Strays - Part 9
Summary: Batman is very happy with the way that Robin has picked up his training, his methods and his habits. Generally. But his protege showing up at the Batcave with two small children, Tim and Jason, clinging to him proves he's adopted one trait Batman would have rather he hadn't. It seems the batfamily has an incurable penchant for picking up strays, and Tim and Jason are only the beginning.
Fandom: DCU/YJ
Characters/Pairing: The Batfamily
Genre: Gen/Fluff/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Originally for this prompt from the yj-anon-meme, de-anoned and available on this comm with a lot of other fun art and fic by some really amazing people.
Side Stories: Tradition
Main Storyline: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
“I can’t believe I had to find out about this from the Paparazzi,” Dr. Leslie Thompkins hissed the moment the door closed behind her.
“Things have been a bit hectic,” Bruce attempted to appease her. “If you’ve heard the story, you know -”
Leslie laughed harshly as she dropped her clipboard onto one of the room’s many counters with a loud clatter. “If you think I believe a word of that drivel, you have another - ”
“You know I can’t - ”
“I don’t care what the true story is. I doubt I’ll ever get the full story out of you, Bruce, but don’t think for a moment you can pull the wool over my eyes,” she snapped as she pulled off her latex medical gloves and tossed them neatly in a trash bin.
“This isn’t about me, Leslie,” Bruce said, and glanced meaningfully at the view through the small one-way glass window in the door.
The doctor followed his gaze and frowned at the sight of the three boys sitting quietly in a row on the exam table in the other room. “Of course,” she said, “but how long will it be until you make it about you? How long until they follow you on your suicidal crusade?”
“They won’t,” Bruce said firmly.
“You say that now,” Leslie said, “but in a few years you’ll be singing a different tune.”
“What, so you think I should leave Jason to the system? Or put him back on the streets?”
“If the system was better, you wouldn’t be so afraid of doing that. You’re happy treating the symptoms, but the disease remains untreated,” Leslie pointed out.
“I’m doing what I can, I can’t fix Gotham’s infrastructure overnight,” Bruce said.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said coolly.
“I don’t sleep at night,” Bruce said meaningfully. “You know that, Leslie. But that is a discussion for another time, don’t you think?”
The doctor glanced once more through the window, into the other room. The boys had already grown tired of sitting still. Dick was walking on his hands on the floor in front of the two smaller boys while Jason threw pilfered tongue depressors at the acrobat. Tim watched the show from Jason’s side, with his hands pressed over his mouth to hide his obvious smile and his eyes crinkled in amusement.
Dr. Thompkins sighed and picked up her clipboard. “For starters they’re all caught up on their immunizations now, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about for a few years.”
Getting Jason to sit still for that had been an adventure and a half. Leslie had to call in three nurses to hold the boy down and but that just made the situation worse. Jason only agreed to endure the needle when Leslie quietly pointed out that he needed to brave and set a good example for Tim.
It probably helped that Dick also sat through his ten year booster shots and flu vaccine fairly well despite his obvious discomfort. Jason’s pride wouldn’t let him show how scared he was in the face of Dick’s courage.
Tim, on the other hand, had been more confused by the fact that Jason and Dick insisted on sitting next to him while he got his flu shot (he was already up to date on his immunizations) than upset by the needle.
“It’s a shot! Aren’t you scared?” Dick had asked, wide-eyed.
“Why? Being scared doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t change anything either. I’m not a baby,” Tim had explained seriously.
“Yes, you are,” Jason had said with a frown. “Don’t you want me to kiss it for you?”
“Kiss it? Why?” Tim had asked in obvious confusion.
“My mom always kissed my shots and booboos when she was around,” Jason had explained. “It makes everything better.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tim had said.
“It isn’t supposed to, Babybird,” Dick had said sadly. “It’s a feel-y thing, not a think-y thing.”
