#tw gsw

“Alvin? Alvin… Draper?” A nurse called from across the room. Tim pulled his head out of his hands, careful not to jostle his fake moustache. “This way please.” She intoned, waving a hand towards a bustling hallway.

Damian nearly leapt out of the stiff plastic chair, and he slowly followed suit, trying to act causal. He doubted he was fooling anyone; his legs shook as he walked forward, and he was pretty sure he left a ring of butt sweat on his seat. Taking deep breaths to calm his fraying nerves, he concentrated on taking steady steps forward – he didn’t care much for Damian, but there was no way he’d let a child go through this sort of thing alone. Especially one who probably had never visited someone in the hospital (let alone been in one) before.

 He’d gotten a panicked call from Barbara a few days ago. Gotham in ruins, streets in chaos… the usual. Bruce was gone. He couldn’t miraculously pull them out of these things anymore. The first Batman was dead, and this time… they could lose the second.

 “Report.” Damian demanded, his harsh tone penetrating Tim’s thoughts. He was suddenly aware of the chaos of the hallway, of people jostling them as they rushed by, a cacophony of machines squealing and loud voices, and bright lights illuminating tacky flooring. He’d fallen a pace behind and quickened his step to stand firmly next to his… little brother.

 As much he’d tried to deny it, at the end of the day, that’s what bound them. Fealty to a dead man, he’d once hoped they could be something more – but this family was ripping apart at the seams and Tim had to wonder what even kept them all here anymore.

 Though – that wasn’t hard to figure out.

 Dick was in trouble, and he came running. He’d been in trouble and Dick had come running. They were brothers in every sense of the word, without Bruce tying them together. His stomach clenched at the thought that it might all be lost to him forever, and he swallowed the bile burning at the top of his throat.

 Dick had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world – when you talked to him, he listened, gave advice, and would drop anything to help. He quickly crawled his way into your life, cementing you as family. Things were never perfect, and they’d had their fights, but Dick always bent first, forgiveness freely given rather than earned. Tim had needed that. And from what little time they’d spent together, he knew Damian did too.

 Panic. That was the only way to describe how he felt. He couldn’t be that for Damian – he couldn’t be Dick. He let out a shaky breath – Dick had to be fine – he couldn’t – not after Bruce – he couldn’t do this again – he was on the verge of shattering after finally picking up all the broken pieces of himself and –

 “I said, report.” Damian squeaked. He jolted back into reality, steading his breath, and replaying the last few minutes, his mind trying to catch up.

 The nurse seemed unamused, her nostrils flaring and brow tight as she glanced back. “Sorry, my brother’s a little uhh… stressed…?” He stammered, not wanting to offend Damian – or worse, start an argument in a crowded hallway. But he didn’t flinch at the comment, a testament to the seriousness of the situation they found themselves in.

 Dick was shot in the back of the head, and Tim honestly had no idea if they’d gotten him medical attention in time. He could be comatose for the rest of his life, would never breathe on his own, never talk to them again, never walk, never think, never… god… he’d never talk to Dick again, and it was all his fault for being too late, too unprepared, too much of a failure to-

 “The operation went well, we need to keep him for observation, but we’re hopeful he’ll make a full recovery in a month or two.” Tim blinked back tears as a weight lift off his shoulders, bringing a hand up, covering his eyes for just a second. He looked up to find Damian frozen; too stunned to move. He gently placed an arm around his shoulders, tugging him along so he wouldn’t be swept up in the tide. Surprisingly, that much was allowed today, the child’s thoughts were elsewhere, so Tim focused his thoughts on him.

 Damian was only ten. And he’d almost lost Dick to a fate worse than death, after seeing him shot before his eyes, helpless to stop it. They didn’t have hospitals in the League, it was kill or be killed, and then there were the pits. Had he ever watched someone recover naturally?

 “He’ll be okay.” Tim hissed, in a tone that only Damian could hear. Damian startled back into the present, glaring at him briefly, shaking off Tim’s hand, and storming after the nurse. He kept his expression carefully out of view.

 They turned into a private hospital room, pulling the door shut behind her, and winked. “Timothy Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne, I presume.”

 He could feel the kid freeze beside him, his own heart threatening to escape his throat.

 “Oh, sorry - don’t panic, I’m with STAR Labs, we’ve worked with Richard and his team for years.” Damian huffed in annoyance. “Your identities aren’t compromised; Oracle made the arrangements for our team to take over when he arrived.” She passed her clipboard to Tim. “The walls are soundproof, you can stay as long as you want, I trust you can get out on your own, and it’s not like I’m going to stop you if you decide to stay longer than I recommend.” She sighed. “Just, don’t distress the patient, he’ll be confused when he wakes up, it’s normal. Call if you need, our monitoring systems are top notch, we’ll be watching – but not listening of course.”

