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Usually when Tim woke up, it was because his alarm from hell was making the most god-awful screeching noise known to man, causing him to wake suddenly and violently, sometimes nearly getting whiplash from jolting upright in alarm (ha. I see why they named it that).
This time, however, Tim woke up slowly. In the murky fog between sleeping and waking, confusion settled in him as he registered the feeling of something solid beneath his arms and head and the repeating sound of a soft thunk, thunk, thunk.
He must have fallen asleep at his desk again. But what the hell is that sound?
Tim sat up and stretched his neck side to side as he scrubbed his eyes to wake himself up fully. The red glow behind his eyelids told him he had never turned off the light in his apartment that past evening, his body obviously deciding that conking out while doing casework was more important than actually completing the steps to sleep in a bedroom like a normal person.
He blinked the blur away, looking ahead.
And he was immediately greeted with the sight of his fourteen-year-old brother glaring daggers at him from a seat on the other side of his desk, tossing a glass jar back and forth between his hands.
“Jesus Christ!” Tim shouted, banging his leg off the desk as he jumped up in surprise, definitely not expecting the company.
Okay, now I’m definitely awake.
Tim put his hands on his thighs, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths to calm his rapidly beating heart. When he looked back up, Damian was giving him the most unimpressed look known to man, still tossing the jar that apparently woke him up.
“Drake,” Damian greeted, narrowing his eyes even further.
“Damian.” Tim blinked twice, recalibrating his brain and moving his hands from his legs and onto the desk in front of him. “Why are you in my living room? And why am I getting last-named?”
“Ha!” Damian fake laughed, even widening his mouth in a smile and tossing his head slightly back for good measure before instantly returning to the heated glare. “You don’t get to ask questions right now, imbecile. I do.” He crossed one leg over the other and leaned his chair back, interlocking his fingers around the jar and holding it in his lap.
As far as Time could see, the jar contained a sickly yellow liquid that looked vaguely orange and crusty at the top.
“This is a lot of hostility for-” Tim checked his watch. “8 in the morning, you little gremlin.” Then, pointing at the jar, Tim said, “So does that mean I can’t ask questions about the gross-looking jar and if it has something to do with why I am a, quote, ‘imbecile’.
Damian tilted his head to the side and fixed his gaze on the ceiling, pushing his bottom lip up in mock contemplation. “Hmm…you may not, oaf.”
“Great.” Tim slowly ran his hands down his face. A Pissed-off Damian wasn’t exactly the best thing to be met with before he had the chance to down his morning energy drink. A pissed-off Damian who refused to explain why he was pissed off required more brain cells on Tim’s part than he currently had access to. He vaguely remembered seeing the sunrise before nodding off, so he had gotten about two hours of sleep, max. “Well, if you plan on staying, I’m going to require caffeine,” he said, beginning to turn away.
“I’m afraid not,” Damian said, British accent peaking out. His different accents often shone through depending on his phrasing. Most of the time, Tim found it adorable. Right now, Tim only had the energy to contemplate collapsing on the floor and going back to sleep. “As you’ll have to open the door for our mediator.”
“Mediator?” Tim scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “What mediator?”
As soon as he asked the question, the doorbell rang, causing Tim to look over at the front door before nodding appreciatively. “You’re getting really good at the art of dramatic timing.”
A week before, Damian would’ve smirked appreciatively at the compliment. Now, his glower increased tenfold.
Thank god for the ‘mediator’.
Rolling his eyes, Tim walked over to the door, looking in the peephole to see Duke standing on the other side. Okay—what the hell was going on?
Mourning the loss of a normal morning filled with relaxation and caffeine, Tim unlocked the door and opened it, smiling in greeting at his brother. “Hey, Duke.”
“Morning, Tim.” The teenager smiled back, moving to lean against the door frame to better mutter in Tim’s ear. “Has he told you anything about what’s going on?”
“Nope,” Tim responded. “Just evasive answers and charming insults.” He looked back at Damian to surprisingly find him not scowling at them, but with his eyes closed and head tilted up to the ceiling, almost like he was recollecting himself.
Tim turned his attention back to Duke. “He said you were a ‘mediator’. Any idea for what?”
Snorting softly and with an amused expression on his face like all of this was completely expected for 8 in the morning, he responded, “Well, he texted me about a half hour ago saying I needed to come to your apartment to encourage him not to strangle you. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t call Dick.”
