This story is based on Tim's Robin solo series issues 154-155. My title is a quote from the story. I know back issues of comics aren't always easy to come by, so here's a summary, which is slightly long but necessary. If you've read it, you can skip the next paragraph:

Tim is going after some kidnappers targeting children from rich families when he is hindered by a kid calling himself Dodge. The kid has a teleportation belt and an obsession with becoming a superhero, preferably with Robin training him, and he isn't happy when Tim refuses. Having to come up with a new plan to stop the kidnappings, Tim convinces Bruce to do a magazine interview with him about Tim's adoption so Tim can set himself up as bait for the kidnappers. It works; he gets kidnapped. He also gets beat up briefly before escaping to come back as Robin. He rescues the other kids; unfortunately, Dodge interferes again, and the kidnappers end up shooting and wounding one of the kids and Tim accidently shorts out Dodge's teleportation belt which causes Dodge to go into a coma. The story ends with Tim having succeeded in his mission, but being upset about the collateral damage.

I wanted to expand on this story because it has some great caringDad!Bruce moments, and also because there were some practical details about the plot (like how Tim explains his own rescue to the police and meets back up with Bruce) that were not explained.

Batman and associated characters belong to DC. I own nothing but I like borrowing them.

Being squished between two shipping containers had not improved Tim's currently dim outlook on life. He had spent a miserable hour with nothing to do but brood and second guess his actions for the day and with plenty of reasons to do both. Adding to his misery were a number of aches and pains from where he had been roughed up earlier in the night, particularly an ache in his previously injured left shoulder and a sharp pain from a couple of powerful punches to the lower left side of his back and abdomen.

Guilt stabbed at him. He had managed to get at least two kids seriously injured, one of whom might not recover at all. If only he'd taken time and been more understanding with Dodge, if only he'd been more thorough and respectful when explaining why training him would be a bad idea… well, he could think of a lot of "if only's" for tonight's events. He knew why he'd been short with Dodge—the kid always caught him at a bad time, like when Tim had been teaming up with the son of his father's murderer to save Gotham* and again when he had been in the middle of stopping a kidnapping. Both times he had been on edge even before the distraction. It wasn't a good excuse, and he was ashamed of making it to himself, but it was the truth.

Tim just wished the police and paramedics would hurry up and find where he was hiding. He needed to lend plausibility to his story about being separated from the rest of the group and he definitely couldn't do that if he was found close enough to the other kids to have heard the police come in. He was going with the explanation that a lucky break had allowed him to run away from the kidnappers and on the way out he'd seen Robin, who told him to get some distance between the warehouse and himself and stay hidden until help came. This story would explain why he had been separated from the other kids, why he hadn't come out yet, and why he wasn't as far away from the docks as he should have been if he'd just kept running. He'd buried his costume under a pile of bricks and debris next to him; he could pick it up later and he'd rigged it to harmlessly self-destruct if anyone else tampered with it.

The police were searching for him, right? He'd been kidnapped in public. That would have made the news, wouldn't it? He would be really embarrassed if, after convincing a publicity-shy-if-it-involved-his-sons-Bruce to do that article together, it had all been for nothing and he was now playing a very lonely one-man game of hide and seek.

Finally he heard someone call, "Timothy Drake-Wayne! This is the police. You're safe, you can come out now."

He hesitated for a moment, leaning to peer cautiously out of his hiding place like they would expect scared teen to do. Thankfully, he was saved from continuing the charade when an officer saw his face and came running.

Crouching down to his level, she said. "Are you Timothy Drake-Wayne?" He nodded. "Are you alright?" Concern showed on her dark, care lined face. Tim knew her from his Robin work as Sergeant Blair, a dependable officer with two teenagers of her own. She offered him a hand.

"I'm ok." he said, making his voice a bit shaky to keep up the traumatized teen act. He took her hand and let her pull him out of his uncomfortable position.

Unfortunately, standing up caused the pain in his side to increase drastically. He grunted, fighting the urge to double over, and tried brace himself with his left arm. Unfortunately that was also painful, and he grimaced briefly.

He was hoping that Sergeant Blair might not notice these signs of pain, but she was too good a cop and/or mom for that. "Where are you hurt, Timothy? Can you walk?" He was standing now, but she kept her hand on his arm to support him.

Tim sighted inwardly. He wanted to avoid time-consuming medical checks, but he knew trying to hide injuries from anyone in authority just made them suspicious and caused more trouble in the end. Anyway, he'd mostly been hurt tonight while still Tim Drake so it wasn't like he was covering for Robin injuries.

"They hit me a few times and kinda dragged me by the arm I hurt playing tennis. It's not bad though. I'll be okay."

She didn't look very reassured. "Ok, let's go to the paramedics and have them look you over."

