Chapter Text
Tim padded down an empty, cold hallway of his family’s home. Thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the floor beneath him and sending a shiver down his spine. He hated nights like these. He had just gotten done with his near nightly bat-fan-cam patrol, and hadn't been able to fall asleep when he had finally drug himself home.
His parents were off in Italy for some expensive art show, the idea being the more art they bought, the more tax breaks they'd receive. It was all hidden under the guise of charity of course, at the end of the three night art show a portion of the proceeds would be donated.
A tiny portion.
The house creaked and moaned around Tim as he made his way down to the staff kitchen. He tended to ignore the formal kitchen, it was all steel and cold and white. He preferred the smaller, warmer colors and mood of the staff one. It felt almost homey. It was one of the only places in the sprawling mansion that actually felt that way.
Tim pulled the blanket he’d brought with him closer around his shoulders, trying to ward off frigid air that surrounded him as he entered the kitchen. The usual staff had all left for holiday vacations, leaving only a few daytime staff behind. So, the kitchen was all Tim's. He pulled over a chair to the counter and climbed up, reaching over the cupboards to where he knew Mrs. Lewis stashed a pack of Oreos. She was in Chicago visiting family, by the time she got back Tim would replace the stolen pack and the tall maid would be none the wiser.
The 13 year old got onto his tiptoes on the chair wobbling a bit as he found his balance. God he wanted a growth spurt. This whole puberty thing was really screwing him over at the moment. He had all the awkward parts, the body hair, the cracking voice, the gross fucking BO, and yet? He had not grown a single inch taller. Damn genetics. Or whatever.
The kid got a finger underneath the crinkling package and tried to pull it forward a bit more, biting his lip in concentration as he inched his delicious treat forward.
Of course, his luck had to run out just as he was about to grab the damn thing with his whole hand, as thunder struck directly outside his house. The sound rattled the entire house, and Tim couldn't help the frightened yell that clambered it's way from his throat, as he lost his balance and took a nosedive off the chair.
His head took an impressive beating as it bounced off the counter, and left him gasping and clutching it on the floor. His vision was filled with spots, and his lungs refused to fill as he tried to get his reaction under control. Panic gripped him as he tried to swallow the sob that was threatening to spill out. There wasn't anyone else home right now so there was no way he could get in trouble. He needed to calm down, he was fine. This was fine.
He took a few moments, curled on the floor getting his breath under control. Eventually his vision cleared, and his lungs opened once more. Tim swallowed the tears and sat up slowly, ignoring the dizziness and pain springing from his head. He gently felt around where his skull had collided with the counter top and froze. His head was wet. Fuck.
Tim brought his hand down and looked at it, and sure enough there was a slick sheen of blood covering his palm. He felt the panic starting to rise again. Tim Drake knew a lot of things, by all accounts he was a genius. But he was a comp-sci kid- not a fucking doctor. He did know one thing, and that was that head wounds were serious . Like, “Call a doctor even if you aren't bleeding” serious.
On the other hand, he couldn't exactly get help right now, and there was no quiet way for him to get to a hospital- he couldn't drive, and an ambulance was out of the question. If his parents found out about this from a tabloid he'd be screwed, like “sent to the pits of kid hell” screwed.
With wobbly legs he stood up, trying to keep the panic at bay enough to think of what he was supposed to do. Unfortunately the only thing coming to mind was that stupid Adam Sandler movie 50 first dates and that only made him panic worse. Tim didn't think he'd be able to deal with losing his memory every day, and that movie sucked ass. No one should have to date Adam fucking Sandler.
Tim dug through a drawer and pulled out a cloth napkin, one of the ones the kitchen staff used to dry their hands and pressed it to his head. Think god dammit. Think. No ambulance, no staff, what would a normal person do?
Call a neighbor.
Oh god.