Tim sighed, thunking his forehead against the edge of the door that he still had a hold of. “I’m glad you’ll be there for me in my final moments. My last wish is for you to find out the reason why Damian is about to go all homicidal on me, because I have not made any headway in my investigation.”
Duke gave Tim a look as if he were being ridiculous and not absolutely serious. “Dude, he’s not actually gonna murder you. I know you're both under the impression that the other can’t stand you, but he really does love you.”
“Ya see, even if that were true, that still wouldn’t save me. He was raised by Talia al Ghul; just because he loves me doesn’t mean he won’t also kill me.”
“That’s dark.”
“Yup.”
“And you're sure you have no idea what you did to make him angry?”
“What I did?!” Tim sputtered. “I never do anything to make Damian angry. I am a saint.”
“Uh-huh.” Duke rolled his eyes and began moving past Tim. “We’ll see about that.”
Drake was a fucking imbecile.
And, yes, he was dubbed “Drake” for the foreseeable future, unless he could properly explain why it was possible for Damian to be holding his damned spleen in a jar.
Shockingly enough, the breathing exercises Damian has been doing since he arrived at Tim’s apartment were actually helping him “regulate his emotions”, a large contrast to how he had been absolutely seething on the plane ride back from al Ghul Island in tow with his newest acquisition.
Staring at the sleeping form of his bother (yes, the lack of “r” is intentional; he’s earned it) for at least an hour brought him some much-needed clarity: why start an argument with Drake when he could screw with his mind instead?
Also, stabbing Drake out of anger wasn’t an option since it wouldn’t exactly help the whole “immunocompromised” aspect of asplenia. His apartment was not exactly what you would call a sterile environment.
That’s why he texted Duke: half to make sure Damian didn't backslide into homicide and half because having a witness would make this even more satisfying.
Now, obviously, Damian wasn’t angry with Drake because he somehow lost his spleen. The teen wasn’t that much of a hypocrite (he somehow managed to avoid the full extent of that character trait from Bruce). After all, Damian himself has had a metal spine for about three years now.
The difference is: people know that.
Would Damian have hidden it if given the chance to avoid the incessant nagging and worrying that came along with it? Maybe. (He may have to revisit the “hypocrite” idea.) But that’s not what this is about! Damian wasn’t so soft as to be worried or concerned. Drake’s foolishness simply pissed him off for reasons he didn’t care to examine.
Damian’s main goal was to very delicately (read: brutally) make sure Drake knows that he is an idiot. He should know the importance of sharing pertinent medical information! He should know that hiding important secrets such as this would put his life the mission at risk.
But, no, of course, Mr. Lives Off Energy Drinks and Two Hours of Sleep also has asplenia, which he obviously doesn’t take seriously enough, given his general life choices.
Well, Damian would serve as his wake-up call. And, his consequence, which Drake has been avoiding for the past who knows how many years.
How could a person be so stupid? The whole situation genuinely made Damian’s head hurt. Out of frustration, obviously. Well, he’s pretty sure it's frustration. He’s not exactly amazing at identifying emotions.
After their fervent whispering session at the doorway, Drake and Duke made their way over to Drake’s desk/makeshift bed. Drake was eyeing him suspiciously, likely uneasy over his lack of knowledge regarding the situation. Duke grabbed a chair from the kitchen and joined them at the desk, looking curious and ready to be entertained by whatever was about to go down between the two brothers.
Damian intended to put on a show. Drake deserved nothing less.
“As you both know,” he began, putting on a grave tone, “I have recently been to al Ghul Island with my mother to attend the reading of my grandfather’s will.”
“How are you doing with that, by the way?” Duke asked, raising his hand, ignoring the glare Damian sent his way at the interruption. “I know he was your grandpa, but he was also a bad guy and was overall horrible and abusive to you. How are you feeling? Sad, mad, relieved, confused, all of the above?”
“Thomas,” Damian responded, demoting his name-status in real time, “I asked you here to be a mediator so Drake and I wouldn’t rip each other's heads off, as we are known to try. I did not ask you here to be my damned therapist.”
“Nah, I like where Duke’s going with this,” Drake chimed in, obviously eager to avoid Damian’s grievance with him. “I, for one, am 100% relieved, because, ya’know, he was an asshole. But you must be feeling a lot of complicated emotions right now, so please, share with the class.” The jerk spread his arms wide and grinned maniacally, knowing how much Damian would be pissed off at the suggestion.
