fic - Fever
Aug. 25th, 2010 06:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
munninTitle: Fever
Author: Munnin
Rating: PG
Characters: Dick, Tim, Bruce and Alfred
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit and no offence meant. Everyone is of the age of consent in their country and period of history
Author’s notes: 100% organic. May contain minor flaws and imperfections that beta-treated slash wouldn’t.
Verse: Mended Wings. Previous chapters: Mended Wings, Fly and Fall, Clipped, Corners and Turning Points,and Only Son.
Bingo card: H/C. Wild card. Masterlist here.
Summary: written on![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
modestroad’s prompt - Dick/Tim, Tim is sick and Dick takes care of him
Dick looked up from the console as Tim wheeled his bike into the cave. The youth looked pale and drawn as he shook off his helmet.
“Tim? You ok?” He grabbed his sticks and ignored the shooting pains in his leg as he hurried to the young man’s side. “Is something wrong?”
“I just a bit...” Tim took two tottering steps before reaching out to steady himself against one of the cars. “Just a little rundown...I’ll be fin-”
Dick dumped his sticks, lunching forward to break Tim’s fall as the youth crumbled. Tim's skin was clammy and burning beneath his hands. “Timmy! Timmy, look at me!” He dragged open Tim’s drooping eyes. “Tim! Tell me if you came in contact with anything tonight? Gases, poisons, anything out of the usual?”
“I’m fine...just tired...” Tim’s eyes rolled in his head as Dick cradled him. He normally felt weird about Dick touching him but... Dick’s hand was cool against his forehead. “I just need to sleep a little...”
“Not yet little brother. Just stay with me hey?” Dick gently covered Tim’s ear, pressing Tim’s head against his chest. “ALFRED! ALDRED GET DOWN HERE!”
Tim let his head loll, drifting in and out as things happened around him. The floor of the cave was cool and Dick’s arms around him were more comforting that he ever expected.
Alfred smelt like cinnamon and fresh baked cookies as he pressed a thermometer into Tim’s mouth. Tim tried to say something, tried to tell him not to worry but Alfred hushed him. “Be still Master Timothy. You’re safe now.”
There was a sharp pain in his arm and Tim tried to pull away but Dick had hold of his wrist, holding him still. “We just need to check your blood Tim. It’ll be over soon.” Something cool was pressed to the burning spot on his inner arm and the pain faded away.
Dick pulled him close, crooning quietly and soothingly in Tim’s ear but he couldn’t make out the words. It was enough the Dick was holding him like his mother...like his mother never did. A little sob escaped Tim’s throat at the thought that a chance-met stranger loved him more than his own blood.
“Hush baby, I’ve got you.”
“Master Dick,” Alfred was back, latex and chemicals masking the baking smell. “His blood work is clean of pathogens but his white blood cell count is low. At best guess he has a fever from pushed himself too hard.”
Dick kissed Tim’s forehead. “As bad as Bruce.” He shifted slightly and Tim mumbled his displeasure. “Will you help me get him upstairs?”
“Of course, Master Dick.” The cookie smell was back as Alfred lifted him in surprisingly strong arms. “Shall I inform Master Bruce?”
The clack of Dick’s canes on the stone stairs was somehow comforting. “Not just yet. We shouldn’t interrupt his patrol.”
Alfred tsked, shouldering a door open. “He would want to know.”
“I know but...”
Tim felt himself being lowered into...something deep and comfortable but not a bed...the scent of leather and old books and the warm of a fire. The library...his favourite room in the manor.
He felt himself being stripped out of his uniform and dressed into something softer, something that smelt like Dick. He managed to open his eyes a crack, just enough to see that they’d put him in Dick’s PJs.
Dick dragged a blanket over him as he perched on an ottoman at Tim’s side. “Rest now little brother.” He smoothed a hand over Tim’s forehead. “It’s going to be ok.”
Comforted by Dick’s nearness, Tim let himself drift.
***
He woke later to the sound of soft voices and a cool cloth on his brow.
