Prompt: Can you do a fic with Batmom and Tim? Maybe where he’s sick and she’s caring for him, and he feels all guilty for it but of course she doesn’t care.
AN: Thanks to my beta’s for plowing through stuff!
You stared at your poor baby boy, he was wheezing, had a ton of drainage, and he was burning up. Despite this, he was huddled under a pile of blankets and was snuggling with a heating pad. Wiping his hair away from his forehead, you feel for his temperature one more time, hoping it’s gone down. It hasn’t.
“Timmy,” you keep your voice sweet and soft, conscious of his headache. “Can I get you anything?”
“Can I have some coffee please?” His voice is a bit nasally, and terribly pathetic, it almost makes you want to cave. Almost.
“Timmy, you know you can’t have coffee. It’s probably one of the causes of this.”
“How do you figure?”
You smile as you deliver the blow. “Your entire lifestyle consists of drinking large amounts of very strong coffee, and little to no sleep. Honestly, I’m surprised your immune system hasn’t collapsed in on itself before now.”
Oh man, he was playing dirty. He knew that the mommy title pulled on every heart string you have. “Your stomach is upset Timmy; you can’t hold anything down. For now, it’s either ginger ale or water.”
“Ginger Ale, please.”
You nod before going to get it. You give Alfred a quick update while you’re in the kitchen, and he promises to keep the other boys away for now. Tim is officially under quarantine.
You spend the next few days rubbing Tim’s back until he falls asleep, applying Vicks vapor rub, fetching Ginger Ale, and fixing peanut butter crackers. In fact you sleep in one of the plush chairs handy in the room.
After four nights of little to no sleep, Tim is on the mend, but still a little bit needy. You hold him for a few hours one night, since he’s in a cuddly mood. He kind of snuggles into your arms. “I’m sorry about being so needy, mom.”
Because I need something to do tonight and misandryad is talking about it on her blog, here’s some things I did when I first started living on my own. Granted, I was EXTREMELY fortunate not to have to pay A) rent or B) tuition. But I paid bills and food and gas and all that jazz on my own with my paycheck.
My first paycheck? Went to a brand new television. Wrong move. That should have been postponed to about… six or twelve paychecks down the road. Granted, I spent real money on it and eight years later it still works. So, you get what you pay for, unfortunately.
Dipdop gets hit with a massive sluice of holy water by some crazy overprepared person (or an organisation that wants to trap him) and he just silently glares as he takes off his hat and wrings it out like a sponge, then drapes his soaking wet jacket over a handy chair back.