Damian may have to reconsider his position on stabbing him in his pigsty of an apartment.
“I wouldn’t try to mock me, Drake. Not with the knowledge I currently possess regarding your idiocy,” Damian menaced, enjoying the wilting of Drake’s smile and the return of the suspicious expression.
“Anyway,” Damian continued, glaring at Thomas, who raised his hands in surrender and rolled his eyes. “As I was saying, during the reading of his will, a very interesting item was included in the docket. A very interesting item.”
“You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Drake drawled, attempting to look uninterested, but failing to keep the curiosity from shining in his eyes.
“Oh, trust me, I am,” Damian answered, and then proceeded to slam the jar onto the desk for both of his audience members to see.
“Ugh,” Duke said in absolute disgust, his facial expression matching his tone. “What the hell is that thing?”
“What the hell indeed.” Damian examined the eldest of them, watching as he tilted his head and squinted at the jar with the floating object within it, as if trying to place it from somewhere. “According to the will’s description and League medical records, this thing is a spleen, once belonging to one of us here at the table.” And with that, Damian turned the jar around to reveal a label on the side.
The label read: Timothy Jackson Drake, The Detective
“That sick motherfucker kept it?!” Drake screeched, jumping up from his seat in shock for the second time today. The look on his face would fuel Damian’s good mood for weeks.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, mouth agape and eyes comically wide as he tilted his head sideways and closer to the table to get a better look at the jar. “That thing is Tim’s what?”
“Drake’s spleen,” Damian confirmed, enjoying the increasingly scandalized expressions on both the boys’ faces.
“Whaaat in the fuuuck…” Thomas continued to gape at the jar before suddenly snapping his head up to look at Drake’s still standing and shocked form. “Since when do you not have a spleen?! And since when did freaking Ra’s al Ghul have it?!”
“That’s something I would also like to know,” Damian added, leaning back and enjoying the chaos. “The League documented the surgery, but not the specifics that led up to it.” Damian then spread his arms in an imitation of Drake’s earlier gesture. “Please, Drake, regale us with this particular tale, and feel free to include how you failed to tell everyone that you lost an organ.”
Slowly recovering from the shock of seeing his long-lost spleen before him, Drake sank back down into his seat and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth as he contemplated what to say, or, more likely, what to say that would allow him to avoid as much grief over this enlightenment as he could.
Fat chance of that happening, but Damian could admire his attempt at confidence.
“First of all,” Drake said, actually raising a number one in the air with his pointer finger. “You keep saying ‘lost’ like I just accidentally dropped it while grocery shopping. I had a routine splenectomy.”
“Hold up,” Duke immediately said, smelling bullshit (an act that earned him back first name status). “You technically did lose it, considering you didn’t have it and had no idea it was with Ra’s al Ghul. Also, ‘routine splenectomy’? I’m assuming that since the League has medical records of the surgery, they were the ones who performed it. I doubt you just happened to stumble upon the League and simultaneously randomly need a splenectomy.”
“Wouldya quit poking holes in the perfectly sane and reasonable tale I’m about to tell?” Drake whined.
“Sane and reasonable, my ass,” Damian growled, the anger he felt earlier creeping back in from where he tried to shove it down. “Tell the truth, or I will throw this thing at you.” Damian grabbed the jar and shook it for effect.
“Jesus. Okay.” Drake massaged his temples in an attempt to gather his bearings (or, more likely, stall for time to come up with a different story).
“So,” Drake began, looking back at Damian. “Remember that time Bruce was fake dead?”
“Vividly. That year was horrible.”
“Remember how I knew he was alive, and everyone thought I was crazy, and Dick fired me and replaced me with you, so I left to try and find him.”
“Correction: That year was amazing.”
“Fuck you too.” Drake rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Do you want the story or not?”
Damian sighed dramatically. “Fine. Continue.”
“Okay, lore drop warning: While I was looking for Bruce, I joined the League of Assassins.”
“You what?!” both Damian and Duke shouted. Damian was completely taken aback; he had found no record of this anywhere in the League. That was probably smart on his grandfather’s part, the more he thought about it. If Father had ever found out, he most likely would’ve inched very close to the line of his No Kill Rule.
“Yeahhhh,” Drake confirmed, avoiding the others’ gaze as he recalled that particular part of his history. “Not exactly a high point for me, but, like I said, I needed to find Bruce, and everyone in the hero community kinda thought I went crazy. Also, technically, I didn’t join join them. I was more allied with them while secretly working to dismantle the League from within. Anyway, while I was with them, I got shishkabobed by this Council of Spiders assassin, and I ended up getting surgery that saved my life. My spleen obviously can’t say the same.” Drake gestured to the jar still grasped in Damian’s hands.
