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Tim picks up his warm mug and sniffs. An acrid smell coats the normally pleasant scent of coffee.Tim crinkles his nose and tosses a glare at Damian, who looks unbothered and cold as he messes with something on his phone. Damian and him are the only two in the kitchen; everyone else is out working or at a personal commitment, so no one is there to see Damian being a brat (if poisoning someone’s coffee lands them only in the brat category). Not like anyone would do anything even if they were there. It feels like no one corrects or stops Damian on his quest for “revenge,” and Tim is getting really tired of it. He gets that Damian’s adjusting, but isn’t it a bit much to excuse attempted homicides? And poisoning his coffee, really? Out of all Damian’s assassination methods, this is by far the most annoying. There’s a flash of disappointment that curls in his chest. There hadn’t been any attempts in months, until recently. He thought they were doing better. Tim’s aware this is Damian reacting to their most recent argument (yeah, Tim was a jackass when he continued to eat the fish in front of him) but he’s still mad that this is how Damian is retaliating.His vision serves slightly, then rights after a moment. He guesses that’s what he gets for going on zero sleep for the past two to three business days. The headache pulsing behind his eyes stops him from investigating it further. Tim sniffs the coffee pot hoping that maybe–but nope, the smell of something that should not be ingested smacks his face.He has stuff to do and won’t be able to without coffee. Tim stares at the black liquid for a moment longer.Then downs the whole mug.A chair hurriedly scrapes behind him, but Tim decides in for a penny, in for a pound and grabs the whole pot. He turns and starts heading out of the kitchen, the pot touching his lips as he prepares to gulp down the rest (it tastes so gross but Tim has too many things to do. What’s a bit of poison?), when a body slams into him and knocks him into the ground. They hit the floor too close to the cabinets. The pot shatters. A hand pries his mouth open, turns his head to the side, and shoves down.Tim gags and regurgitates the horrifying mix of coffee, poison (which seriously makes it smell that much worse), and the three peanut butter crackers he had twenty minutes ago. He mourns the loss of the peanut butter crackers. His vomit splats onto the floor next to the splinters of glass and all over Damian’s hand. Damian's hand is removed before Tim stops gagging. Damian stares deep into his soul while he’s perched atop his torso like it’s a throne.Tim incredulously stares back.“What the fuck?” Tim chokes. He smacks his lips as the taste of acid with a splash of poison covers his mouth. Yucky.“‘What the fuck.’” Damian mocks in a pitchy, whiny voice (rude, he doesn’t sound like that). Both of his hands—vomit covered one included—rest on Tim’s chest and clutch his shirt like he's either about to fall off a building or toss Tim off of one. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”“Weren’t you the one that put poison in there in the first place?”Damian blinks more. “If you knew it was poisoned, why’d you drink it?”“I’m a busy guy.” Tim shrugs, suddenly so, so tired. Not sleeping isn’t supposed to catch up this fast. Tim still has a business day before it makes it really hard to figure out if the clown in the corner is a hallucination or not. Tim’s eyes feel so dry and his stomach twists with something awful. His head weighs more than he remembers, so he lays it down onto the floor. Damian grunts, eyes wide, which is Damian for distressed. That’s odd. Damian hops off of Tim and starts tugging at his arm.“Get up, Drake.”Tim, honestly, is writing his wedding vows to the floor; it feels so nice to finally lay down, so he pays the demon above him no mind. He’s heard in passing that Satan will try and tempt people with wicked things. Tim’s not sure what those things are, but trying to separate him and his newly wedded floor sounds pretty evil to him. He wishes the demon would leave him alone; the jerking is making his headache pound.“Drake.” Damian hisses, tugging more urgently. Tim grumbles and yanks his arm from Damian’s grip.“Go away.” He groans. He feels heavier than the normal “it’s been days since I’ve last slept” heaviness. Heavenness. Heaven. Satan.Tim giggles. The demon above his head growls. Tim shushes him. His voice sounds really funny. “You know Satan doesn’t like growling.”Damian blinks a few more times before he briskly walks toward the table. He grabs his phone and starts pressing buttons that make the weirdest sound. Doesn’t Damian have a touch screen? Where did the buttons come from? Tim squints at Damian, suspicious. Clearly there is some kind of element of witchcraft going on here. What if Damian is a wizard.“You’re a Potter, Harry.” Tim mumbles at Damian’s feet. Damian looks at Tim as if he’s grown two heads. Maybe he has.“Dick? Drake is in need of assistance and I do not know what to do.”Tim groggily rolls over, laying his face onto the cool tile. Oh, that feels nice. Is his face heating up? Or maybe it’s his brain. Tim thinks a lot, so it makes sense that his brain is overheating. Cool water sounds really nice right now, but he probably shouldn’t drink water. That might fry his circuits and then he’ll die. He doesn’t want to die.Tim sniffs, and suddenly there are tears in his eyes. He really doesn’t want to die.Damian’s eyes catch onto Tim again, eyes locking onto the tears. He makes a face that closely resembles someone who was handed a baby that could potentially be a bomb. Tim starts giggling again. Damain would rather eat a brick than deal with emotions.“Dick, Drake is behaving abnormally. Give me assistance immediately or prepare to find every item of your clothing torn and used as cat litter for Alfred.”Tim gasps. “Oh no you didn’t, bitch.”“What did you just call me?” Damian absolutely seethes, but for some reason doesn’t toss a knife at his face. Huh.There’s someone cackling over the phone.