 And with that, the nurse turned on her heel, exiting as fast as she’d arrived, leaving Tim opened mouthed next to a wide-eyed Damian.

 He watched as the door slowly turned on its hinges, picking up speed until it slammed shut. Almost immediately it popped back open. “If he tries to get up, don’t let him escape.” She rolled her eyes. “You human patients are always the worst.” And with that, she was gone. A few awkward, silent moments passed.

 “Are you coming, Drake?” Damian’s voice had lost its normal edge, as he determinedly stared at the windows. He couldn’t see Dick from where they stood, but he could make out the edge of the bed, a pure white sheet neatly tucked under the edge.

 He shifted, hesitantly - he always hated this part. But regardless, he took the lead, striding forward, and allowing Damian the comfort of walking in someone’s shadow. Because even if he wouldn’t say it, there was no way the kid wanted to do this alone. He couldn’t replace Dick – was thankful he didn’t have to, but this – this was the least he could do.

 Hospital beds have this way of making the people inside them seem smaller. Tim braced himself as he stepped into view, and well, it could be worse. Dick was out cold, drooling on his pillow still hooked up to a few monitors, which steadily droned and beeped in the background. A lump of gauze and bandages swathed the base of his skull.

 Damian flitted past his side to sit in the chair next to the bed, and Tim sprang into action, taking the chair next to the window. He flipped through the charts without really reading anything, and the two sat in stony silence. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through dozens of missed calls and unanswered texts before shoving it back in his pocket.

 He spared a glance at Damian - he was curled up in the chair, grimacing and staring at the wall. He didn’t dare try saying anything more, lest they start fighting in Dick’s hospital room. He contented himself with staring out the window, watching the dawn break, violets and purples dancing across the sky. The sun rose with pinks and oranges blossoming soon after.

 Things would be okay. They had to be okay. He slowed his breathing, focusing on the sky rather than the scent of disinfectant. The steady beep of machines slowly fading into the distance. Closing his eyes, he could pretend for a moment, that this was normal. He was in a hotel, maybe on a vacation, in some city that wasn’t destroyed every few months. There had to be a place like that still out there.

 A little chickadee hopped around on the windowsill, fluttering back and forth, before flying off again. “Bye.” Tim snapped to attention, whirling around to find Dick squinting out the window. Damian sprung out of his chair. “Bruce?” He asked confusedly, frowning at Damian.

 Panic flickered across the kid’s face, and he recoiled, stepping back. “No. I’m Damian, don’t be foolish.” His voice wobbled at the end, and Tim’s heart throbbed painfully at the way Damian stiffened, meticulously shutting off any signs of vulnerability.

 “Remember what the nurse said, he’s going to be confused for a bit.” Tim reminded, striding over to sit at the edge of the bed. Dick went back to looking at the now closed window. “Dick, you with us?” He leaned into Dick’s line of sight, trying for a smile, and waited for a minute before leaning back. “I’m going to take that as a no.”

 “-tt-” Damian stepped forwards again. “Don’t bother him, Drake.” He spat.

 Tim didn’t really know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. Damian climbed back into his chair, tucking his legs up to sit crisscrossed, his back stiff and upright. Tim grabbed his chair, pulling it closer to the edge of the bed. He placed a hand over Dick’s, rubbing a finger over his knuckles, taking comfort in the fingers twitching slightly under his own.

 Dick was alive. He would live. Would recover. He hadn’t lost his older brother.

 “His name’s Tim.” Dick mumbled after a few minutes. Damian rolled his eyes. “Tim.” Dick repeated, his eyes glassy as they gazed through Damian’s forehead.

 “Yeah?” Tim lightly tapped Dick’s hand. He didn’t move from his focus.

 “Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim.” He continued repeating Tim’s name, staring up at the ceiling.

 “Why is he doing that?” Damian demanded, jumping out of his chair. Dick obliviously repeated the word, seemingly unaffected. “Drake, she said the operation went <em>well</em>.”

 “I dunno.” He sighed, Dick probably had no idea what was going on, nor would he remember this. “Look, he’s delirious, he’s going to be messed up for a bit. He got shot in the head.”