“...you could have called.” Bruce, sounding reproachful. “I would have come back.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your patrol.” Dick sounded wistful and worried. “Besides he’s been asleep the whole time. I don’t even think he woke up when Leslie came by.”
Bruce sighed with the sound of leather as he settled into one of the couches. There was silence for what seemed like a long time and Tim rolled over, pulling the blankets with him.
“I hate seeing him like this. Makes me feel so helpless.” Dick caught the falling flannel and settled it back on Tim’s brow, running a gentle hand over Tim’s cheek. “How did you do it?”
‘Do what?” Bruce asked quietly.
“Watch over me when I got sick. I know you must have. Every operation, every time Leslie sent me into surgery – you were there when I woke up. Even if you could only stay a little while, even in Switzerland, you were always there.”
Bruce sighed, “I was terrified.” There was a rustle of cloth as Bruce leant forward in his seat. “Every time Leslie called me to say she was putting you under.” Tim opened his eyes just enough to see Bruce reach out and stroke Dick’s cheek. “I was so afraid something would happen to you and I wouldn’t be there.”
Dick leant into the touch and an odd thought rose in Tim’s fever-addled mind. They look like lovers. It seemed so right in that moment – the way Bruce cradled Dick’s face in his hand, brushing his thumb over the youth’s cheek, the way Dick’s eyes slipped closed at the touch...
The thought made him breathless and it caught in his throat as a cough. Dick had hold of him in an instant, stroking his back as Bruce hurried to pour him a glass of water.
“It’s going to be ok.” Dick soothed, steadying the glass as Tim reached for it, sipping the cool liquid with care. “Rest little brother. We’ll be here for you when you wake.”
“Thank you,” Tim muttered weakly. Without thinking he reached for Dick’s hand as he laid back down, twining their fingers together.
Bruce leant in and rested a hand on Tim’s hair, soft and gentle as a benediction. He said nothing but his touch spoke volumes.
In all his life, Tim had never felt so loved.
Author: Munnin
Rating: PG
Characters: Dick, Tim, Bruce and Alfred
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit and no offence meant. Everyone is of the age of consent in their country and period of history
Author’s notes: 100% organic. May contain minor flaws and imperfections that beta-treated slash wouldn’t.
Verse: Mended Wings. Previous chapters: Mended Wings, Fly and Fall, Clipped, Corners and Turning Points,and Only Son.
Bingo card: H/C. Wild card. Masterlist here.
Summary: written on
modestroad’s prompt - Dick/Tim, Tim is sick and Dick takes care of himDick looked up from the console as Tim wheeled his bike into the cave. The youth looked pale and drawn as he shook off his helmet.
“Tim? You ok?” He grabbed his sticks and ignored the shooting pains in his leg as he hurried to the young man’s side. “Is something wrong?”
“I just a bit...” Tim took two tottering steps before reaching out to steady himself against one of the cars. “Just a little rundown...I’ll be fin-”
Dick dumped his sticks, lunching forward to break Tim’s fall as the youth crumbled. Tim's skin was clammy and burning beneath his hands. “Timmy! Timmy, look at me!” He dragged open Tim’s drooping eyes. “Tim! Tell me if you came in contact with anything tonight? Gases, poisons, anything out of the usual?”
“I’m fine...just tired...” Tim’s eyes rolled in his head as Dick cradled him. He normally felt weird about Dick touching him but... Dick’s hand was cool against his forehead. “I just need to sleep a little...”
“Not yet little brother. Just stay with me hey?” Dick gently covered Tim’s ear, pressing Tim’s head against his chest. “ALFRED! ALDRED GET DOWN HERE!”
Tim let his head loll, drifting in and out as things happened around him. The floor of the cave was cool and Dick’s arms around him were more comforting that he ever expected.
Alfred smelt like cinnamon and fresh baked cookies as he pressed a thermometer into Tim’s mouth. Tim tried to say something, tried to tell him not to worry but Alfred hushed him. “Be still Master Timothy. You’re safe now.”