The only neighbor within a twenty minuet area was Bruce fucking Wayne. The same Bruce Wayne Tim had spent the last year basically cyber stalking- it wasn't Tim's fault, he had been really bored, and it was super weird that Bruce Wayne lived with both Robin and Nightwing. Like, what a freaky coincidence, right? Tim's current best theory was that Batman was either his brother, or dating him. All that besides, their cyber security was so good it made him feel like he was solving a puzzle every time he tried to break in. At this point trying to break into his neighbors emails was like a fun video game.
On the other hand, Timothy also didn't want to go into a coma or some shit in his kitchen. So, with bravery that easily exceeds all US marines, Tim picked up his phone and dialed his neighbors number.
The phone rang once, twice, threetimes, then a click came from the other end.
“Wayne manor, this is Alfred Pennyworth speaking.”
Shit. of course it was his butler. Maybe this was better, now he wasn't bothering Bruce Wayne himself, right?
“Hi uhm, this is Tim Drake- I uh, I'm your neighbor.” Stupid stupid fucking kid stupid Idiot of course he knows hes your neighbor- oh my god.
“Oh, Mr. Drake, of course. What can I do for you at this hour, is everything alright?” The butler sounded a bit more alert now and Tim could hear some shuffling on the other side of the line. He glanced at the clock and winced- nearly 3am. He probably woke the poor guy up.
“Yeah uh, I'm super sorry but I hit my head really hard? And I don't wanna call a doctor or anything, and I uh. Sorry this is stupid-” Tim adjusted the cloth on his head, wishing he had a free hand to figit with. This was all horribly awkward.
“Mr. Drake, are you saying you're injured?” Alarm was at the forefront of the Butlers tone now and Tim heard more shuffling, and a door being closed.
“Uh, yeah.” Time replied awkwardly.
“Are your parents home?” The next quick question came.
“No...” Tim drew out the o and winced a bit as he adjusted the cloth again.
“Any staff?”
“Nope” he Popped the p staring at his bare feet now.
Tim could have sworn he heard a muffled English curse on the other line, but brushed it off when he heard a deeper gruff voice ask “Did he say no? I'll be there in a few minutes, let him know-” from the background.
“Sorry, who was that?” Panic mode back online.
“That was Mr. Wayne sir, he's going to bring one of the cars around and check on you. He should be there in less than five minutes-”
“No no no no- I don't wanna bother him, really I'm fine it's like, barely bleeding-” Tim cut off the old Brit quickly, shaking his head for no one but himself. It quickly made him dizzy and he had to grip the counter to keep his balance, hand dropping the now blood soaked cloth and smearing an impressive mark across the shining counter top.
“You're bleeding? Do you feel faint or dizzy at all?”
“Fuck- I mean, yeah but like barely. ” Tim cringed at the unsightly smear and swallowed down a wave of nausea that rose with the sight. His parents would kill him if they saw that.
“You may need to go to the hospital Mr. Drake,”
“No, I really can't, mom’ll kill me if I do-” A knock at the door cut him off and Tim swore to himself, dropping the phone from startelment. He caught his breath for a moment and made his way to the door as quickly as he could, which turned out to be pretty slow as it felt like his entire world was spinning as he walked.
Tim used the wall for support as he shuffled to the front door, and opened it slowly to reveal a dripping wet, scowling Bruce fucking Wayne.
“Hi.” Great job Tim. Good first impression.
“Hey kid,” Wayne's expression softened slightly. “Looks like you took a pretty nasty spill, mind if I take a look?” The man's eyes scanned Tim and he reached out slowly, pausing with his hand partly stretched almost unsure of his actions.
“Uh. Sure, totally I uhm,” Tim leaned forward and nodded awkwardly, trying not to stare at the frankly giant man. How the fuck was he that tall?
“Here, tilt your head for me a bit?” Bruce asked. Tim nodded and tilted his head to the side, trying to ignore how weird it was that they were just standing in his doorway doing this.
Bruce gently parted his hair and looked at his head for a moment, using the porchlight to get a good look and winced.