“This is so much information to process,” Duke said, voice muffled because at some point, he put his head in his arms and on the table. “Wait,” he suddenly added, lifting up from his resting spot on the table and gaping at Tim. “Does no one else know this?! Is you not having a spleen new information for everyone?!” His wide-eyed gaze whirled to his other side to face Damian. “Please tell me someone in the family knows that Tim doesn’t have a whole organ.”
“Nope,” Damian answered, turning a glare back onto Drake and crossing his arms with the jar still in his hand, reminded of why he was angry at Drake in the first place after the shock of all this new information. “The dumb idiot didn’t tell a soul, other than my grandfather, evidently.”
“Dumb idiot?” Drake shot back, mirroring Damian’s crossed arms. “What’s with the elementary school insults? I figured you’d go for something more 20th century.”
“I was trying to at least attempt to keep this civil, but obviously that’s not to your liking, you piece of—”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Duke interjected, placing his arms up in each of the boys’ directions. “I am supposed to be the mediator here. This is a lot of news for everyone. Let's try to act and communicate like adults.”
“He’s the only adult here.” Damian pointed across the desk at Drake. “And yet that didn’t stop him from not telling anyone about his splenectomy like the dumb idiot he is.”
“Okay, one, trust me when I say, 20 is not an adult. Like, at all. Two, things were kinda chaotic when I came back, and by the time everything calmed down, I had already learned how to handle it with antibiotics and diet adjustments and stuff. There was no need to tell anybody. Everything was under control.”
“Doesn’t Bruce and Alfred have us adjust our medical files at least twice a year?” Duke said dryly, obviously not deeming this a valid excuse. “You could have at least sneaked it in there, under the radar. Or ya know, mentioned it to literally anyone at all, so if you ever succumbed to the common cold, we would at least know why.”
Duke’s face then dipped in concern, like he was about to ask how Drake was doing with his lack of spleen, if he needed any additional help or support. Damian couldn’t have that; no need to reward reckless behavior, especially since Damian was beginning to have similar concerns, and that would definitely get in the way of him needling the dumbass as revenge for causing him so much grief. “Obviously, Drake lost some brain cells along with his spleen,” Damian said, smirking. “Too bad my grandfather didn’t keep any of them; you may have actually been able to get those back.”
“What do you mean?” Drake asked, obviously bewildered. “That’s my spleen. Why can’t I have it back?”
“Because.” Damian gazed up at the jar, holding it off to the side and higher than his face, like he was presenting a prized possession. “The spleen was willed to me. This is my spleen now.”
Judging by the gobsmacked look on Tim’s face, Duke’s pretty sure Damian broke Tim.
Duke’s also pretty sure he knows exactly what’s going on.
Despite how closed off emotionally nearly all members of the Batfamily were, most of them were pretty easy to read once you spent enough time with them. At least, Duke found it easy. The rest of the family seemed to lack pretty hard in their emotional interpretation skills, whether their own or someone else’s.
Exhibit A: Damian and Tim. Duke found it pretty obvious that both of them loved and cared for the other; they just showed it in emotionally stunted ways. Tim showed it by trying to micromanage Damian’s every move out in the field so he wouldn’t end up getting hurt, and Damian showed it by behaving angrily when Tim got injured or did something stupid to hide how worried he was for his safety.
They really both inherited way too much from Bruce, biological child or not.
Duke was sure that Damian knew he loved Tim, and Tim knew he loved Damian. They both just happened to be under the mistaken impression that the other hated them. Or at least disliked.
So, now Damian was insulting Tim and winding him up to overcompensate for the fact that he was worried out of his mind over Tim’s obvious lack of concern over the whole “not having a spleen and not telling anyone about it” thing. And Tim was getting offended by Damian’s apparent lack of trust in Tim's ability to handle his problems.
“What do you mean it was ‘willed’ to you?” Tim demanded. “Why the hell would Ra’s al Ghul will you my spleen?”
Damian shrugged, smirking at Tim’s indignation. “Maybe my grandfather merely wanted to keep an obviously cherished possession in the hands of someone capable of protecting it. Having lost it once doesn’t exactly make for a fantastic track record. Also, you’re a moron, so that probably didn’t help your case.”