Tim’s face scrunched adorably as he tried to make sense of what Dick was telling him, but before he could ask any more questions Jason and Dick were both peppering him with kisses on his upper arm and on the crease of his elbow where Leslie has taken blood…
Leslie cleared her thought pointedly, returning Bruce to the present with a start. “Aside from that, Jason’s height is in an acceptable percentile for his age, but he’s underweight for his height indicating recent substandard nourishment. That makes sense if he really has been on the street for a while.” She pulled a prescription pad out of her lab coat and began scribbling on it as she spoke. “I am…prescribing a daily regimen of…no less than three Alfred-made meals a day. I also want you to pick up a children’s multivitamin supplement. We’re still waiting for the blood work to go through, in case I’ve missed anything, but that should suffice for the moment.” She ripped the page from the pad and stuffed it into Bruce’s hand.
“You’re prescribing Alfred?” Bruce asked with a chuckle.
“That man is a force of nature,” Leslie said, and offered him a small smile. “I trust him with those boys’ stomachs. Jason has probably already regained a pound or so in the few days you’ve had him. He’ll be up to a healthy weight in no time. However, considering his previous circumstance, his weight may be the least of your problems.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are some indications in Jason’s behavior that he has suffered from at least a few incidents of abuse. Unfortunately, while I do deal with cases like his on a daily basis, I’m usually more concerned with keeping them alive than diagnosing them. I would suggest that you consider taking him to a specialist.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Bruce said bluntly.
“I know how you feel about psychologists, Bruce, but it helped Dick, didn’t it? Despite all of your misgivings?”
He glowered darkly at her, but she just smiled at him.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the boy,” she said soothingly, like he was a small child throwing a tantrum. “But I think it could help him. It would help you too, if you’d just give it a chance.”
“However, that is ultimately your decision. But I do hope you’ll make the right one.” Leslie glanced back down at her clipboard and her expression sobered. “Now, the other boy, Tim. His situation is much more serious. He is far too short for his age group, and his weight is barely appropriate for his height. The weight could be attributed to his time on the streets, but depressed height for age is usually considered a manifestation of the cumulative effects of chronic malnutrition. This is something I would expect to see in one of my usual patients, Bruce, not in the son of one of Gotham’s wealthier families.”
“You read his medical files,” Bruce said, working to keep his voice level.
Dr. Thompkins pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Yes. Your illegally begotten files. There are protocols for acquiring these thing for a reason, you know. To protect people.”
“It was either this or nothing, Doctor,” Bruce said.
“So, your ‘dear friends’ haven’t been very accommodating?” Leslie asked.
“We only heard from them yesterday,” Bruce said, letting the Doctor draw her own conclusions.
She frowned. “Their son has been missing for over a month now.”
“Yes. Their priorities seem quite clear,” Bruce said with a tight smile. “They’re flying in late tomorrow evening.”
She grimaced, but let the topic go as she focused back on the medical files in front of her. “It says here that Janet Drake’s obstetrician suspected that she suffered from both Antenatal and Postnatal depression, but the diagnosis was never followed up on.”
“She and her husband went on a six month vacation to South Africa less than a month after Tim was born,” he added in helpfully.
“Stop interrupting, Bruce,” Doctor Thompkins snapped. “The boy was diagnosed with Failure to Thrive or FTT at three weeks of age, but it’s obvious that while Tim did not die from it, not enough was done about the matter. If he was truly recovered he would be much closer to an appropriate height for his age group. He’s been checked in the past for various conditions and infections, but I’m double-checking that now.”
“You think it might be a medical issue?” Bruce said incredulously. As far as he was concerned, the source of Tim’s FTT was obvious.
“Failure to Thrive is often a manifestation of many complex factors. It’s not my job to make assumptions; it’s my job to treat my patient,” she said sharply. “That said, I suspect that severe emotional neglect, specifically inadequate nurturance is a key ingredient. However, quantifying the psychological damage of a failing to form secure attachments in infancy is difficult even for experts.”
“What can we do for him?” he asked.