“Alright, looks like we're taking a trip down to the ER,” the man sighed and took a step back, shooting Tim a sympathetic smile.
Tim took a few steps back into his house and shook his head, which of course sent another wave of vertigo down his spine which he not too subtly combated by leaning against his door frame.
“I can't go to the hospital-” Avoiding the hospital was the exact reason why he called Wayne manor in the first place.
“Why? Kid you hit your head pretty bad we need to go-” Bruce's smile dropped and his expression went serious.
“You know how the tabloids would eat that up- Tim Drake escorted by billionaire Bruce Wayne to Gotham ER- my mom and dad would freak ” His dad would absolutely destroy him- and probably some of his stuff too. Who knows what his mom would do, between the time she sent him to a troubled kids camp when he was nine and a boarding school when he was eleven, he really didn't wanna see what new crazy version of grounding she’d doll out to him for this one.
“You could be concussed, Tim.” The frankly jacked man insisted. When did Bruce Wayne find the time to work out? He was downright beefy.
“Yeah so? Can't you just like, put a big band aid on it and give me some medicine?” Tim pleaded.
“That really isn't how it works,” The man said with a hint of exasperation.
“I'll lock the door and hide if you try to take me to the hospital.” Tim blurted.
“What?” Mr. Shredded asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tim was asking himself the same thing. What kind of power move was that? Actively endanger his own life for what? Avoiding his parents' wrath?
“No. Hospital.” Yeah no, it was worth it. Death or coma seemed like a better option at this point.
Bruce sighed heavily and his face twisted into a somewhat pained expression before he nodded slowly.
“Okay.” The response was slow, and Bruce made no move to cover up the disapproval in his voice.
“What?” Tim was a bit shocked, he really didn't think that would work. No one ever listened to him, especially adults.
“Alfred- my butler, he can probably fix your head up. But if he decides you have a concussion, we’re going to the hospital. I'll make sure the press don't find out. Deal?”
Tim nodded again, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pain through his skull and held out his hand to shake.
“Deal.”
Bruce shook his hand, his hand completely engulfed Tim’s smaller one and he couldn't help but notice the amount of scars and calluses that resided on them. What the fuck was Bruce Wayne doing in his free time?
Bruce led him to the car and held open the passenger door for time to get in. The ride to his manor was the worst thing Tim had ever personally experienced. The sheer awkwardness was like a thick blanket that stopped any conversation from happening, and the weird ass fact that Wayne was soaking wet was stinking up the car. He smelled like mildew and wet dog. There was no way he could've gotten that wet while just walking to Tim's door, and now that Tim studied him closer, he noticed the other man's clothes weren't wet.
Tim shook his head, regretted it, and decided to analyze Bruce Wayne's weird ass appearance tomorrow when his head wasn't giving him so much grief. The pair pulled up to Wayne Manor in what felt like simultaneously too short and too long of a time. Tim let Bruce Wayne help him out of the car, and to the door where he was met by an older suit clad man Tim assumed was the Mr. Pennyworth he had talked to earlier.
“Master Bruce?” The butler said, a question in his tone. He glanced at Tim with a raised eyebrow then focused his gaze on the other adult.
“Yeah, I know. He didn't want to go to the ER and I said you'd look him over,” If Tim wasn't suffering from a head injury, he would say that Bruce Wayne looked... Sheepish? A bit embarrassed? Tim was clearly missing something here.
“Of course you did, Sir. Well come along, let's see what i can do about that injury of yours Mr. Drake.” The butler led them inside and down a short hallway to a small staff kitchen, it looked lived in and warm. Nothing like the one at home. These guys were fucking weird.
Mr. Pennyworth had Tim sit down as he briefly left the room in search for a ‘proper medical kit’, which left Bruce Wayne awkwardly leaning against a counter while Tim held a clean dishcloth against his head.