“Hey, Dames,” Duke interjected, getting more comfortable in his chair. This would be a fun conversation.
Damian swiveled his head towards Duke, seemingly just remembering he was there, which made Duke roll his eyes.
“How about,” he suggested, “instead of saying ‘You’re a moron’, try saying, ‘I’m concerned about your choices’.”
The younger teen shot him a distinctive “don’t ruin this for me” look, and then proceeded to ignore him.
Wonderful. That went well.
“That makes no sense!” Tim exclaimed, interlocking his fingers on top of his head. “Why would he give it to you? Obviously the guy went senile in his old age.”
Something about that statement pissed Damian off, so he fought back with the only weapon he had and proceeded to chuck the jar at Tim, who caught it a few inches from his face.
The two stared at each other as they both realized what had happened.
Then, the chase began.
Tim shot up from his seat at the same time Damian did, Tim sprinting into the kitchen while Damian took off after him, resulting in a long keep-away battle throughout the apartment with significantly more skilled fighting than in regular games of the same kind.
Thankfully, it was far more of a brotherly scuffle than an all-out war, the two aiming more to knock each other over and grab the jar than to draw blood.
Duke’s attempts to get them to stop and go back to semi-peacefully bickering did not end up working, and he knew they would feel bad if he somehow ended up in the crossfire, so he made a tactical retreat to Tim’s bathroom.
Duke needed backup for this particular dilemma.
Time to call in the big guns.
Dick heard the fight before he even set foot in the apartment unit.
Breakable things were falling on the floor, punches were being thrown, insults were shouted, and he’s pretty sure he heard a body crash through a table.
Dick thunked his head on the door in anticipation of the chaos that was reigning inside.
I’m sooo looking forward to this.
Using the key he had to Tim’s apartment, Dick slowly opened the door, viewing the wreckage that awaited him.
His guess was right: the place was trashed.
You would’ve thought Tim held a rager in the place based on how much stuff was randomly scattered throughout it. Books, chairs, pillows, and other knick-knacks were knocked over and lying on the floor. Almost everything in the house was askew or thrown around.
On second thought, the damage may not have been entirely from Damian and Tim’s fighting. He was well aware of Tim’s lack of organization.
Avoiding the fighting noises coming from two individuals who have obviously not noticed his arrival, Dick went to find Duke’s self-proclaimed “tactical retreat hideout”. He knocked on the bathroom door and let the surprisingly unconcerned teen open it.
“Sup,” Duke said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey, man,” Dick responded, and then gestured with his thumb towards the noise. “Your details were pretty vague. Mind telling me what exactly got our resident not-so-geniuses riled up?”
Duke tilted his head to the side, considering his words. “Well, it is kind of Tim’s story to tell. But, not giving too much away: Tim’s had a secret for a while that put his health at risk, and Damian found out about it. Let’s just say neither is too happy with the other.”
“And since neither of them can communicate like normal people, they’re now trying to beat the shit out of each other?”
“Yup.”
“How terrific,” Dick said, rolling his eyes. “Do you think verbal de-escalation is still an option?”
At that exact moment, one of the boys let out a warrior cry (that was probably Damian). A large crashing sound erupted, similar to the one Dick heard from outside the door. A long string of curses (that was probably Tim) soon followed, paired with the continued sounds of punching and shouting.
Tim was definitely going to get a noise complaint.
“I think you just got your answer.”
“Physical restraining, then?”
“Sounds about right.”
Sharing a look of determination and resignation, the two marched out of the bathroom to find Damian and Tim now fighting in the living room, trying to shove the other to the ground, Tim trying to grab a funky-looking jar that Damian currently held clutched in both hands.
Funnily enough, neither of the two fighters seemed to notice the intruders, allowing them to easily sneak up behind and grab them, wrapping their arms around the other’s arms and torsos, effectively immobilizing and separating them from their opponent.
“Okay!” Dick shouted over the two as they continued screaming at each other. “We’re all gonna calm down. You two are going to explain in nice, gentle tones what the hell is going on, and you’re going to stop trying to claw each other’s faces off. Deal?”
“No deal,” Damian said, trying to squirm out of Dick’s hold. “Your brother is an idiot and needs to be taught a lesson.”
“I am not an idiot!” Tim denied. “You’re being an insane, overreacting gremlin who doesn’t trust me!”
