket with his arms occupied, but Tim managed it, even as Duke protested.
“Take it for my sanity, will you?” Tim asked. He shoved it into Duke’s chest.
Duke glanced down at the jacket, then up at him. There was something strange in his expression.
Thankfully, Tim had a lot of practice dealing with self-berating Bats, and he recognized the look. He wore it more often than he’d like to admit.
With a small sigh, he nudged Duke’s shoulder, murmuring, “you did your best.”
Duke’s face shuttered. He looked away.
“Damian got hurt. I didn’t.”
“Damian doesn’t have meta abilities that let him see glimpses of the future,” Tim said. “Damian was probably closer to Croc. Damian is just gonna be glad you’re safe.”
Letting out a frustrated noise, Duke kicked at the sidewalk. “It’s just not fair. Dick asked me to protect him, and I fucked it up. And I’m older, if anyone gets hurt, it ought to be me.”
“Hey. No.”
“Yeah.”
“Duke, listen to me. Okay? We all get hurt. It’s part of the job. I wasn’t there, I haven’t seen footage, I don’t know what happened," Tim said. He gripped Duke’s shoulder with his crutches carefully balanced under his armpits. “But I know you, and I know you’d never let anyone get hurt if you could stop it. You’ve thrown yourself in front of a lot bigger threats than Killer Croc for people you don’t care about nearly as much as Damian.”
“You wouldn’t have let Croc get to him." Duke grumbled.
Sucking in a breath and letting his hand slip, Tim rocked back on his good heel.
Man. Was this how Dick felt, hearing Tim talk about all of his mistakes when he was Duke’s age? Like his chest was splitting down the middle in a mix of frustration and worry, because he just wanted to shake Duke until he understood that it wasn’t his fucking fault?
Tim owed Dick an apology fruit basket. Goddamn.
“I absolutely would’ve,” Tim said.
Cutting Duke off before he could argue, Tim added, “I have, before. Plenty of times. Bruce, Dick, Damian. Even Cass has gotten hurt because I fucked up. But you know as well as I do that this—” he waved a hand around. “—is inevitable. Hospitals. The medbay. A fucking itchy cast.”
That earned him a little twitch of Duke’s lips.
“Do you think the Titans are responsible for me getting hurt on our last mission?” Tim asked.
Duke shrugged. “I mean, they could’ve prevented it.”
“Really? Or do we just think that because it already happened?”
“I…there’s a right answer here, isn’t there?”
“Depends. Do you think there is?”
Shifting on his feet and curling his fingers in Tim’s jacket, still bunched in his arms, Duke scowled without heat.
“You’re such an asshole,” he said. “I get it. It’s not my fault.”
Tim smiled. “Doesn’t make you feel any better, does it?”
“Nah.”
Situating his crutches back under his arms properly, Tim glanced after Bernard, who hadn’t so much as paused, probably worried about waking Damian if he moved too abruptly.
“C’mon. If you wanna make it up to Damian, you can help him beg Bruce for another dog or something.”
They both laughed quietly, and on his way to follow Bernard, Tim bumped Duke’s shoulder one more time.
He had to hurry a little to actually catch up. Together, they went down the path, past the parking garage booth. Into the, thankfully quiet, garage. They only had to dodge a couple of cars before they reached the third floor and Duke clicked the keyfob to make Tim’s car blink from down the row.
“You get him settled in,” Bernard said quietly. “I’ll get Damian into the back.”
“Good thing he’s old enough to avoid the booster seat these days,” Duke said.
Tim snorted, perching on the edge of the passenger seat and handing his crutches to Duke, who stuck them in the trunk. It took a bit of maneuvering, but Tim managed to get his foot in without smacking it on the dashboard. He glanced back to see Bernard gently making sure Damian’s head was situated.
Climbing in just as Bernard got Damian buckled, Duke said, “he’s awake.”
“Damn you, Thomas.” Damian mumbled.
Bernard jumped, nearly smacking his head on the roof, and Tim had to stifle a laugh. He hadn’t noticed Damian had woken up, but at least he hadn’t let his surprise show.
“Why were you pretending?” Bernard asked shrilly.
“To save us both the embarrassment of you dropping me,” Damian said. He rubbed his eyes. “Was carrying me really necessary in the first place?”