“ So” Tim began, dragging out the ‘ o’ “Uh. Cool kitchen you got here. I uh. Like your kitchen aid.” Tim awkwardly gestured to the soft blue appliance sat on the counter next to Bruce.
“Oh.” Bruce glanced at it and nodded a bit. “I got that for Alfred last year, his last one caught on fire.”
“No thanks to you, Sir,” Alfred entered the room again, now carrying a small red box. He shot Bruce a look and pulled a chair over so it was sat next to Tim on his injured side. Tim tried to keep his eyebrows from shooting off his forehead, and seemingly only succeeded a bit as Bruce smiled slightly and huffed, rolling his eyes.
“How was I supposed to know the burner was still on!” He tried to defend, which only earned him an exasperated, if not fond shake of the head from his Butler.
What the fuck did Bruce do to that kitchen aid?
“Alright Mr. Drake, this might be fairly uncomfortable for a while but before I can give you any medications I need to know you're not suffering from a concussion, is that alright?” ALfred asked, turning his full attention to Tim.
“Yeah, that's fine,” Tim replied, adding an awkward “thank you” To the end.
“Alright, I'm going to shine this light in your eye to check your pupils response, can you look into it for me and try not to close them?” The old man pulled out a small flashlight and held it out, Tim dutifully looked into the light and tried his best to not squint against it. Alfred checked his eyes for a moment then put it down and smiled softly.
“Alright, now for some questions, this is so I can see if you’re experiencing any confusion okay?”
Tim nodded slightly. He'd seen this stuff on T.V. before, so it seemed alright.
“Where are we right now Mr. Drake?” He began.
“Mr. Wayne's kitchen at his manor in Gotham.” Tim tried to keep his answers immediate and quick, he was really not in the mood to have a concussion.
“Alright good, now, what year is it?”
“2021,”
“Perfect, now where are your parents?”
“Italy at an art show.” Tim supposed that was a good question to gauge his situational awareness.
“Perfect! Now, Bruce be a dear and grab him some water.” Alfred shot a glance over towards the other man and he nodded, moving silently and filling a glass with water before handing it to Tim.
“It doesn't look like you have a concussion, so no ER for now. But I do have to inspect that injury now, before I do that. Would you like some pain medication?”
Tim nodded slightly and Alfred opened his red box again, before grabbing two small bottles.
“Now, we have your typical ibuprofen, or a stronger version that's going to make you rather tired, but it does work faster and for longer, but it's up to you. Master Bruce can become quite anxious when he takes the stronger stuff, so there's no shame in taking either one.” Tim glanced at Bruce at this comment and noticed how unoffended he looked, his only reaction to Alfred's total exposure of his apparent anxious tendencies was a nod and a small shrug. If that had been his Dad and a member of the staff, Tim doesn't think the staff member would be able to find a job once Jack was through with him.
Tim turned his attention back to the medications and stared at his options for a moment, then took stock of his body. His head felt like utter shit, and honestly he could use the easy sleep.
“Can I take the stronger one? I don't think I'll be able to go to sleep tonight and it might help a bit.” He asked a bit awkwardly, picking at the hem of his shirt.
“Of course, Sir. Take one now, and if in fifteen minutes you don't feel the effects we can try giving you another.” The butler held out a single white pill and Tim took it gratefully, downing it with half the glass of water.
“Alright, lets get rid of this rag and check on your bleeding alright? If your head’s finished clotting I can clean and disinfect it and put a bandage on and you can go to sleep. Does that seem alright?”
Tim shrugged and nodded slightly.
“Doesn't matter to me,” He honestly didn't get why this guy seemed to care so much, after all he had practically barged in and made the poor man look at his head at- god nearly three am.
“Well I'd still like you to know what's going on so you feel comfortable, and if at any time you need me to stop or back away just let me know, dear.” The nearly bald headed man told Tim, a soft look in his eye.