“Whoever is laughing is also a bitch!” Tim raises his voice so the bystander gets the full brunt of his fury, upset at everything for some reason. Maybe it’s because his chest hurts. Why is his chest hurting? “Unless it’s Dick though, because he’s exempt.”Someone continues talking on the device (where are the buttons?) in a tone that insinuates some kind of offense. Good. Feel Tim’s wrath.“No, wait, I take that back.” Tim quickly cuts back in before Damian says anything. The room lazily spins. It’s like he’s being rocked. Which would be nice if he didn’t feel like his guts are about to be out of their usual habitat. “He said I was crazy. Rights revoked, bitch.” Tim repeats for good measure. When attacking an attacking, do it lots.Tim groggily blinks. That most certainly is not a coherent thought. Coherent. Co-parenting. He technically co-parented with Bruce. Is Tim a father? Is Tim divorced from Bruce?Tim gazes at the ceiling as Damian comes over to sit Tim up. “No.” He whispers. “I’m too young to be a dad.”“What in the world are you going on about?”Tim makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat and pleadingly looks at Damian for help. Tim can’t remember, but he wouldn’t be surprised if splitting was rough. He hopes he has at least most of his assets. Bruce must’ve won the custody battle considering everyone comes to the manor rather than the Drake estate. Tim’s okay with that though. Raising kids is hard. “I don’t wanna get divorced again, either.”Tim blinks. Isn’t Bruce mega old? Or maybe Tim is mega old. Tim’s always been an adult even when he was a kid.Tim can actually hear Dick’s voice now from where it’s pressed to Damian’s ear. “Uh, is Tim okay?”Tim gasps as the conclusion comes to him. “I’m not widowed! Bruce is my dad. That’d be way too wild.”“Tim has been poisoned!” Damian shouts, then pauses and stares at Tim. He looks so lost. Tim sympathizes, he’s a little lost too. “I do not know what to do, Tim has been poisoned.”“Oh shit,” Dick says. He sounds like he’s speaking through three layers of clothing. Maybe it’s chilly outside; It is late Octember.“Oh my gosh, has Dick been kidnapped?” Tim tries to hurriedly sit up. That would explain why it’s so hard to hear him. It’s also hard to hear himself. Maybe he’s the one kidnapped. Tim whines when he realizes he’s the one in trouble. “I was kidnapped last week, it’s not my turn yet.”Tim’s eyes and body take this moment to become heavier than the whole manor as Damian, Dick, and Jason yell something. His arms that were previously propping him up fold like a sad fold-up table. Ooh, Jason’s there? Wait, rude, he’s not planning for a nap for another two business days. The last thing Tim feels is small hands under his shoulders. [Scene Break] Tim jerks upright with a startled gasp. His hand sinks into the plush mattress with a squeak as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He feels like he played a game of soccer with an eighteen-wheeler going 90; so, absolute shit. His throat is dry and burns when he swallows.“Sleeping beauty’s awake!” Jason calls out from his side. He’s slouched in a chair, a book in hand. Damian rushes in moments after. After he sees Tim sitting up, he straightens and walks in briskly with a neutral face.“Drake.” He greets stiffly.“Damian?” Tim furrows his brows.“You are an absolute imbecile. Next time you willingly drink poison, I’ll let you choke on your vomit.”Tim snorts, “Thanks, I love you too.”The affronted exaggerated gag and scowl is worth seeing Damian’s eyes light up in relief.“Next time you’re mad, please do something a little less life threatening.” Tim pleads. He’s pretty sure that’s somewhat reasonable.“You weren’t supposed to actually consume it.” Damian folds his arms and tucks his head, shoulders tense. “You were supposed to be annoyed and make another pot. If I wanted harm to befall someone, I wouldn’t pick a poison that has a smell.”“Oh.” Tim says softly. Damian is standing close enough, so Tim ruffles his hair. Damian swats his hand away. “Alright. That’s fair, but also please don’t use poison again.”Jason pipes up as he places his book down, unfolding his legs and leaning forward to give Tim his full attention. “Now that you guys made up. Tim? You were kidnapped again? You can call us when there’s an emergency.” Tim inhales to state his case before– “Yes, kidnapping counts as an emergency.” And the air rushes out in a sigh. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t count (he can obviously handle it), but he doesn’t want to fight Jason on it. “None of us had any clue, baby bird. You can talk to us when things happen. When you call for us, we will come. You don’t have to just rely on yourself.” There’s such soft compassion in his eyes that Tim sympathizes with Damian from earlier. He’s allergic to kindness, okay? And he didn’t want to bother them.Tim curls in on himself. “I took care of it. They only had me for an hour or two.”Jason scrunches his face. The brief exhale indicates he’s going to drop it, but the eyes scanning him for injuries tell Tim that he’s not cleared yet.Jason grunts when he leans back into the chair. “Alrighty, nerds, correction is in order. Damian, you can’t poison people. Period. We’ve talked about this man. Communicate when you’re mad. I know it’s a whole lot different than how you’ve been raised, but you can’t poison people because you’re mad at them. Tim, it was an asshole move to continue to eat fish when Damian respectfully asked you to leave, but also narrate what the fish's last possible thoughts were. Again, we communicate now. Talk to Damian about why you don’t want to move next time.”(Okay, so maybe a big jackass.)“The smelly, stinky sparring equipment needs cleaning, so put on an apron and get to work.”Tim and Damian share a look, thinking the same thing. Tim leaps up and throws his bedding at Jason while Damian tosses two books at his face.Jason cries out, “The books!” He leans to catch them but halfway gets tangled in the sheets.Tim and Damian sprint out as Jason’s indignant shouts ring out behind them. (Tim gravely regrets it moments later when he vomits on the carpet. Damian awkwardly pats his back while Jason declares bedrest is also part of his punishment. He flips him off and mourns the work he could have done. He’s thankful for it when bedrest includes cuddles with his book-nerd of a brother and his favorite small resident recluse.)