Chapter Text
Tim woke up slowly. The weight of all his blankets squished him down into his mattress, making him feel like a panini in the best kind of way. It was so relaxing, he almost drifted off to sleep again.
Except, now that he was awake enough to notice, he was kind of warm. How was it he could go to bed cold, needing four blankets to be comfortable, but always woke up too hot? Tim squirmed, and with a feat of Herculean strength, managed to toss all of the blankets off of him. Perfect.
Except, now he was too cold. Blindly he reached out for the blankets, but they had fallen off his bed.
Tim curled up into a ball, his hands covering his eyes, and sniffled. Now his blankets were gone forever, lost to the void, and he would be doomed to be cold forever. Overwhelmed by despair and misery, Tim did the only logical thing: screamed at the top of his lungs.
Well, scream may not have been the right word. The noise Tim made was more like a screech, too high pitched to have been made with normal human vocal cords.
But Tim had never been a normal human.
Before his screech even ended, his door flew open, bouncing against the opposite wall with a bang. “Timmers! What is it, what’s wrong?”
Tim’s breath hitched, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. With his eyes still shut, he gestured blindly towards the edge of the bed.
There was a sigh. Exasperation or relief, Tim couldn’t tell. “Oh, Tim.” The next thing Tim knew one of his blankets had returned, and he scrambled to cover himself completely in it, taking a few deep breaths and enjoying the way his warm breath was trapped under the covers with him.
It took Tim a couple minutes to calm down. As he did so, the rest of his brain seemed to turn on, and he realized what he had just done. He peeked out from under the blanket, to see Jason there, smiling down at him.
Tim quickly covered himself back up, not to keep warm this time, but to hide his embarrassment.
Jason must have caught it anyway. “Timbers, it’s fine. You know none of us care if you…”
Tim grumbled under the blanket. “If I freak out and act like a baby over nothing.”
It had been two weeks since Tim had come over to stay at the Waynes; he really should have been over his near-death experience by now.
If Dick was here, he would have pulled Tim into a hug. If Bruce was here, he would have placed his hand on Tim’s hair and run his fingers through it. Alfred would have patted him exactly once on the back.
But it was Jason who was here. And he responded to Tim’s words in typical Jason fashion.
He punched him.
“Ow!” Tim sat up, blanket pooling in his lap, and glared at Jason, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”
Jason looked unrepentant. “Needed to get your attention. Now you listen to me Timothy. None of us care about your perfectly normal and justified reactions to traumatic events. We don’t. We’ve all been there. Bruce, Dick, me… we’ve all got shit. So stop beating yourself up over this. Especially since you’ve been getting better.”
It was true. Tim hadn’t had an episode while fully awake in several days. But right before going to sleep, and right when waking up, when his brain wasn’t fully online yet, were risky times for him, as shown by this morning. He had a tendency to forget where he was, and worry that he was alone, freezing, dying, or all three, and panic.
Tim knew logically Jason was right. “Still embarrassing though,” he muttered.
Jason tapped his fingers on his thighs for a few moments, thinking. “How about this? You and me can have a sleepover tonight.”
Tim perked up, intrigued. “A sleepover?”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. I’ll stay here with you tonight. It’ll be great. We can sneak snacks, and stay up late, when you wake up I’ll be right here.”
That did sound pretty fun. “Um, okay,” Tim agreed. “Only if you don’t mind.”
“I for sure do not,” Jason said. “You’ll see, it’ll be great.”
At that moment another visitor burst into the room, this time through the window, which Tim almost always left open a crack.
Batty, in her five inches of glory, came flying in. She did a couple of loops flying around the ceiling, scoping the place out, before landing directly on Tim’s head.
Jason laughed but Tim just smiled. “Hi Batty. Have a good hunt?”
Batty started chirping away, presumably telling Tim all about her evening. Tim still didn’t know what exactly she was saying (though Alfred had promised to start their lessons soon), but he was pretty sure that she was in a good mood.
“She’s annoyed that you woke up before she got back,” Jason said.
Okay, maybe not a good mood then.
“How can you tell?” Tim asked. He was pretty sure Jason had said he couldn’t speak Bat.
“Because Alfred said she always tries to get her hunting done in the early evening while you’re still asleep so she can be back before you wake,” Jason explained.
Oh, that was nice of Batty. Tim had noticed that she had been making fewer hunting trips during the night. He had thought that she was just full from the fruit that Tim and Alfred kept feeding her. It was also true that he tended to not panic as much if she was near, and if he did, she could quickly snap him out of it.
“Thanks, Batty,” Tim said, using one finger to reach up and rub between Batty’s ears the way she liked. She chittered at him and leaned into his touch.
“Well,” Jason said. “Now that our favorite flying rodent is back and fed, why don’t we go and see what Alfred made for us for breakfast?”
Tim was pretty sure he could guess at least one of the dishes, but agreed. He was starting to feel a bit thirsty.