“We figured the pain meds would keep you under for a while longer. You were kinda out of it, squirt.”
“You were wrong.”
Grumbling, Bernard shut the back door and climbed into the driver’s seat, holding his hand out over his shoulder for the keys. Duke passed them over and asked, “so, you’re dropping us off at the manor?”
“No.” Tim said.
“No?”
“No. You two are coming back to our apartment, where I can keep an eye on you until Bruce gets back. Duke, I’ll let you borrow my motorcycle to get to school tomorrow. Damian, I want you to stay off that leg for at least a few more days. And if either of you sneak out, I’m calling Alfred, and I’m telling him everything.”
“You wouldn’t,” Duke said.
“You’d be an accomplice,” Damian said warily. “Incriminating yourself, along with Dowd. Do you really think we’d believe that?”
Tim twisted in his seat, looking them in the eye one at a time. “Fucking try me.”
Neither of them looked intimidated, but they did look convinced of his honesty, which was good enough. As long as they didn’t try to sneak out, Tim didn’t care.
He’d had enough of worrying for one night. He wanted to go home, get his brothers situated in the guest rooms, and crash. Preferably with Bernard cuddled up beside him and a mindless cartoon on TV.
Bernard began to back out of the parking space, casting a quick look at the boys, then over at Tim. He sighed.
“You two really worried Tim,” he said, voicing Tim’s thoughts as well as any telepath.
“Berns.”
“Killer Croc? Really? With no backup?”
Before Tim could tell Bernard to let it go for the night, Damian leaned forwards, meeting Tim’s eyes with a hesitant look. “We didn’t…our intention wasn’t to scare you, Drake. He just caught us off guard.”
Duke nodded, opening his mouth, but Tim cut him off by holding out his hand. Damian gripped it reluctantly, Duke piling his on top. Tim squeezed.
“I know,” he said. “And as fucking reckless as that was, I’m just—fuck, I’m just glad you’re safe. Never do that to me again.”
“No promises,” Duke said, and Tim snorted beside himself.
He settled back into his seat, all of them drawing their hands back as they pulled out of the parking garage. Tim took Bernard’s instead, lightly kissed his knuckles, and flipped the boys off when they groaned about PDA.
It was a quiet drive, even once Bernard flicked on the radio and found some news station muttering on about rising crime rates in Gotham. The storm Tim had seen in Metropolis had apparently begun to drift their way, because only a few minutes out from the hospital, the first droplets of rain splattered on the windshield.
Tim tilted his chair back a little to watch each drop race down the window, lit by passing headlights.
Trying to stay awake through the patter and the whirr of their tires on asphalt was a fight, made worse by the fact that it was Bernard driving, and Tim always felt a little safer near him. But Tim had years of practice fighting against falling asleep on patrol. Little games forced his eyes to stay open, like trying to read each billboard before they reached it.
When that failed, he turned his head towards Bernard. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping on the door in a rhythm Tim didn’t recognize, and his pretty hair was messy from him running his fingers through it. He was wearing an old ACDC shirt that Tim was at least ninety-five percent sure was actually his, but if he pressed his face to it, it’d probably smell like Bernard’s honey body wash.
Honey. Like Winnie the Pooh, Tim had said when he found it in Bernard’s shower. Fitting for my human teddy bear.
Bernard, blond and wearing a red shirt at the time, had ducked his equally red face, spit out his toothpaste, and flipped Tim off.
“Tired?” Bernard murmured, glancing over.
Tim hummed quietly. “A little.”
“Almost home. Once we get them settled, I’ll call in from work and we can just go to sleep, alright?”
“Food first.”
Bernard snorted, saying, “I’ll make chicken nuggets.”
“Nuggets.” Tim echoed reverently.
They both laughed at that, quiet and breathless, and the orange street lamps that lined their apartment’s road began to flash by through the windows.
Maybe two minutes later, they were parked in the garage. Tim glanced back at the boys to the sound of the door rumbling closed, while Bernard turned the car off and gathered his phone and wallet.
Somehow, Tim wasn’t too surprised to find them sprawled across each other.
Duke was leaning against the window, Tim’s jacket bundled tight around him and the hood pulled up, with Damian laying heavily against his side. One of Duke’s arms was thrown protectively over Damian’s shoulders. Damian’s seatbelt was straining to hold him upright.
They were both fast asleep.