 “I know that. I was there. But if the operation was successful, then why-”

 The door opened, and they fell silent, footsteps approaching. Roy Harper poked around the corner; a phone pressed to his ear. “Okay, he doesn’t look too bad, all things considered. Hey, you, kid, you should actually answer your fu-fudging phone.”

 “That’s a dollar for the swear jar.” A little girl, Lian, he presumed, materialized at his side. She carried a bag with her and zoomed over to Damian. “Daddy says you like to color, so I brought crayons.” She grabbed a pack from her bag and shoved them at him. Damian looked mildly disgusted but took them anyway. “Say thank you.” Lian demanded.  

 Damian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tim glanced at Roy, he winked, doing his best not to laugh as he finished talking with whoever was on the phone.

 “Thank you.” Dick replied, patting Lian’s head. His eyes seemed to find hers before darting away to stare at the ceiling.

 “Not you.” She groaned. “Him.” She pointed at Damian.

 “Thank you.” He repeated. Lian cracked a smile, giggling.

 “Don’t laugh, it isn’t funny – he’s delirious.” Damian replied harshly, eyes narrowing. Lian shrugged, turning, almost sizing him up. She was only maybe an inch shorter than him, if he had to venture a guess.

 “Uncle Dick is always happier when you laugh.” She pointed out. “It’s contagious.” Sure enough, a wide looping grin had materialized on Dick’s face.

 “But we’re in a hospital.” Damian looked outraged; his hands balled in little fists.

 “Daddy says laughter is the best medicine.” She retorted, crossing her arms. Roy tossed his phone (it landed perfectly in the center of the little dresser next to the bed), and scooped up his daughter in a big hug, sweeping her off the ground.

 “Look, kid.” He looked down at Damian. “I know this is scary and it sucks, but my kid’s got a point.” He kissed the top of her head, prompting more giggles. “She’s a smart cookie, and this isn’t exactly her first rodeo.” Damian’s ears flushed, his face unchanged, but his ears beet red.

 “This is not my first rodeo, and if you were more competent, than-”

 “If Dick was a dumb-, I mean, if he was more competent, we wouldn’t be here.” Roy pointed out, speaking over Damian. Lian smacked his face lightly.

 “Daddy, that’s rude.” Roy rolled his eyes. Dick started speaking in a language Tim vaguely recognized, looking displeased at the argument.

 “Sweetie, I’m trying to make a point.” He set her down, ruffling her hair. “Why don’t you get out the coloring book and let Damian pick out a page.” Damian opened his mouth to comment, but Roy cut him off. “Look, you should see how happy Dick is when Lian gives him coloring pages. I think he’s earned one from you.” Damian closed his mouth. His brain seemingly compiling the information. “What she said isn’t wrong, he’ll recover faster if he’s happier, Timbo, you’re a bat-nerd, back me up here.”

 “Well according to a study done in-” Roy held up a hand.

 “Point made, don’t put me to sleep.” Tim rolled his eyes, remembering why he used to avoid hanging out with (some of) Dick’s friends. For now, he joined Roy in staring down Damian, Lian gazing at him too, an unlikely team up in a battle of wills.

 “Only if Drake makes one too.” Damian miraculously relented after a few minutes. Tim nodded, peace from Damian was worth doing some coloring. Dick would be incredibly happy – these pages would likely be framed; it would be worth it to see the smile on his face. It was worth it now to see Lian’s face light up, as she rushed to unpack her things.

 “Oh, and I brought Uncle Dick a stuffy.” She pulled out a stuffed elephant and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Say thank you.” Dick replied – still not speaking anything he could place, and Lian smiled, Dick smiled back.

 “What’s he been saying?” Tim asked, looking to Roy, as Damian slid to the floor, selecting coloring pages with Lian. Roy sat on the side of the bed, carefully leaning Dick forward, to get a better look at the back of his head. He whistled, ignoring Tim for a moment.

 “You really did it to yourself this time, jeez Dickie.” He muttered to himself before turning back. “He’s speaking Navajo, he was counting to ten earlier, and he told Lian thanks.” Roy rolled his eyes. “Would you believe his pronunciation is always better when he’s like this?”

 “No, that seems on brand.” Tim mused. “Apparently my French gets exponentially better the less I’ve slept.” Roy shrugged, and turned back on Dick.

 “Quit rubbing off on the kids, you don’t want them to turn into you, yah? Bunch a’ weirdo bat-nerds.” Dick was apparently, not listening, and was more into petting the plushy.

 “Zitka.” He replied, showing it to Roy. Roy patted his shoulder.

