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When Tim woke up, he immediately knew what the majority of his family would accuse him of if he went to breakfast. While he admittedly had done it multiple times in the past, this time, he did not. He had no idea he was sick when he went to bed the night before. Which meant this time, he did not knowingly go on patrol while sick.
The light leaking in from the window was enough to make his eyes throb.
Tim threw an arm over his eyes, groaning. "Shit." He froze. He tried to say something else, louder this time. He only succeeded in making a quiet wheezing sound before having to heave himself upright, coughing hard.
A glance at the clock told him it was almost nine in the morning. Tim flopped back down on the bed and considered his options. Tim had no idea who else spent the night in the manor, but he did know the routines of his family. Duke, Jason, and Damian were likely already in the kitchen. Bruce and Dick wouldn't be up for another half hour. Cass and Alfred seemingly never slept, and if he didn't know better, Tim might have believed it. At least one of the two usually found someone if they were awake in odd hours of the night. No one would expect Tim to be out of bed before eleven on a weekend. Alfred and Jason would be making breakfast while Duke tries not to fall asleep at the table. Damian was likely working on feeding the dozens of pets he'd accumulated over the years.
It wouldn't be difficult to leave the manor without running into another person. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to.
After four years of getting berated and lectured about self-preservation and his lack thereof, Tim was better at telling his family when he got sick or injured. He thought maybe he could pass his voice off as having just woken up, but he is from a family of detectives. He did eventually make his way to the kitchen with a resolve to not bring up, but also not to hide his situation. Surprisingly, Bruce was the only person not yet in the kitchen when Tim got there.
Apparently, he did not know the routines of his family.
"You're up early, Baby Bird." Dick called.
Tim gave a half-hearted wave, flopping into his chair at the table.
Jason and Alfred had, evidently, already made breakfast. There were several tall stacks of pancakes on the counter. Jason, Damian, and Dick all had a plate in front of them. Duke's plate had been pushed aside in favor of doing math homework before going on his daytime patrol.
"Good mornin' to you too, Replacement." Jason snorted.
Tim did the most reasonable thing he could think of at the time. He sat up in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked Jason in the eyes. "Morning." He rasped out.
His siblings froze and turned to look at Tim in a mixture of confusion, amusement, and concern.
"Are you... good?" Duke asked hesitantly, his homework forgotten.
Since he was facing away from the door, Tim didn't notice when Bruce entered the kitchen.
"Define 'good.'" Tim responded. The three words since entering the kitchen seemed to be too much for his throat to handle, seeing as how Tim immediately went into a coughing fit afterwards.
"He sounds like he went to an all you can eat buffet and only ordered sand. He's obviously not okay." Jason sassed.
"My voice went on vacation with my parents to Hati." Tim gave Jason finger guns. Jason laughed. No one else knew how to react.
Alfred was already placing tea in front of him. Tim gave him a tired but thankful smile.
Dick all but vaulted over the table, grabbing Tim's face. He gently tilted his little brother's head one way and the other, not even trying to dampen his dramatic concern. "You didn't go out like this last night, did you?" He pulled Tim into a tight hug. "Timmy, we've talked about this!"
"Let the kid breathe, Dickhead." Jason drawled. Dick remained clinging to his brother until Alfred admonished both of them.
"I was fine last night!" Tim tried to yell, sulking at his tea. Keyword tried. His voice was randomly failed throughout the sentence.
Bruce soundlessly grabbed the thermometer Alfred offered, the butler seemingly summoning it out of nowhere. Bruce gave his son a small, comforting smile and held it up to the boy's forehead until it beeped. "You have a fever of 101.3, Tim."
"I was fine last-" Tim was cut off when talking sent him into another round of violent coughing. Damian made a sound showing his distaste for the situation.
"I'm not saying you weren't. However, you aren't fine now." Bruce said. Alfred took back the thermometer.
"Clearly." Damian muttered.
Tim apparently decided faceplanting was a reasonable reaction.