With a small sigh, Bernard said, “it sucks that we have to wake them up.”
“Better than dying of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Tim said.
Bernard shot him a look, but Tim just smiled innocently.
With a roll of his eyes, Bernard climbed out of the car and vanished towards the trunk. Tim glanced back when the trunk slammed shut, huffing a laugh at how both Duke and Damian shot upright, ready to dodge an attack, only to be caught by their seatbelts.
“This is why Bruce says to wake up slowly and take in the situation,” Tim said.
“Shut the fuck up.” Duke grumbled.
He unbuckled himself, fumbled with the door handle, and slid out. Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you going to insist that Dowd carry me again?”
Tim’s door swung open. Bernard held out the crutches.
“I mean,” Tim said, “you can take my crutches and Bernard can carry me, but considering I’m about fifty pounds heavier than you, I’m gonna go-woah!”
Hands had slipped under Tim’s knees and behind his back, and just like that, Bernard was gently tugging him out of the car.
“Berns, you’re gonna fucking drop me,” Tim said.
“Never,” Bernard said, hefting him up with far too much ease. “I’m a gentleman, mr. Drake.”
“Bear.”
“A little trust, here?”
Tossing his arms around Bernard’s neck and clinging, Tim glanced down at the cement, then up at Bernard’s grin. With extreme reluctance, Tim settled into his arms.
One of the car doors slammed. The crutches tapped against the floor.
They all headed inside together with Duke grabbing the doors for them. Damian grumbled about theatrics and dramatic idiots, but Tim ignored him, dropping his head against Bernard’s shoulder. The further they got without Bernard so much as stumbling, the more comfortable he became.
By the time Bernard set him down on the couch with a small grunt, Tim was almost sad.
Then, Duke flopped onto the cushion beside him, Bernard headed upstairs to get the spare rooms ready, and Tim was too busy telling Damian what in the fridge was vegetarian to worry about being held.
Unsurprisingly, they didn’t have a whole lot. Bernard was too much of a burger and lunch meats kinda guy to go for veggie-foods, and Tim hadn’t been expecting Damian to wind up in his apartment with no warning, so he hadn’t thought to buy anything extra for him. But Damian managed to scrounge up a salad that was mostly tomatoes and lettuce, along with a bunch of crackers, some cheddar cheese, and chocolate.
Alfred would weep.
It only took a few minutes for Bernard to get back and shove the chicken nuggets in the oven, while Duke fiddled with the TV remote to find something good. Gordon Ramsey reruns were apparently a big hit with him and Damian.
“Your couch is pathetic,” Damian said.
Settling into the big armchair instead, Damian put his leg up over the side so it wasn’t in any danger of being kicked. Tim shrugged. “We’re gonna replace it at some point, but it’s not like we get a lot of visitors.”
“I know that’s not true,” Duke said, “Conner, Cassie, and Bart are over here all the time.”
“Yeah, but do you really think we just hang out in the living room? Two out of three of them have Super-stomachs, you’re lucky if we step foot out of the kitchen.” Tim scoffed.
The oven beeped while Ramsey was laying into some asshole restaurant owner, and the next thing Tim knew, he was being handed a bowl of steaming chicken nuggets and Bernard was flopping down beside him.
“I love you,” Tim said softly.
“Me or the nuggets?” Bernard asked.
“Both.”
Pressing a kiss to Bernard’s cheek, Tim propped his feet on Duke’s lap. Duke only shoved the non-injured one, like a good brother.
Bernard, saint of all saints, handed Tim ketchup.
It was surprisingly nice to just sit there, all of them lounging in the living room and focusing on the TV. Even when Damian rolled his eyes at Bernard running his fingers through Tim’s hair, even when Duke and Damian bickered over how loud the TV should be, and even when Duke dropped his nuggets back into his bowl and said, “oh, shit.”
“What?” Tim shoved himself upright.
“I don’t have my phone. Dick’s probably pissed that I haven’t checked in, he didn’t even want us going out tonight in the first place.”
“Oh. Fucking Christ, Duke, I thought you were gonna tell me Croc knew your secret identity or something.”
“That would almost be better than Dick freaking out and making the drive over from Blud, he’ll skin us alive if he figures out what happened, and considering Damian’s already injured, us means me.”