Dick sent a confused look over at Duke, searching for context. Duke sighed, obviously tired out. “Damian’s trying to distance himself from Tim by calling him ‘your brother’ instead of his to protect himself from his own worried feelings because Tim is being reckless by keeping secrets and endangering his health and life, even though he claims he has it under control.”
“Nuh uh!” they both denied simultaneously, which Dick found hilarious but tried his best to keep the grin off his face so as not to piss them off even more.
“And what exactly did Tim do that was so reckless?”
Somehow, Damian successfully managed to wriggle his way out of Dick’s hold, but instead of charging at Tim, he pressed the jar he had been holding into Dick’s chest.
“Protect this with your life,” he hissed at Dick before releasing it and letting Dick examine it.
Now, Dick didn’t have a medical degree, but he was pretty sure… “Is that a spleen?”
At some point during the exchange, Duke had released Tim, who now sighed in defeat. “Turn it around,” he grumbled, gazing up at the ceiling like he was waiting for divine intervention.
Dick turned around the jar. And saw the label.
“Tim,” Dick grit out, his throat convulsing strangely as he took in the meaning of the label. “Why is your spleen outside of your body, and why did I not know that it was?”
“I’m not telling the story more times than I have to,” Tim said in defiance, crossing his arms. “Every single member of the family is gonna want to hear me explain it at this point. If I’m gonna tell it again, I’m telling it once, so you’d better get everyone together if you want to hear it.”
Damian must have gotten a good hit in if Tim actually believed that that was too big an ask and would get him out of revealing the story to the family.
Never underestimate the Batfamily.
The majority of the family was in the manor's large living room.
Why? Jason had no idea, other than that Dick had called an emergency meeting requiring everyone’s immediate attention. “Everyone” at the moment meant the Big Bad Bat, his five at-some-point Robins, one current Robin, Jason’s scary ninja sister, the all-knowing Oracle, and Alfie.
Finally, Tim turned on the TV, displaying a presentation entitled, “I Have Had Everything Under Control, So Don’t Overreact Like The Baby Of The Family Did”.
Jason could tell that Tim had made this within the last half hour. Those presentations always had weirdly long titles.
The baby of the family (who was technically a teenager, but being the youngest made him the resident infant; although by that logic, Tim was only a toddler, so he didn’t have much room to talk), scowled at the title of the presentation and clutched a gross looking jar closer to his chest, practically hunched over it, which was the only time Jason hadn’t seen the kid with perfect posture.
Okay, now he was definitely interested.
“Oh, Tim,” Bruce sighed, obviously already fearing the worst. “What did you have under control and why wasn’t I informed of it?”
“No questions until after the presentation!” Tim proclaimed, waving a pointing rod at all of them before swinging it over to the presentation. “Now, I would like to preface this by saying that this slide-show was completed in maybe twenty minutes and on very few hours of sleep. I am not responsible for how coherent it is.”
“Let’s get a move on, Tim,” Barbara said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t tell if I should be bored or concerned.”
“Comments should also be left for the end of the presentation,” Tim declared, and moved to the first slide, which had a bunch of random antibiotics, vaccines, and medical care advice. “Now, I would like to start by saying that people with asplenia are perfectly capable of living long, healthy, normal lives with only a little bit of extra precautions.”
Wait. What.
“Uh, Tim,” Stephanie said, raising her hand only to have Tim avoid eye contact with her in favor of staring at the screen and continuing the presentation.
“Good hygiene is a big help in preventing infections, which can affect those with asplenia much more than those with functioning spleens. Seeking medical care for normally low-risk sickness is also advised.”
“Son,” Bruce also said, joining Stephanie in raising her hand.
“Getting annual flu shots as well as other vaccines helps to prevent diseases that could quickly snowball into something worse.”
“Little brother.” Cassandra flicked a random pencil at Tim’s head.
“Having antibiotics on hand to take at the first sign of fever is recommended to reduce the risk of serious illness.”
“Tim!” Jason shouted, finally getting Tim to turn around and look at the sea of raised hands before him. “Are you trying to tell us that you don’t have a fucking spleen?!”
“Well, no,” Tim said dryly, putting his hands on his hips. “Damian has my spleen.”
Nine heads swiveled to Damian at once as he lifted the jar he was holding above his head.
Yeah, that thing was definitely a spleen.
Naturally, everyone started talking at once.
Half of them tried to interrogate Tim on why the hell his spleen is in a jar. The other half swarmed Damian in an attempt to get a closer look at the spleen. It was complete chaos for at least a minute until a sharp whistle caused them to all fall silent and turn toward the source.