Having failed in his attempt at deflection, Tim meekly let her guide him over to the ambulance. She called her unit on the way to let them know he had been found safe but was possibly injured. Tim hoped Bruce and Alfred weren't listening in on the last part; his mistakes that night had earned him enough lectures without adding getting himself hurt to the list.

The paramedic who examined him breezed through the usual questions about name, age, where it hurt, etc. The usual pulse, vision, and blood pressure checks went by without incident. Tim downplayed the pain he was in as much as possible. He was beginning to hope that he might avoid the hospital after all when the paramedic lifted his shirt to take a look at his side and found a nasty looking bruise. She made a vague concerned noise and podded at the mark; Tim gasped before he could stop himself.

She lowered his shirt and said. "Tim, I know you said you're fine, but I'm concerned that you could have some internal damage from the hits you took. I think you should have a doctor look you over before you go home. We already called your father and he gave us permission to treat you."

Yeah, it really didn't look like he was going home early this time. Of course Bruce had given them permission—to do otherwise would possibly end up involving social services. Tim really had no choice but to give his consent as well.

"Ok." he said, careful to keep the frustration out of his voice. The paramedic got him to lay down on the gurney, strapped him in and bundled him into the ambulance. At least it would be a short ride, only about three minutes (oh, the wonders of random Robin knowledge) for them to fuss over him, hooking up monitors and asking all sort of questions about his medical history that he answered patiently and untruthfully.

The fussing only continued when they got to the hospital. He endured more questioning, poking, prodding, and sample collection. They had to get pictures of every bruise or scrape for forensics as they were asking him exactly what happened and where and how much it hurt. He managed to deflect attention away from his shoulder with some stellar acting and advanced pain control techniques; deeper investigation into that injury would lead to a lot of suspicious questions and a lot of fake paperwork in response. However, he didn't have any luck getting them to dismiss the bruise on his side; in fact, they had just called another doctor to come in and take a look at it.

Tim heard his curtains being pulled and turned his attention away from some lame show he was using distract himself from his guilt and the pain in his side to give an unenthusiastic smile to the newcomer, an older, pleasant-looking doctor with smile lines crinkling the dark skin of his face. Tim's eyes widened when Bruce stepped in seconds afterwards and quickly strode over to Tim's side, bending down so they were at the same level. He rested his hand on Tim's good shoulder and squeezed slightly.

"Tim, thank God you're safe. I was so worried. Are you hurt?" Tim was impressed with how well Bruce was selling the whole "concerned Dad" thing. It was in his words, body language, facial expression, right down to the worry lines around his eyes. Tim would have to up his acting game to keep up.

"Hi, dad." He hoped that wasn't being too presumptuous, but any other term wouldn't work in his current situation. Something subtle changed in Bruce's expression, but Tim couldn't quite read it. "I'm okay. They were kinda rough with me and the paramedics thought I should get checked out. I'm just hoping I can go home soon." Tim hoped the slightly pathetic tone of his last statement would win him some sympathy from the new doctor.

The doctor stepped closer and shook hands with them. "Hi, I'm Dr. Rajesh Mukunda, the nephrologist (kidney doctor, Tim translated in his head). I'll try to get you back home as soon as possible, but some of your lab results are abnormal; there's blood in your urine and we need to figure out why. Mary I take a look at your injury?"

Tim felt Bruce's hand squeeze more tightly on his shoulder while the doctor examined his bruised side. There really wasn't much point lying anymore about the pain, since he couldn't deny test results. Tim admitted that it hurt considerably when the doctor pushed on the area where he had been punched.

Dr. Mukunda pulled Tim's blankets back up and said "I'm going to order a C.T. scan for possible kidney injury. I can send you right over there if you're up to it."

"Sure." said Tim. At least it wasn't another blood draw. Bruce nodded and started signing paperwork as Tim was wheeled away.

Of course the scan had involved an IV, since it seemed impossible for Tim to have any luck that day. At least it had been quick; 15 minutes and he was back in his room. Bruce was waiting there still. Tim felt guilty that he was causing him to miss patrol. Bruce tended to get grouchy and impatient when social obligations kept him from patrolling, though he was good at hiding it from everyone except those who knew him best. Right now Tim himself couldn't detect any impatience under his veneer of worried father.

Tim wanted desperately to be alone with his troubles but tried to keep his expression neutral; figuring that if he looked too miserable the doctors and nurses would bombard him with more questions and tests. Bruce kept looking at him like he wanted to say something. Tim had no doubt Bruce had a lot to criticize about Tim's performance today, but he couldn't start here and he was awful at small talk, so he just asked if Tim wanted any more water, then lapsed into silence.

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer till Dr. Mukunda came back. He grabbed a chair and sat beside Tim's bed wearing a serious expression that probably meant Tim's luck hadn't turned around yet.