Tim lightly smacked Bernard’s leg. It only took a second for him to pass over his phone, and Tim pulled up Dick’s number.
Hey, D & D are with me and Bernard for the night. They stopped by for a snack after patrol and decided to stay, just now told me they didn’t have their phones. Didn’t want you to worry. Love, Tim.
“There, Dick knows,” Tim said. At Damian’s alarmed look, he clarified, “he knows you two are here. I said you stayed after getting a snack.”
“Thanks, man,” Duke said quietly.
Tim shrugged and passed Bernard back his phone, settling back in against his side, so Bernard had virtually no choice but to lay an arm over Tim’s chest so Tim could hug it.
He tried to focus on the show, but Bernard was warm and the ache in his foot had melted into something dull. The second Tim blinked and found himself having to sluggishly pry his eyes open, he knew he was going to wind up falling asleep, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.
Blunt nails scratched at his scalp.
Low murmurings from around the room, the click of the TV turning off.
Tim stifled a yawn by pressing his face into Bernard’s leg.
The next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake to a dark room, his bowl resting on the coffee table and his foot propped on a throw pillow.
Both Duke and Damian were gone. Bernard was looming over Tim with a soft grin.
“C’mon, babe. Bedtime.”
Tim grumbled, licking his lips to get rid of the sour tang in his throat. “Duke and Dames?”
“Upstairs.”
“Mhnh. They ate?”
“Yeah, nuggets and salad, remember?”
He did, now that Bernard said it, but the hazy fog in Tim’s brain was still making everything buffer. He felt like his senses had been put in a blender.
What he could remember very clearly, though, was a very exhausting night.
“We are never having kids.” He mumbled.
Bernard brushed a hand over his hair. “You know they’re only like this because they’re trained vigilantes, right? Most kids don’t have to be lectured for fighting Killer Croc.”
“Don’t care. ‘M so tired.”
“C’mon, you big baby. I’ll put you to bed.”
Hands gently pulled Tim upright, forcing him to realize he’d let his eyes sink closed again. He mustered up the energy to grunt disapprovingly as Bernard took him in a princess carry again.
Between one blink and the next, he was laying in his soft bed, the sounds of velcro filling the air as Bernard tugged off his walking boot as gently as possible. Tim barely resisted the instinct to kick out and break Bernard’s nose with the dull thought of that’d be rude.
He was glad when Bernard set the boot aside to crawl up into bed beside Tim and the urge died.
The pillow they kept between their legs kept Tim’s foot safe, so he didn’t hurt himself in his sleep, but Tim pulled Bernard close from the hips. He buried his face in Bernard’s bare ribs to mumble, “I need to send someone to pick up Duke’s bike tomorrow. Bruce’ll be pissed if we leave it in a hospital parking garage to get stolen.”
“Mhm?”
“Yeah…Duke’s gonna be in enough trouble if B ever finds out about them running into Croc. I can at least spare him from cleaning the Batmobile for a month.”
“That’s a real punishment?”
“It's an excuse for Bruce to get out of doing it,” Tim said sleepily.
With a snort, Bernard pressed a kiss to Tim’s forehead.
“You’re a good big brother, Tim.” He murmured into Tim’s hair. “Watching out for them, picking up their messes, all that. Never would’ve guessed it back in high school. You were kinda the poster child for spoiled only children, y’know?”
Tim huffed a laugh.
“You say that like you weren’t.”
“Ah, but I wasn’t spoiled.”
“How many times did I buy you and Darla lunch?”
“Exactly, you had to buy us food because we didn’t have the allowance that you did, Richie Rich.”
“Darla was literally the daughter of a mafia boss.”
“That’s…” Trailing off, Bernard ran his fingers down Tim’s spine. “Yeah, okay. But I was subsisting on peanut butter sandwiches and a prayer before you came along to buy me real food.”
With a hum, a stretch, and the distinct feeling that he’d be purring if he were a cat, Tim burrowed his face further into Bernard’s chest. “I don’t think Big Belly Burger counts.”
_____
The next morning, flipping pancakes while Bernard doodled a careful cat on Damian’s cast and Duke stole skittles from their candy cabinet, Tim had a thought.
“You do know Bruce is gonna get the hospital bill, right?”
The room froze.
Duke and Damian exchanged a slow, hesitant look.
The skittles went flying.
“Fucking dammit!”