Things Go Wrong by Larissa

Another head aches, another heart breaks

I'm so much older than I can take

And my affection, well it comes and goes

I need direction to perfection

Things had been strangely quiet; that should have been the first clue that something was about to go terribly wrong.

In his defense, Dick had been busy in the previous weeks, training Damian in being a normal child – a task the kid had begrudgingly accepted – and keeping peace between Jason and Bruce, after the former Robin was arrested for the third time that week.

("I don't need your help, nor your money. You won't be able to buy your way into my good graces.")

So, no, he hadn't been home when Tim called, in the afternoon. Nor was he there when the hospital called, late in the evening. In fact, it wasn't until almost dawn that Richard Grayson got back to his apartment, stumbling over his carpet and activating the voice machine, before burrowing himself among the pillows in the couch.

"Grayson, get here now. You're three minutes late. I'll not stand such carelessness; I'm not my father!" BEEP

Little D could be so impatient, sometimes. They had to work on that.

"Goldie, I don't know how you got this number or this address, but stop trying to contact me or I'll put a bullet through that thick skull of yours!" BEEP

Well, Jason was as charming as ever. He sounded annoyed, but Dick knew that his threats were about as truthful as the Weasley twins on their birthday (April fool… Don't ask. Tim had got him hooked in the series).

"Dick? It's… Hm… Tim. Tim Drake. Sorry to bother, you're probably busy. Obviously not home. I shouldn't have called. I just need to talk to someone and… Well, nobody is there. Steph won't answer, Cass is in Hong Kong. Con, Bart and Cassie… I don't know. I'm… sorry. For everything. Don't worry about me." BEEP

That was weird. Tim was babbling and he never babbled. Not anymore, at least. And it wasn't like him to leave such a message. Ranting on someone's voice machine usually ended with the boy hacking into such machine to delete his message, as Dick had seen him do countless times when they were younger.

"Hey, Dick, it's Steph. I just got home and there is a strange message from Tim in my cellphone. Do you know if he's alright? Call me." BEEP

His uneasiness only grew as he heard the anxiety in the girl's voice. The man was already reaching for his cell when the next message started playing.

"Mister Grayson, this is Catherine from Gotham Central Hospital. I'm calling to inform you that Tim Drake-Wayne was admitted this evening, after being found unconscious in his kitchen. You were listed as his emergency contact. Call this number as soon as you get this message, please." BEEP

There was a moment of pure terror before Dick ran out of his apartment, dialing the manor's number as fast as he could.

"Stephanie?"

The blonde was startled awake, blinking her eyes in surprise and fear. Feeling his own panic increase, Dick noticed she looked like she had been crying.

"Oh, thank God you're here!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and burrowing her face in his shoulder. He could feel tears dampen the fabric of his shirt. "They won't let me see him!"

The man felt the trembling of her shoulders as if it was his own; he had to calm her down, but his mind was blanked by all the worst case scenarios that were running through his head.

"Tell me what happened."

Stephanie was still crying when she pulled away from Dick, but that fire in her eyes remained, and it gave the other some sort of comfort.

"When you didn't return my call, I went to find Tim. I had to figure out his password, because he wouldn't answer the door." She chuckled humorlessly, whipping her eyes with her sleeve. "He really needs to think of better codes. Or maybe you and I are the only ones who know him well enough to crack them. Cass and Connor might, but I'm not sure."

Dick sighed, letting his lips twist upwards.

"Steph, focus."

"Oh, right. Sorry." She shook her head. "Tim was just lying there, still in the RR costume. In the message, he sounded delirious, but, in that moment, he was so still… I didn't notice the blood until I had gotten part of the uniform off of him; it was so dark." She paused, shifting her blue eyes in a way that told him Stephanie didn't like what she was about to say.

"What is it?" Dick inquired, feeling his mouth go dry.

The blonde hesitated for a second longer.

"A gash. Across his wrist. I think… I think he did it to himself."

He wavered on his feet, as if her words had physically impacted him. The man wanted to yell at her that she was wrong, he wanted to laugh at the improbability of Tim hurting himself.

Except, he couldn't.

Because, if he was being sincere with himself, Dick had to admit there was a definite possibility that she was right.

Tim Drake woke up in a room with white walls and a lot of beeping sounds.

It reminded him of his early years as Robin, when little mistakes meant ending up on Doctor Leslie's clinic with a worried and very loud Dick, a scowling Babs, and the silent figures that were Bruce and Alfred.

They would have been fond memories of a time when things were easier, more black and white, if they weren't associated with failure and pain.

He groaned.

"Yeah, I have to go now, I think he's waking up." Dick muttered into his cellphone, entering Tim's line of sight.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, trying to collect their thoughts before saying anything.

"That was Stephanie." The older man said, gesturing to the gadget still in his hand. "She… She was the one who found you."

Tim nodded once, furrowing his brows in confusion at the tone his brother was using, as if he was confessing something shameful.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys about the clue." The boy uttered, after another moment of silence. Dick's eyes snapped back to him, surprised, but the other didn't seem to notice. "I thought I could handle him, you know? But I was gassed and it must have been some new compound, because I was gone in a second." He exhaled. "I'm guessing this is a public hospital, so they won't be able to identify anything, but I think I was able to get enough of my blood for an analysis. I was in the middle of a hallucination, though, so I can't be sure."

The arms that enveloped him, then, were warm, but not firm. He was crushed against Dick's chest and the intensity of the man's sobs shook his whole – still quite weakened – body.

"Scarecrow?" His brother asked into Tim's hair. "You're telling me it was scarecrow?"

The boy blinked, unable to do much as he felt Dick's arms tighten against him.

"Well, yes. I thought you guys knew that already."

The man chuckled, in relief and hysteria, before pulling away.

"We didn't." He said, blue eyes still wet. "You called me, apologized, and slit your wrist."

Tim frowned at him.

"You thought I –" He started, only to be interrupted by the look in the other's face.

"We haven't talked in months. You called me, and Steph, and Cass. You slit your wrist."

The boy's gaze descended to his left wrist, which was wrapped in white cloth, before trying to move it. The cut had to be deep, because it stung with every motion.

Tim sighed in frustration. That would be hell to explain. It would give the reporters a field day.

"I was in my costume when I was found, wasn't I?" He mumbled without looking up at Dick. "I wouldn't do that to you guys. I was hallucinating and a small moment of clarity was all I had in order to get a sample of the compound before it left my body."

The explanation was simple, but it did nothing to relieve Dick's worry.

What would have happened if Stephanie hadn't found him? Was discovering the new formula worth dying?

He didn't know what to say, because, as good as Tim was with his words, Richard wasn't stupid.

"I wouldn't do that to you guys."

He wouldn't risk their identities. Of course he wouldn't. The symbol of the bat was one of the things the boy had spent his entire life defending.

But what about killing himself? Would he do that?

Honestly? Dick was afraid to ask.

It physically hurt me to write this story.