“Perhaps we should let the boy continue on with his explanation,” Alfred suggested. “The Cliff Notes may be best, Master Timothy, despite my appreciation for your presentations.”
Tim sighed, obviously planning to use the presentation to procrastinate on explaining how he lost a freaking spleen.
“Okay, basically, I worked with the League of Assassins while trying to find Bruce, who was lost in the time stream. A rival assassin group injured me, requiring me to get life-saving surgery that ended up costing me my spleen.”
Everyone seemed too shocked to speak, except for Damian and Duke, who apparently had already heard this story.
“Okay.” Jason was the first to speak, wrapping his head around nearly everything. “You lost your spleen and failed to tell anyone. I understand that—I’m pissed, and we’re gonna have words, but honestly, it’s not too surprising considering it’s you—”
“Rude.”
“—but that doesn’t explain why Damian has your spleen.”
“Grandfather willed it to me.” Damian grinned like the cat that ate the canary before going back to glaring at Tim. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if the intensity caused Tim to catch on fire.
Then Jason registered what Damain said.
And burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, that so would be something he would do.” Jason had to grip the arms of his chair so he wouldn’t end up sliding off from the strength of his laughter. “Putting his little heirs against each other, even in death. Geez, that guy was diabolical.”
“Tim.” Bruce took advantage of the momentarily stillness of the room as the family stared at Jason to walk up to Tim and put his hands on his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is a serious medical risk that we need to account for out on the field. We can’t accurately treat your injuries if we don’t know the full extent of your medical history, especially given how easily a small infection could threaten your life.”
Tim dropped his forehead onto Bruce’s chest and sighed. “We just got the family back together. You were busy figuring out how to return to being Batman. And the time when you were away…kinda sucked—a lot. I didn’t want to talk about anything that happened during that time, so I handled it on my own. Then, when the time came that I could talk about it, it had been so long that I didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to bring it up. And now, here we are.” Tim shrugged. “I’ve been living with it for so long that it stopped being such a big deal to me. I kinda thought it wouldn’t be a big enough deal to even bother mentioning it. Obviously, that was a miscalculation.”
“No shit,” Barbara said, dragging her hands down her face. “If you ever lose an organ again, for the love of God, tell someone. That goes for everyone else in this room,” she added, glaring at each and every one of them to get her point across.
“Um, this is all crazy and insane, and Tim, you better not hide anything from me ever again or you’re never leaving my side for the rest of your life, but uh, why do those two look like they want to murder each other?” Stephanie pointed at Tim and Damian, who were scowling at each other despite Tim still being in Bruce’s arms.
“They love each other and they’re pissed about it,” Duke said, looking like the life had been drained out of him by the two brothers over the course of a day. “I say we lock them in a room together and not let them come out before they can accurately communicate their emotions. I do not want to be in that room. I already have been, and it is an experience I highly do not recommend.”
“I have been accurately communicating my ‘emotions’,” Damian growled. “He pisses me off.”
“What about him pisses you off?” Dick questioned, trying to guide him to a viable answer.
“Everything.”
Yeah, that didn’t work. Good try, Dickie.
Tim glowered at Damian. “It’s not my fault you think I’m so pathetic that I can’t take care of myself. Why bother even being mad at me for being ‘dumb’ if you can’t stand me?!”
“Because you stress me out!” Damian shouted, jumping up and getting in Tim’s face. “It’s bad enough that you don’t care about yourself enough to get even a modicum of sufficient food or sleep, but you don’t even tell us that you have a life-threatening condition! I can’t live the rest of my life waiting for you to finally succumb to your dumb fucking choices! I think about it constantly! It feels like it’s all I ever do!”
Bruce stepped back (smart) as Damian and Tim got into a mini-scuffle that ended with Damian embracing Tim like he was worried he would disappear at any moment.
“You can’t die on me,” Damian whispered, shoving his face into Tim’s shoulder. “Too many people have. You can’t be next. All I’ll have left of you is your fucking spleen.”
The last sentence must have caught Tim off guard, because it brought out a small laugh from him. He wrapped his arms even tighter around his little brother, surprised and touched by the rare show of affection. “I…I didn’t realize I caused you this much distress.” He swallowed down what was most likely a tsunami of emotions before carding his fingers through Damian’s hair. “I’m very smart—” that actually succeeded in making Damian snort in amusement “—but I realize I don’t exactly make the smartest decisions regarding, you know, myself. Kind of a thing I’ve struggled with for a while. But, uh, I can see now how big a deal it is to everyone. Especially you.” Tim breathed deeply, considering. “How about I work on getting a handle on that, and you’ll have less of a reason to fall into overwhelming worry?”
