Work Text:
Tim glares at his own reflection in the mirror. Specifically, at the trail of crimson making its way from his nose to his chin. A nose bleed in danger of staining his crisp white shirt with blood right before he is to attend a gala.
Just a nosebleed. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
Tim has just grabbed a tissue and pinched his nose when there is a pounding on the bathroom door.
“Timbo! You alright?”
“Yeah. Got a bit of a nosebleed. Probably from a hit to the face or something.” It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
“Is that all? You’ve been so long, I figured you were dying in there. Too bad you aren’t. I was looking forward to breaking down the door and making Bruce buy a new one.”
Tim rolls his eyes and opens the door to meet up with his dramatic, grinning older brother.
“Jay, you don’t need any sort of reason to go breaking doors.”
“True!” he answers cheerfully.
The nosebleed hasn’t stopped yet. But it’s fine. Tim can just tilt his head back a bit to keep the blood from flowing. Everyone will just assume he is looking down on them, and it only feels a little bit like he is drowning in his own blood.
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
What would Alfred be most upset about? Tim getting blood on his shirt, or Tim not telling anyone? The shirt, definitely the shirt. Because everything is fine and nothing is wrong and Tim can handle this. He’s been handling this his entire life.
Nod at people. Smile slightly. Follow Jason around because hanging out around him keeps him from getting into any fights with the wealthy Gothamites. Well, physical fights. Verbal fights? He still gets into them, but Tim isn’t paying enough attention to know what barbs are being thrown tonight.
Tim is focused on his nosebleed. His nosebleed that won’t stop. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, Tim mentally chants to himself. It’s okay, there is no reason to get worked up over this, no reason to start freaking out. He probably did get hit in the face like he told Jason (lie: that would be too careless of him), or maybe the air is just really dry and his skin is protesting (lie: it rained this morning).
Or maybe I’m bleeding internally and I haven’t taken my factor recently and I’m going to pass out from blood loss and then drown myself because my nose won’t stop bleeding and-
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
But it isn’t. It’s not fine. It’s not fine because Tim sucked in a breath to pass a greeting to someone who just walked by. It’s not fine because that breath in was unsteady. That breath in pulled the blood from his throat into his lungs. It’s not fine because Tim is choking on blood and while he can wave off the others standing around, he isn’t fast enough to keep Jason from seeing the blood now on his sleeve.
Tim turns and moves to the bathroom, sending casual smiles at all those who look towards him. When he gets to the bathroom, he bends over the sink and spits up all the blood he couldn’t swallow. It is thick and metallic and makes his stomach roil with nausea. But he can’t afford to throw up. Because his nose is still bleeding.
He can’t stop the whimper from bubbling out. Not when his eyes are pinched closed in panic and his mind is spinning and he can’t breathe-
“Tim?” That’s Jason. Tim wants to snark at his brother about how he just picked the lock instead of breaking down the door. But he can’t speak. Not with the blood and the fear. “Tim!” Jason rushes forward until Tim holds out one hand.
“It’s just a nosebleed,” he assures him. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. The sharp panic causes his next words to tumble out before he can think them through, they slip by past the turmoil in his head. “Totally normal for a hemophiliac.”
“Totally normal for a what?” Jason demands.
“I have-” Tim stops to gag up more blood. He wishes his nose would just cut it out already. “Hemophilia.”
“No blood clotting,” Jason whispers, paling as his own blood drains from his face. Then he sucks in a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Why in the world has Bruce not locked you up in a nice safe padded room yet?” he grumbles to himself. But Tim’s filter is gone, so he answers anyway. He really shouldn’t have.
“He probably would, if he knew.”
“He- he doesn’t know?” Jason practically screeches. “Does anyone?”
“I don’t want to be treated like some fragile thing. I’m not.” Tim’s glare is probably significantly lessened by the blood dripping off his face. “And yeah, Alfred knows. Leslie too, since it really isn’t something you can keep from a doctor.”
“How-” Jason’s voice is a choked, desperate whine. “How have you managed to be-”
“I’m really good at giving myself stitches,” Tim admits. Then he frowns and gestures at his face. “Which, sadly, isn’t useful in this scenario.”
With that, Jason gets a sudden determined look on his face and strides forward. He grabs a handful of tissues, nudges Tim’s hand aside, and then pinches the end of his brother’s nose.
“Here’s what is going to happen,” Jason declares. “We are going to stay here, ignore the rest of the gala, and you are going to tell me everything I need to know about hemophilia. Especially what I can do to help.”
“But-” Tim begins, not wanting to be treated like he is breakable. And not wanting to be a burden. But he is interrupted by a quick shake of Jason’s head.
“No buts! If you don’t tell me everything…” Jason trails off before smiling down at his little brother. “I will be forced to package you up in bubble wrap for safe keeping.”