"It's not that bad." Dick comforted. "You know Alfred's the best. He'll have you back to normal in no time!"
Duke froze. He then started rapidly grabbing his homework, moving it from the table to the counter.
Tim shot up. Bruce held his arms out, fully prepared in case his son tipped over as a result.
"No! You know what? I bet this wouldn't have happened if- Damian!" Tim pointed at his youngest brother.
"I have better things to do then something as trivial as give you a cold, Drake."
"I believe it's the flu, Master Damian."
Tim seemingly didn't hear either of them. "If your grandfather- Okay. This is Ra's fault. His weird surgeon guy is the one who did the surgery, so it's his fault I'm sick!"
Damian dropped his cup, no one caring as the contents spread across the table.
"Surgery?" Jason ground out.
"Yeah! I bet this wouldn't have happened if they didn't steal my spleen!" Tim coughed once. "Hold on a second."
"What the fuck." Jason whispered. Tim spit into the trash can, completely unaware of the panic he just instilled in his family.
"Let's get you back in bed, Master Tim." Alfred was livid, but his voice revealed nothing. He made sure to appear nothing but calm as he herds Tim out of the kitchen, sharing a look with Bruce. "I'll have someone bring you something shortly."
"What happened to his spleen?" Dick asked. "Please tell me I heard that wrong."
"You heard it right." Jason growled. He grabbed the knife he was using on his pancakes and turned towards the door.
"Jason!" Duke called panicked. "What are you doing?"
"Have something I gotta take care of."
"Jaylad, sit back down." Bruce spoke automatically. Almost robotic, in a way.
"Father?" Damian asked.
No one said anything for a while.
"When did he... Do any of you know when..." Bruce stumbled through his question, unable to decide on what he wanted to ask first.
"I can only think of one timeframe something like this could have gone undetected." Alfred stated when he returned from escorting Tim to his room. He immediately began preparing a meal for the teen, as well as gathering necessary medications. "I believe, perhaps, when we all believed Master Bruce was no longer with us."
"Shit." Dick breathed.
"Drake's inadequate self-preservation aside," Damian began, "He clearly cannot be trusted to be on his own throughout his illness. We will just have to make sure his condition improves."
"Aw, Dami, you do care!"
"Tt, don't be ridiculous! Even with Drake's idiocy, it would be foolish to willingly lose assistance when it comes to patrols." Damian looked away. No one pointed out his face turning red.
"Fine!" Jason relents. He keeps his tight grip on the knife, gesturing with it. "I wait until Baby Bird isn't about to keel over. Then I'm taking care of this asshole."
"Jason, put the knife down." Bruce sighs.
At the same time Duke mutters, "I don't think that's how spleens work."
"We. We will take care of that asshole." Damian growls.
"I called dibs on stabbing him!" Jason complains.
"Take turns?" Cass smiles, suddenly appearing next to Bruce.
"No one is stabbing Ra's!" Dick yells. "Punching, however."
"Kids. You are not tracking down and attacking Ra's al Ghul." Bruce states sounding completely exhausted.
"What, 'cause you think we can't do it?" Jason asks, feigning offence.
"Because I know you can do it, and we have other things to worry about. Like your brothers missing organ."
"Why don't you all pick out a film to watch once Master Tim gets out of bed? He won't stay in his room for long." Alfred suggests.
The distraction works. Bruce watches the majority of his children scramble out of the room, already debating which movie it should be. Bruce doesn't speak until he can no longer hear their bickering.
"What are you going to do?" He asks.
Alfred hums and hands Bruce the tray of soup and cold medicine. "How about you take this up to the boy? Don't mention a movie until after he's eaten. You know he won't otherwise."
"You're right. I probably don't want to know. Thank you, Alfred." Bruce grabs the tray. He shifts his focus to helping his son overcome the flu. Bruce knows his father figure. Alfred has connections. He'll make sure Ra's is taken care of.
At the very least, he'll make sure the Demon Head does not still have his grandson's spleen.