“If you’re returning him to his parents, not much,” Leslie said archly.
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Do you honestly think I could get custody over him?” Bruce returned.
“I’ve seen this played out hundreds of times before in far more violent arenas.” She looked him in the eye as she spoke. “You wouldn’t have a chance in hell.”
“Well, then what do think I can do, exactly? You’re the one who’s always telling me to obey the law,” Bruce pointed out.
“And you’re the one who never listens.” She shook her head knowingly. “I know you, Bruce, you have a plan.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Bruce said. “But tell me what I can do for him regardless. Hypothetically speaking.”
Leslie snorted. “Fine. Have it your way. Monitor his diet carefully and keep a record of what and how much he eats. Make sure you note any changes in his appetite. I’ll need you to bring him in every other week to evaluate his progress. Hypothetically speaking, you should also bring Jason and Dick in at the same time even though it’s medically unnecessary. It should make them all feel better.”
“That’s all?” Bruce asked.
“Well, we’ll have to wait for the tests to come back to see if we can do more medically,” she said as she started scribbling on her pad again. “However, regardless of what you decide to do with Jason, you need to bring Tim to a psychologist. At the very least to help him work through the trauma from the accident. That at least wasn’t fabricated, I trust. Beyond that, you need to ensure that he is provided with a stable environment in which he feels safe.”
He nodded seriously as he began making plans in his head. “I’ll do my best.”
Leslie smiled fondly at him as she handed him the slip of paper. “Well, at the very least you seem to have gotten a head start on that last one.”
“You think so?” he asked in surprise, not quite believing his ears.
“You’re doing a good job, Bruce,” the doctor said firmly.
He knew by the look in her eyes that she knew he didn’t believe her.
She glanced back into the office where the kids again were now making balloons out of her latex gloves before looking back at him bemusedly. “You don’t believe me. Well, at the very least you take my prescriptions seriously.”
“You have another?” Bruce asked, cocking his head to the side as he reexamined the two prescription slips in his hands.
“Yes, I do, Mister Wayne,” Leslie said. “Take those boys out for ice-cream for me. Doctor’s orders.”
Bruce blinked and then chuckled. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”
Part 10
Fandom: DCU/YJ
Characters/Pairing: The Batfamily
Genre: Gen/Fluff/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Originally for this prompt from the yj-anon-meme, de-anoned and available on this comm with a lot of other fun art and fic by some really amazing people.
Side Stories: Tradition
Main Storyline: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
“I can’t believe I had to find out about this from the Paparazzi,” Dr. Leslie Thompkins hissed the moment the door closed behind her.
“Things have been a bit hectic,” Bruce attempted to appease her. “If you’ve heard the story, you know -”
Leslie laughed harshly as she dropped her clipboard onto one of the room’s many counters with a loud clatter. “If you think I believe a word of that drivel, you have another - ”
“You know I can’t - ”
“I don’t care what the true story is. I doubt I’ll ever get the full story out of you, Bruce, but don’t think for a moment you can pull the wool over my eyes,” she snapped as she pulled off her latex medical gloves and tossed them neatly in a trash bin.
“This isn’t about me, Leslie,” Bruce said, and glanced meaningfully at the view through the small one-way glass window in the door.
The doctor followed his gaze and frowned at the sight of the three boys sitting quietly in a row on the exam table in the other room. “Of course,” she said, “but how long will it be until you make it about you? How long until they follow you on your suicidal crusade?”
“They won’t,” Bruce said firmly.
“You say that now,” Leslie said, “but in a few years you’ll be singing a different tune.”
“What, so you think I should leave Jason to the system? Or put him back on the streets?”
“If the system was better, you wouldn’t be so afraid of doing that. You’re happy treating the symptoms, but the disease remains untreated,” Leslie pointed out.
“I’m doing what I can, I can’t fix Gotham’s infrastructure overnight,” Bruce said.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said coolly.