“That is acceptable,” Damian replied, sniffling. The two continued hugging until they both seemed to realize they were showing emotion in front of others. Damian gave himself a moment to wipe as much of his emotions off his face as he could (he only kinda succeeded) before leaving the hug and turning to face the family. “Now, can we all agree to kidnap Timothy and take him down to the Batcave and run every medical test known to humankind on him?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Jason agreed before Tim could even respond. “We’re updating the fuck out of your medical record, Timbers.”
“And you are writing a full report of the events that led to you losing your spleen,” Bruce added.
Tim just rolled his eyes. “Fine. Geez. Wouldn’t want anyone to think this family didn’t include some of the most overprotective people in the entire world.”
“Of course not. Speaking of which, no one’s leaving the cave until their medical files are completely up-to-date.” Bruce swept a gaze over them that attempted to be menacing but really just conveyed his worry over how many of his other children may or may not be hiding serious medical conditions from him.
Knowing them, probably at least a few.
“Hey, Damian,” Babs suddenly said as they all made their way over to the giant elevator that Bruce had installed once he noticed that the Batfamily had essentially quadrupled in size. “What else did your grandfather will to you?”
The teen shrugged, one arm extended to keep pushing Tim toward the cave. “Just this and that. Some of his islands, a few weapon caches, a handful of castles and compounds throughout Asia and Africa, a small fortune, among other things.”
That made everyone stop in their tracks, including Tim, who Damian nearly ran into.
“What?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow, half-confused by the reaction and half-annoyed at having stopped on the way to completing their mission.
“Hold up.” Tim turned to him and had a shit-eating grin on his face. “You're a teenage boy who was just handed multiple private islands and freaking castles, and the first thing you did was come home to yell at me because I worried you? Aww.” Tim surged forward and hugged Damian again, who begrudgingly returned it.
“This is the last one you're getting today,” he grumbled.
“Question.” Stephanie raised her hand to get Damian’s attention. “How ‘small’ is a small fortune?”
“Enough to buy and build me multiple zoos,” Damian responded, then ushered them all into the elevator as they continued their conversation.
“Of course that would be how you measure wealth, Baby Bat.” Dick snorted. “Prepare yourself, Bruce. You're gonna wake up one day and see a lion enclosure out your window.”
Bruce sighed the sigh of a father of six, plus God knows how many mentees. “Maybe you should think twice about taking any of Ra’s al Ghul’s blood money, Damian.”
“Yes, because you’ve come by your wealth honestly and of your own efforts, Father,” Damian responded, giving him the stink eye as they made their way into the cave. “Considering all of this ‘bat business’ is going to continue draining your accounts, I feel it necessary to ‘take what I can get’, as it were.”
“Yeah, Bruce, you wouldn’t want to dip down into the millions,” Duke joked. “We’ll all have to go live in one of Damian’s castles.”
“You’re joking, but we all are definitely having a private island/castle vacation at some point,” Stephanie said excitedly as she helped Damian maneuver Tim onto the medbay bed.
“I can move by myself, guys, geez,” Tim complained, rolling up his sleeves for Alfred to start running tests.
“They’re just making sure you don’t try to scamper away. Speaking of which,” Jason shoved a laptop at Tim. “Report. I want to be able to read all the juicy details when you're done.”
Tim rolled his eyes, but obliged nonetheless. As the rest of the family milled around the Batcave, filling out various forms and administering tests, Damian assertively sat down next to his brother, diligently watching and reading everything Tim typed.
Pausing for a moment, Tim placed his hand on his brother’s head and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Thank you for caring,” he whispered. “I’m glad I can count on you to make sure I don’t ‘succumb to my dumb fucking choices’. I’ll try to make fewer of them.”
Damian scoffed lightly. “We’re Bats. We’re known for being simultaneously extremely capable and monumentally stupid. It's why we have each other.” He playfully shoved his shoulder into Tim’s. “Promise to look out for one another?” he asked, looking inquiringly at Tim.
“Promise,” Tim agreed, typing one-handed and slinging his arm around Damian’s shoulder. “It’s what brothers are for.”