 “Yeah buddy, I know. Isn’t she cute?” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Dick’s forehead. Something seemed to click in Tim’s brain, as Dick garbled on, fascinated by the toy.

 “How many times have you done this?” He asked, watching as Roy leaned back, taking the seat next to the bed. He shrugged.

 “I stopped counting after Blood fried his brains, back when he ran around in a V-neck.” Tim cringed, that was before he even became Robin. “Don’t look like that, he didn’t die.” Not that time, or this time – but things had been too close for comfort more times than Tim wanted to think about. Roy’s fingers drummed against the armrest. “I don’t know, Garth tried out the elephant thing a while back. It keeps him happy.” He pulled a book out of Lian’s bag, starting to flip through the pages. “Take nap kid – you look deader than him. Lian and I got this covered.”

“I can’t do anything more until he stabilizes,” Logan murmured, gazing at his patient. He was very good at compartmentalizing, and yet - he had waited. If this man died, it was on him. Not on nature or coincidence or human violence. The man’s ruined overalls were decorated with cat and dog patches at irregular places. Logan wasn’t sure he even remembered the mechanic’s name. It started with ‘P’, he remembered that much, and it had an ending with an ‘an’ sound, or maybe an ‘on’ sound...

“Will he?” The captain demanded.

“I can’t say yet.”

“I want to know what’s going on here.” Logan didn’t look up, but it sounded like the Companion - the man who’d descended the stairs back on Persephone with sunglasses tucked into his v-neck shirt, and jeans that looked more like a second skin with some kind of local drink tucked into one hand.

“Well, then...why don’t we find out?” A flicker of movement finally tore Logan’s eyes from his patient.

“What are you...” Panic. Everything was panic, and he could barely breathe. “No. No!”

Logan ran after the captain, tracking the simple white shirt cut across by red suspenders.

“Stay away from that!” But as they hit the door to the cargo bay, arms went around him. He cried out and strained against the arms, but suddenly he had a better idea of what the captain had meant by ‘public relations’ when he was describing the man with the skin condition last night at dinner. “Ahh!”

“Where’s the Fed?” the Captain asked, standing over Logan’s box.

“Secure. Shepard’s with him. Seems to think he’s not safe alone with me.” The captain bent closer to the box as Logan’s captor spoke.

“Don’t!” Logan cried, but it didn’t stop the Captain from working at the box.

“Well, let’s see what a man like you would kill for.”

“No, don’t!” The top of the box went flying, and Logan’s heart was practically beating out of his chest with fear. It wasn’t time yet, there was so much that could go wrong, things were so delicate already.

“I need to check his vitals!” Logan insisted, stretching toward the box.

“Oh, is that what they call it?” The captain sneered, taking a half-step to put himself between Logan and the box.

“He’s not supposed to wake up for another week!” Logan pleaded. “The shock -”

“The shock of what? Waking up? Finding out she’s been sold to some borderworld baron?” The captain’s vowels got rounder as he got louder, Logan noticed distantly. His voice dropped back down a little, but that was mostly because of the hint of a snarl in his voice now. “Or, I’m sorry - was this one for you? Is it true love?” The captain’s hand was hovering near his holster.

A scream cut through the cargo hold, and the captain yelped and turned to look at the naked figure sitting up in the box. The boy kept screaming as he spilled out of the box and curled small on the floor, scuttling away. Logan’s captor had weakened his hold. Logan wrenched free and hurtled clumsily for the boy on the floor, barely noticing the Companion coming closer out of the corner of his eyes.

“Virgil?” Logan breathed. Virgil shrieked when Logan put his hands on Virgil’s arms. Blackness crept in at the edges of Logan’s vision. There was an intake of breath behind him, suggesting the others were seeing it, too. Logan tried to catch Virgil’s eyes despite his vision retreating.

“Virgil - it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.”

At the center of the darkness, he saw Virgil’s eyes turn in his direction. They weren’t focusing well, but he was afraid he might not even be able to get this much.

“Logan...Logan?” The darkness went in an instant. “Logan, they - they talk to me, they want me - they want me to talk...”

“They’re gone - they’re gone! We’re safe now. We’re safe, we’re safe. I’m here.” Logan drew Virgil into his arms, breathless. There were very few ways this could have gone worse, but Virgil recognized him, which is more than he’d been daring to hope for.

“What...is this?” The Captain asked eventually. It was obvious it wasn’t what he’d thought it was before, but the captain didn’t like being out of the loop, it seemed. Logan looked up to the captain.

“This...is my brother.” Logan said, his voice strong and stern.