Tim nodded dully and pulled the rag away from his head, grateful when it didn't seem to stick against the wound at all. Mr. Pennyworth gently parted Tim's hair and used soft touches to feel around it, before nodding, seemingly satisfied with what he found.
“Well, it doesn't look like you'll be needing stitches, thank goodness.” He shot a smile at Tim and then turned his attention to Bruce.
“Master Bruce, if you would wet a clean cloth for me?”
Bruce nodded and gave a short hum in response, grabbing and wetting a towel before handing it to Alfred. The man took it and began gently dabbing at time head, careful to not press too hard as he worked.
“Once I'm done cleaning the cut off, I'll need to use some disinfectant. It may sting slightly when applied, we can try adding some numbing cream to mitigate the effect if you'd like.”
“No, I'm alright. Thank you Mr. Pennyworth.”
“That's quite alright lad,” Mr. Pennyworth replied softly, pulling out a small piece of gauze and a small bottle of disinfectant. He applied the disinfectant to the gauze and started gently applying it to Tim's head.
Tim, to his credit, tried his damndest to pretend it didn't sting like an actual bitch. Unfortunately he did flinch slightly when the cold, stinging disinfectant touched the cut on his head, what was more shocking than Tim’s own reaction was the adults reaction to his flinch. Alfred immediately stopped his application and paused, while Bruce took a full step forward, his brow creasing.
“Would you like to pause for a moment Mr. Drake?” Alfred asked, no judgement in his voice.
“Are you sure you don't need the numbing cream? It works great-” Bruce leaned back against the counter slowly, and tried his best to not seem like he absolutely over reacted to a tiny flinch.
“I'm fine? It just stung a little? You can keep going Mr. Pennyworth-” Tim held back a small scoff and shook his head. These guys were either incredibly high strung or had never worked with kids before, the amount of patience they had was starting to get on Tim’s nerves.
“If you’re quite sure then I'll continue.” The butler supplied.
Within the next ten minutes, Tim’s head was cleaned, disinfected and bandaged with significantly less comments made by the two adults. The medication had also kicked in somewhere along the way and Tim started to feel pretty drowsy. It was nice, his head didn't hurt anymore and it was like there was a thick blanket of fog circling his brain.
“Now, you're all cleaned up and ready to go, would you like some tea before you go to bed sir?” Alfred asked, smiling warmly as he put gauze and disinfectant away.
“Hmm? Oh no I'm alright, I can go home now.” Tim responded drowsily. At this the old butler gave Mr. Wayne another look and raised his eyebrow. What kind of secret conversation were they having, Tim wondered, and how could he get in on it?
“Tim, I can't take you home like this. Alfred said there wasn't anyone else home when you called and I don't think you being alone with a head injury-” Bruce started, and woah this guy was intense.
“It's just a scratch-” Tim really didn't see the big deal, it wasn't like he was dying or something.
“It's still an injury, and I can't just leave you alone in that giant house. So you're going to stay the night in one of the guest bedrooms, and if there's staff or your parents home tomorrow, I'll drive you back.” Bruce cut off Tim in turn, looking equal parts concerned and tired.
“I'm not some little kid who needs a babysitter, I'm almost thirteen. It's fine.” Alright, the annoyance was coming on in full force. Tim wasn't proud of it, but he was tired and pissed off.
“Tim, you're only twelve.” Tim glared at Bruce. Living with Robin and Nightwing be damned, this guy was being an asshole.
“I would never leave one of my boys alone at that age, and you nearly cracking your head open tonight is a good example as to why.” Bruce gestured towards Tim's head and gave an apologetic look.
“Are you saying I'm irresponsible?” Tim shifted so he was sitting straighter and crossed his arms.
“No,” Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm saying, everyone needs a bit of help sometimes, and I am offering.” He looked at his butler, silently asking for help.
Alfred let out a small huff of a sigh and gently placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder.