“I don’t sleep at night,” Bruce said meaningfully. “You know that, Leslie. But that is a discussion for another time, don’t you think?”
The doctor glanced once more through the window, into the other room. The boys had already grown tired of sitting still. Dick was walking on his hands on the floor in front of the two smaller boys while Jason threw pilfered tongue depressors at the acrobat. Tim watched the show from Jason’s side, with his hands pressed over his mouth to hide his obvious smile and his eyes crinkled in amusement.
Dr. Thompkins sighed and picked up her clipboard. “For starters they’re all caught up on their immunizations now, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about for a few years.”
Getting Jason to sit still for that had been an adventure and a half. Leslie had to call in three nurses to hold the boy down and but that just made the situation worse. Jason only agreed to endure the needle when Leslie quietly pointed out that he needed to brave and set a good example for Tim.
It probably helped that Dick also sat through his ten year booster shots and flu vaccine fairly well despite his obvious discomfort. Jason’s pride wouldn’t let him show how scared he was in the face of Dick’s courage.
Tim, on the other hand, had been more confused by the fact that Jason and Dick insisted on sitting next to him while he got his flu shot (he was already up to date on his immunizations) than upset by the needle.
“It’s a shot! Aren’t you scared?” Dick had asked, wide-eyed.
“Why? Being scared doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t change anything either. I’m not a baby,” Tim had explained seriously.
“Yes, you are,” Jason had said with a frown. “Don’t you want me to kiss it for you?”
“Kiss it? Why?” Tim had asked in obvious confusion.
“My mom always kissed my shots and booboos when she was around,” Jason had explained. “It makes everything better.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tim had said.
“It isn’t supposed to, Babybird,” Dick had said sadly. “It’s a feel-y thing, not a think-y thing.”
Tim’s face scrunched adorably as he tried to make sense of what Dick was telling him, but before he could ask any more questions Jason and Dick were both peppering him with kisses on his upper arm and on the crease of his elbow where Leslie has taken blood…
Leslie cleared her thought pointedly, returning Bruce to the present with a start. “Aside from that, Jason’s height is in an acceptable percentile for his age, but he’s underweight for his height indicating recent substandard nourishment. That makes sense if he really has been on the street for a while.” She pulled a prescription pad out of her lab coat and began scribbling on it as she spoke. “I am…prescribing a daily regimen of…no less than three Alfred-made meals a day. I also want you to pick up a children’s multivitamin supplement. We’re still waiting for the blood work to go through, in case I’ve missed anything, but that should suffice for the moment.” She ripped the page from the pad and stuffed it into Bruce’s hand.
“You’re prescribing Alfred?” Bruce asked with a chuckle.
“That man is a force of nature,” Leslie said, and offered him a small smile. “I trust him with those boys’ stomachs. Jason has probably already regained a pound or so in the few days you’ve had him. He’ll be up to a healthy weight in no time. However, considering his previous circumstance, his weight may be the least of your problems.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are some indications in Jason’s behavior that he has suffered from at least a few incidents of abuse. Unfortunately, while I do deal with cases like his on a daily basis, I’m usually more concerned with keeping them alive than diagnosing them. I would suggest that you consider taking him to a specialist.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Bruce said bluntly.
“I know how you feel about psychologists, Bruce, but it helped Dick, didn’t it? Despite all of your misgivings?”
He glowered darkly at her, but she just smiled at him.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the boy,” she said soothingly, like he was a small child throwing a tantrum. “But I think it could help him. It would help you too, if you’d just give it a chance.”
“However, that is ultimately your decision. But I do hope you’ll make the right one.” Leslie glanced back down at her clipboard and her expression sobered. “Now, the other boy, Tim. His situation is much more serious. He is far too short for his age group, and his weight is barely appropriate for his height. The weight could be attributed to his time on the streets, but depressed height for age is usually considered a manifestation of the cumulative effects of chronic malnutrition. This is something I would expect to see in one of my usual patients, Bruce, not in the son of one of Gotham’s wealthier families.”