"Timothy, I just looked at your scans, and I'm afraid you have a grade two laceration on your kidney. Thankfully, it's relatively small and nothing else seems to be damaged, but we need to talk about your treatment plan."

Tim was a bit taken aback by his diagnosis, though it explained the pain he was in. Still, he could have sworn he'd received worse punches and gone on to pull all-nighters with a full day of school afterwards. Apparently he hadn't been giving Kevlar enough credit.

The doctor continued. "The damage isn't bad enough for surgery- most of the time this kind of injury resolves itself in three to five days as long as you don't put undue stress on yourself." Tim felt that his entire lifestyle for years could be summarized with the words "undue stress" so he hoped his body would just cope.

"What do you recommend, doctor?" Bruce asked.

"Your son needs to stay in bed, strict bed-rest, for at least 48 hours. I'll write the order for him to be admitted for observation."

"No!" Tim cried out before he could stop himself. The last thing he needed to end this horrible day was to spend the rest of it, plus tomorrow as well, in the hospital. He threw a pleading look at Bruce before continuing, "Please, I just really want to go home. I can stay in bed at home and I'll be more comfortable."

Dr. Mukunda looked sympathetic, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we need to check your vitals regularly and continue to run tests to make sure the bleeding doesn't get worse."

Tim looked at Bruce again, really hoping for some support. He knew that forcefully protesting the doctor's plan wouldn't get him anywhere and would seem whiny, but maybe another approach would work. Besides, he didn't care at this point if he seemed stubborn or childish, he wanted to be home. He knew Bruce would want details about the failed mission and he didn't want to put it off for 48 hours.

Bruce patted Tim's hand and smiled at the doctor, a smile he reserved for saying no to someone's business proposal. His voice was polite but firm. "Doctor, I believe I can buy the necessary medical equipment and hire a nurse so I can take my son home where he can feel safe again. Just give me a list of what I need."

Doctor Mukunda looked doubtful. "It wouldn't be our usual procedure, but I could bring up your request with the Medical Director."

"I'd like to discuss it with him personally, if you don't mind." Tim gave Bruce a grateful look as he got up. Generally, if Bruce was determined to make something happen, it would happen. There were definite perks to having a famous, physically imposing billionaire as his guardian.

Tim's prediction was correct- within an hour he was discharged with a prescription for pain-killers and an antibiotic plus a warning to stay in bed for the next few days while a nurse checked in on him (or they forged paperwork saying that one had). Tim sighed with relief as he saw Alfred pulling the car up to where he sat in a wheelchair by the curb. He hoped Alfred hadn't been worried. The butler looked as unflappable as ever, but he took a great deal of care in helping Tim out of the wheelchair and making him comfortable in the car.

"Are you alright, Master Timothy?" Alfred asked as he began to drive them back to the manor.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Tim knew he sounded tired but he couldn't help himself. It had been a long day, and he'd been asked that question a lot.

"He has a small laceration on his kidney." Bruce volunteered. Tim saw Alfred grip the steering wheel more tightly. "He has to stay in bed for the next two days under medical supervision. The doctor wanted to admit him but I convinced him we could watch for any worsening symptoms at home. I have a list of what they said to look for."

"I shall certainly make sure that the young master makes a full recovery." Alfred said.

Great, Tim thought. He had hoped that Bruce would allow him to skirt around the doctor's instructions, but it appeared he would be backing up the doctor and enlisting Alfred as enforcement. There was no way he was getting out of his room for the next few days. Then again, he supposed he deserved to be punished after his failures today.

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Tim was in his room curled up on his windowsill where Bruce had left him for the evening. He had expected a lecture from Bruce about what "bed rest" meant when he came in, but all he got was a raised eyebrow. Come to think of it, Bruce had been very easy on him all evening. He'd listened to Tim's account of the kidnapping and rescue without offering any criticism of his disastrous actions. Bruce had even told Tim several times that his actions weren't to blame, that he had done well, that he needed to let it go. Tim had been spot on in pointing out that Bruce himself would never let a failure like that go, but thinking back on it he began to wish he had responded a little differently. Tim hoped he hadn't come across as just shutting Bruce down. It was almost like Bruce was reaching out tonight in his own awkward way, to the extent that Tim was beginning to wonder if the concerned parent act from earlier really had been just an act.

He should probably get off the windowsill. Bruce might excuse him for getting out of bed, but Alfred would never be so lenient; he would be here any moment with Tim's dinner, cooked to perfection as usual. Tim wasn't really hungry, but he appreciated the thought.

An idea began to push past his guilt-tinged brooding; it struck him how grateful he for his makeshift family's support today, from Alfred's cooking and medical fussing, Dick's dozens of texts and phone calls, and Bruce's quiet attempts at reassurance. He may have been lying when he said he was just fine, but he might have begun to feel he wasn't totally alone.

*Robin 153-good issue

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