“Mr. Drake, for Master Bruce’s, and my own sake, please spend the night. It will help us worry less. After all, I am quite old and could use some easy rest without worrying after my young neighbor.” Alfred gave him a considering look, and raised an eyebrow slightly in question.
Tim paused and rolled Alfred's words over in his head. The guy was pretty old, and old people weren't supposed to be stressed. So, with much consideration he nodded slightly.
“Okay. But only because I don't want you to be stressed out. But in the morning I'm going home no matter what-” Tim replied finally, shooting another glare at Bruce.
“I'm not agreeing to that.” Bruce cut in, looking irritated.
“How about we talk about it in the morning, yes? After all, you should stay for breakfast at least. I'm making German pancakes,” Alfred shot the young man a look that even Tim could decode, it meant shut up .
Tim huffed and scrunched his nose, for one thing he really liked German pancakes, and besides, it'd give him a chance to meet the Robin and Nightwing. So, with a tad more exasperation than strictly necessary he replied with a simple;
“Fine.”
Both adults looked satisfied.
“Well, Master Bruce can show you to a guest room where you can get settled. I'll wake you in the morning for breakfast so don't worry about oversleeping. It was wonderful to meet you, even under such unfortunate circumstances Mr. Drake.” Alfred declared, standing and walking to the exit at the back of the kitchen. Tim assumed it went to the staff quarters.
“You can call me Tim, and it's really nice to meet you too. Thanks for patching my head up so late, you were super nice about it.” Tim replied sheepishly, a bit of embarrassment creeping up his neck when he realized how rude he had just been.
“Of course, it was my pleasure, and feel free to call me Alfred dear. Sleep well now, goodnight.” Alfred smiled softly at Tim and took his leave.
Which just left Tim and beefcake Wayne stuck in the kitchen together.
“Why are you so muscly?” Tim blurted out. Fuck, he must be more tired than he thought if he just let that slip.
Bruce paused and blinked a few times before smiling a bit and shaking his head in amusement.
“I work out?” It came out more like a question than a reply and Tim narrowed his eyes.
“Rich people don't work out like you do. It doesn't make sense, also your hands are all scared up. And your hair is wet but not your clothes so either you took a shower and managed to be dressed in a button up and slacks and at my house in under five minutes or something weird is going on. My question to you is, are you dating Batman?” Tim pointed at Bruce with an accusatory finger and a proper detectives scowl.
Bruce scowled a bit and paused, opening and closing his mouth a few times.
“I think those painkillers are a bit stronger than I gave them credit for. Let's get you off to bed kiddo,” He settled on and waved a hand, beckoning Tim to follow him as he made his way out of the kitchen. Tim huffed but followed him nonetheless. He'd get to the bottom of this mystery later, for now a soft bed seemed really nice.
Tim dragged his feet as he followed Bruce down a hall, up some stairs and down another hall before reaching a door. Bruce opened it and inside was a large, nicely but sparsely decorated guest room.
“Alright, here we are. Let me or Alfred know if you need anything tonight. I'm in the last room to the left down the hall, and Alfred is right next to the kitchen we were in.” Bruce explained easily, pointing down the hall to where Tim assumed his room was. “My sons are both home tonight so try not to open any other doors in this hall if you decide to explore,” He gave Tim a small smile.
That was basically permission to snoop, right? Tim was gonna take it like that. If he didn't pass out the second he reached that bed he was gonna explore this whole damn house.
“Oh, uh. Thank you.” Tim paused awkwardly and shifted his feet. “And uh, sorry I was rude and accused you of dating Batman.”
Bruce actually laughed now, not just a small huff or a smile, and shook his head.
“It's no trouble Tim, go ahead and get to bed, I'll see you in the morning.” With that Bruce turned and closed the door, leaving Tim alone in the guest room.
Tim looked around a bit before switching off the light and crawling into the frankly
amazing
bed. He stared at the ceiling for a bit and fought the medication valiantly, but in the end the exhaustion overtook him and he fell into an easy, dreamless sleep.