“You read his medical files,” Bruce said, working to keep his voice level.
Dr. Thompkins pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Yes. Your illegally begotten files. There are protocols for acquiring these thing for a reason, you know. To protect people.”
“It was either this or nothing, Doctor,” Bruce said.
“So, your ‘dear friends’ haven’t been very accommodating?” Leslie asked.
“We only heard from them yesterday,” Bruce said, letting the Doctor draw her own conclusions.
She frowned. “Their son has been missing for over a month now.”
“Yes. Their priorities seem quite clear,” Bruce said with a tight smile. “They’re flying in late tomorrow evening.”
She grimaced, but let the topic go as she focused back on the medical files in front of her. “It says here that Janet Drake’s obstetrician suspected that she suffered from both Antenatal and Postnatal depression, but the diagnosis was never followed up on.”
“She and her husband went on a six month vacation to South Africa less than a month after Tim was born,” he added in helpfully.
“Stop interrupting, Bruce,” Doctor Thompkins snapped. “The boy was diagnosed with Failure to Thrive or FTT at three weeks of age, but it’s obvious that while Tim did not die from it, not enough was done about the matter. If he was truly recovered he would be much closer to an appropriate height for his age group. He’s been checked in the past for various conditions and infections, but I’m double-checking that now.”
“You think it might be a medical issue?” Bruce said incredulously. As far as he was concerned, the source of Tim’s FTT was obvious.
“Failure to Thrive is often a manifestation of many complex factors. It’s not my job to make assumptions; it’s my job to treat my patient,” she said sharply. “That said, I suspect that severe emotional neglect, specifically inadequate nurturance is a key ingredient. However, quantifying the psychological damage of a failing to form secure attachments in infancy is difficult even for experts.”
“What can we do for him?” he asked.
“If you’re returning him to his parents, not much,” Leslie said archly.
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Do you honestly think I could get custody over him?” Bruce returned.
“I’ve seen this played out hundreds of times before in far more violent arenas.” She looked him in the eye as she spoke. “You wouldn’t have a chance in hell.”
“Well, then what do think I can do, exactly? You’re the one who’s always telling me to obey the law,” Bruce pointed out.
“And you’re the one who never listens.” She shook her head knowingly. “I know you, Bruce, you have a plan.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Bruce said. “But tell me what I can do for him regardless. Hypothetically speaking.”
Leslie snorted. “Fine. Have it your way. Monitor his diet carefully and keep a record of what and how much he eats. Make sure you note any changes in his appetite. I’ll need you to bring him in every other week to evaluate his progress. Hypothetically speaking, you should also bring Jason and Dick in at the same time even though it’s medically unnecessary. It should make them all feel better.”
“That’s all?” Bruce asked.
“Well, we’ll have to wait for the tests to come back to see if we can do more medically,” she said as she started scribbling on her pad again. “However, regardless of what you decide to do with Jason, you need to bring Tim to a psychologist. At the very least to help him work through the trauma from the accident. That at least wasn’t fabricated, I trust. Beyond that, you need to ensure that he is provided with a stable environment in which he feels safe.”
He nodded seriously as he began making plans in his head. “I’ll do my best.”
Leslie smiled fondly at him as she handed him the slip of paper. “Well, at the very least you seem to have gotten a head start on that last one.”
“You think so?” he asked in surprise, not quite believing his ears.
“You’re doing a good job, Bruce,” the doctor said firmly.
He knew by the look in her eyes that she knew he didn’t believe her.
She glanced back into the office where the kids again were now making balloons out of her latex gloves before looking back at him bemusedly. “You don’t believe me. Well, at the very least you take my prescriptions seriously.”
“You have another?” Bruce asked, cocking his head to the side as he reexamined the two prescription slips in his hands.
“Yes, I do, Mister Wayne,” Leslie said. “Take those boys out for ice-cream for me. Doctor’s orders.”
Bruce blinked and then chuckled. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”
Part 10