#caretaker tim

“Kid? You alright in there?” 

…Silence.

He sighs again, knocking once more. 

“Can I come in, sweetheart?” 

He listens for a moment, and just when he thinks you’re going to leave him without a response, he barely hears the little hum you give from the other side of the door. 

When he pushes open the door he’s sure to do it slowly, making sure he doesn’t do anything too quickly or too suddenly. He stops himself from reacting when he sees how comfortable you’ve made yourself.

You’re thoroughly snuggled up beneath your covers, clutching a plushie to your chest with your knees curled in slightly as you lay on your side. It takes you a moment to pull your eyes away from your TV to look at him, and when you do he can see how glassy and glazed over they are. You babble something softly at him, but it’s not any real words; it’s more of a noise of acknowledgement, just to let him know you see him. 

He closes the door softly behind him, watching your reaction closely as he approaches your bed side to make sure there’s no sign of discomfort. He sees only quiet neutrality as he sets the water and plate on your bedside table.

“…Can I sit, baby?” 

You nod, scooting over a bit to make room for him. Something about the feeling of his weight sinking into the mattress beside you is comforting, more so than you expected. He groans as he sits, as usual, cracking his back before turning to you. 

“Gettin’ too old for this…” 

He smiles at your little giggle, half hidden behind your plush companion. You gaze up at him with a look of fondness, something that hints at your exhaustion but no frustration or sadness, at least not at the moment. You’re tired, that much is clear. You’ve been tired. 

“You okay with touch right now?” Tim asks, keeping his voice low. You think for a moment, then nod, clutching your plush a bit tighter. 

He reaches down slowly, making sure you have ample time to pull away should you change your mind. You don’t, though; instead you snuggle into your pillow a bit more, a little noise of contentment slipping from your lips as his palm comes down gently on your head, scratching softly and brushing some hair out of your face. You push up into his touch instinctively. 

“Hard week, huh?” He mumbles, and you don’t have to respond; you both already know the answer. You don’t usually get like this for no reason. 

“That’s okay. You’re home now, I’ll take care of you. Can I get you to eat and drink a bit for me?”

You have to think about that one for a second, too. He’s relieved when you nod and sit up, though. It’ll do you some good to get a bit of fuel in you. 

He moves to let you sit up, leaning over to grab the water bottle of the bedside table.

“C’mere for me,” He says as he unscrews the cap. 

You move in closer and lean against his chest, handing him your plush so you can take the bottle with both hands. He’s careful to be gentle with it as he puts it in his lap. 

He watches as you lift the bottle to your lips with shaky hands, ready to reach up in case you slip. Fortunately you manage to take a few sips without any issue, wiping you mouth with your sleeve before handing the water back to him. 

“There you go,” He praises softly, “You did good. You want your snack? I brought you some cookies.”

He holds back a laugh when you babble excitedly, tugging at his sleeve as though the issue is quite urgent. He shushes you softly as he reaches over to take a cookie off the plate. You practically snatch it from his hands.

“Calm down, babydoll,” He says with a soft sternness, “You’ll choke. It’s not going nowhere.” 

You only half listen, slowing down as much as you can make yourself but still scarfing down the snack eagerly. Tim can’t help but smile, wrapping an arm around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“Feel better now that your tummy’s got something in it?” 

You nod, humming a reply through a mouthful of your cookie before swallowing. Once you’ve thoroughly devoured your snack you take to snuggle into Tim’s chest, which he gladly welcomes. You mumble something into his shirt which he doesn’t quite catch. 

“What was that, sweetheart?”

“…Thank you, Papa…” 

…Oh.

It’s not the first time you’ve called him that, but it’s new enough that it still tugs at  his heartstrings a bit. He moves to scoop you up into his lap, pressing another kiss to your forehead and gently rubbing your back in soft circles. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” He replies in a whisper, “Papa’s always gonna take care of you, don’t you worry about that…”

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