There was a sharp pain in his arm and Tim tried to pull away but Dick had hold of his wrist, holding him still. “We just need to check your blood Tim. It’ll be over soon.” Something cool was pressed to the burning spot on his inner arm and the pain faded away.
Dick pulled him close, crooning quietly and soothingly in Tim’s ear but he couldn’t make out the words. It was enough the Dick was holding him like his mother...like his mother never did. A little sob escaped Tim’s throat at the thought that a chance-met stranger loved him more than his own blood.
“Hush baby, I’ve got you.”
“Master Dick,” Alfred was back, latex and chemicals masking the baking smell. “His blood work is clean of pathogens but his white blood cell count is low. At best guess he has a fever from pushed himself too hard.”
Dick kissed Tim’s forehead. “As bad as Bruce.” He shifted slightly and Tim mumbled his displeasure. “Will you help me get him upstairs?”
“Of course, Master Dick.” The cookie smell was back as Alfred lifted him in surprisingly strong arms. “Shall I inform Master Bruce?”
The clack of Dick’s canes on the stone stairs was somehow comforting. “Not just yet. We shouldn’t interrupt his patrol.”
Alfred tsked, shouldering a door open. “He would want to know.”
“I know but...”
Tim felt himself being lowered into...something deep and comfortable but not a bed...the scent of leather and old books and the warm of a fire. The library...his favourite room in the manor.
He felt himself being stripped out of his uniform and dressed into something softer, something that smelt like Dick. He managed to open his eyes a crack, just enough to see that they’d put him in Dick’s PJs.
Dick dragged a blanket over him as he perched on an ottoman at Tim’s side. “Rest now little brother.” He smoothed a hand over Tim’s forehead. “It’s going to be ok.”
Comforted by Dick’s nearness, Tim let himself drift.
***
He woke later to the sound of soft voices and a cool cloth on his brow.
“...you could have called.” Bruce, sounding reproachful. “I would have come back.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your patrol.” Dick sounded wistful and worried. “Besides he’s been asleep the whole time. I don’t even think he woke up when Leslie came by.”
Bruce sighed with the sound of leather as he settled into one of the couches. There was silence for what seemed like a long time and Tim rolled over, pulling the blankets with him.
“I hate seeing him like this. Makes me feel so helpless.” Dick caught the falling flannel and settled it back on Tim’s brow, running a gentle hand over Tim’s cheek. “How did you do it?”
‘Do what?” Bruce asked quietly.
“Watch over me when I got sick. I know you must have. Every operation, every time Leslie sent me into surgery – you were there when I woke up. Even if you could only stay a little while, even in Switzerland, you were always there.”
Bruce sighed, “I was terrified.” There was a rustle of cloth as Bruce leant forward in his seat. “Every time Leslie called me to say she was putting you under.” Tim opened his eyes just enough to see Bruce reach out and stroke Dick’s cheek. “I was so afraid something would happen to you and I wouldn’t be there.”
Dick leant into the touch and an odd thought rose in Tim’s fever-addled mind. They look like lovers. It seemed so right in that moment – the way Bruce cradled Dick’s face in his hand, brushing his thumb over the youth’s cheek, the way Dick’s eyes slipped closed at the touch...
The thought made him breathless and it caught in his throat as a cough. Dick had hold of him in an instant, stroking his back as Bruce hurried to pour him a glass of water.
“It’s going to be ok.” Dick soothed, steadying the glass as Tim reached for it, sipping the cool liquid with care. “Rest little brother. We’ll be here for you when you wake.”
“Thank you,” Tim muttered weakly. Without thinking he reached for Dick’s hand as he laid back down, twining their fingers together.
Bruce leant in and rested a hand on Tim’s hair, soft and gentle as a benediction. He said nothing but his touch spoke volumes.
In all his life, Tim had never felt so loved.
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Date: 2010-08-25 10:56 pm (UTC)I'm not picky on verse. But band boys need rest now, so Mended Wings or any others would be good. And let the police do a good job? :)