Tim got up and pulled on one of his hoodies (a serviceable replacement for a blanket), then he, Jason, and Batty (who was still attached firmly to Tim's head. He suspected she may have been grooming him) made their way to the kitchen, to see Alfred placing a serving platter of pancakes down on the table. “Good morning, young masters.”
“Morning, Alfie,” Jason said, wasting no time in taking a seat and grabbing a plate.
“Good morning, Alfred,” Tim said. He hesitated at the table.
Alfred smiled at him. “For breakfast this morning I have prepared American pancakes, made with flour, eggs, milk, and a few other ingredients assembled over there on the counter.” Alfred gestured to an area by the stove, where Tim could see a neat arrangement of ingredients. “I was about to make a second batch, and could use some assistance.”
“I’ll help!” Tim was quick to volunteer. He loved getting to help Alfred cook. Sure, he knew why Alfred was doing this - so Tim could know exactly what was in the food he was eating. Tim appreciated that a lot, more than he could say. But mostly, Tim liked learning from Alfred. Before this, the most exciting thing Tim had ever made was toast. Now he had helped make omelets, grilled cheese sandwiches, several kinds of salads, and a casserole.
Alfred had even promised to show Tim how he made his chocolate chip cookies, something that Dick was loudly jealous of.
Alfred was also a great teacher. He was clear in his instructions, and answered any question Tim had. When Tim made a mistake, like the time he got lots of shell pieces into the scrambled eggs, he didn’t get mad, and just showed him how to fix it and avoid the problem next time.
Soon Tim and Alfred had another batch of pancakes done, and just in time, as Tim noticed that the stack of pancakes that used to be in front of Jason had all disappeared.
“Thanks, Timmers!” Jason said as Tim carefully set down the stack at the table. “These look great!”
“Thanks,” Tim replied. “I think the last batch was fluffier though.”
“Nah, these look the same to me,” Jason said, reaching out to grab the one on top.
“Do be sure to leave some for Master Tim this time,” Alfred reminded him. Jason nodded through his mouthful of pancake. “And Master Tim. While this batch is a little flatter, I assure you they will still taste the same. Next time mix the batter for a minute less, and that should solve the issue.”
See? No anger, just honesty and simple solutions. “Thanks, Alfred,” Tim said, smiling at the man.
“You’re quite welcome, lad,” Alfred responded.
Tim started preparing his first pancake as Jason started talking with Alfred. “So, where are B and Dick?”
“They had some business to take care of this evening,” Alfred said. “They will return later tonight.”
“What do they…oh.” Jason swallowed his bite. “Yeah, who cares where those losers are. Timbers and I will have a bunch of fun on our own, right Timbers?”
Tim just nodded.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he should let the others know that he knew they were Batman, Nightwing, and Robin. Then they wouldn’t have to try and hide their nighttime activities from him. Not that they had done it a lot, since he started staying with them. He had actually been getting worried, because it had seemed like every night the others were in the manor with him, and not out doing their crime-fighting job. Sure he loved having them close, but Gotham needed them too. He was glad that Bruce and Dick were at least going out again.
He put to the thought to the side for now. Maybe he’d tell them later. He just didn’t want them to be mad that he knew. Or tell him to stop following them around at night. Or erase his mind and send him back to his parent’s house.
Which Tim knew was a stretch, but wasn’t a risk he could fully dismiss.
Tim finished up his breakfast, and was about to leave the table, when Jason said, “Can we have some juice now, Alfred?”
“Of course, lad,” Alfred responded, making his way to the fridge. “I was just about to suggest it.”
Alfred pulled out a pitcher from the fridge, full of a dark red liquid.
“You don’t have to call it juice anymore,” Tim said. “I know what it really is.”
Blood. It was blood. Because Tim, along with the Waynes, were all vampires, and as such had to drink it regularly. Tim especially so, since he was younger and had gone without any for so long.
“That may be,” Alfred said, getting out some cups. “But since there are several dishes that we might prepare blood into, it is not uncommon for us to refer to the dish by whatever it is mixed into. Such as juice, soup, or popsicles.”
“Have you tried blood popsicles yet?” Jason asked. “They’re so good. I used to have one as a snack when I came home from school.”
Tim agreed that sounded nice, and Alfred promised to prepare a batch. Tim hardly paid attention though, because it was at that moment that Alfred set down a full cup in front of Tim.
Since he had been drinking blood with every meal, he no longer lost all control when exposed to it. But often he got a little lost in the first drink of the day, focusing just on it and how good it tasted until it was all gone. This morning was no different.
When Tim’s cup was empty Alfred kindly refilled it without a word. Tim drank this one more slowly.
“So, Timbers,” Jason said. “What do you want to do today?”
Jason, or sometimes Dick, asked him that most mornings, and most of the time Tim just shrugged, not having an answer or not feeling brave enough to voice his real thoughts. But this morning he gathered his courage and said what he really wanted.
“I’d like,” he said, “to learn more about vampires.”