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The first week Tim affectionately termed hellweek.
Once a year, Tim did a caffeine detox. For a straight month, he avoided anything with caffeine. The first week was the worst, the second only marginally better, and by the third and forth weeks he was fine. Last year, he'd felt so good he'd gone an extra month drinking only decaf, until a late night rained-out stakeout had him stop at a gas station for a cup of coffee that tasted terrible but was steaming hot. Of course, once he'd started drinking the caffeinated stuff, the decaf had gotten shoved to the back of his cabinet and forgotten about until it came time for his yearly detox again. He didn't drink decaf during his month-long detox, either. He supposed he could, but it was the principle of the matter. He could go a month without coffee, and his own stubbornness wouldn't let him cheat with decaf.
So here he was, day three, sitting in the Batcave sifting through a box of reports on a ten-year old cold case and trying to find the connection with his new case. He was also trying to ignore the loud music Jason was listening to while he worked on his bike. The music was not helping Tim's headache. The headache was symptom number one of his caffeine withdrawal. He'd already taken a Tylenol and downed a bottle of water, and he had an alarm set to go off every hour reminding him to drink. He didn't need to deal with dehydration on top of all his other symptoms.
“Jason, can you turn that down some?” he asked irritably after realizing he'd read the same paragraph three times and hadn't actually retained any of the information.
Jason either didn't hear him or was ignoring him, because the music stayed the same volume.
“Jason,” Time tried again, raising his voice a little more. Still nothing.
Frustrated, Tim picked up an empty plastic water bottle and hurled it at Jason. It hit him in the back of the head.
“Ow, what the fuck?”
“You're fine. Turn the music down, asshat,” Tim snapped.
“Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Jason muttered, tossing the bottle back at Tim. Tim ducked and it sailed over his head.
“Whatever,” Tim grumbled, and went back to his reports.
Day six and the insomnia was killing him. He was exhausted but he couldn't fall asleep, and the jitters in his muscles weren't helping anything. The brain fog that he couldn't seem to clear meant he was basically useless at getting any kind of detective work done. And to top it all off, Dick seemed to think he was becoming an alcoholic.
“Timmy? Are you in here?”
It was four in the morning and Tim was mindlessly working out in the spare room he'd set up as a home gym, trying to burn out some of the restlessness in his limbs.
“In here,” he called.
“Hey.”
Tim dropped off the pull-up bar. “Hey, what's up?”
“Nothing, just hadn't talked to you in a bit.”
“Dick, we literally saw each other yesterday.”
“Yeeeeaaaaah,” Dick said with an eyeroll, “But we didn't talk.”
“We talked,” Tim said, grabbing a water bottle.
“Yeah, but just about casework and patrol, not about, like, real-life stuff.”
“Real-life stuff,” Tim repeated. “Okay, what's wrong?”
“Nothing!”
“Right.”
“If something was wrong, though, you know I would tell you, right?” Dick asked earnestly. Tim narrowed his eyes, waiting. “And I hope that if something was wrong with you, you would tell me, right?”
There it was. “Dick, nothing is wrong, now go home.” Tim started to go around Dick but Dick moved to block the doorway. “Dick,” Tim said warningly. “I'm not in the mood tonight.”
“Tim...”
“Couldn't find that bottle he's been carrying around,” Jason said, strolling in behind them. “I did find a bottle of whiskey, but it's unopened,”
"Hey, I'm saving that!” Tim said. “Were you just searching my apartment?”
Dick at least had the good sense to look guilty, but Jason just cackled with delight. “Dickie here thinks you're drinking.”
“Yeah, water,” Tim said. He picked up the reusable water bottle he started using when the plastic bottles started to pile up and the environmental guilt got to him. “This the bottle you were looking for, Jason?” He unscrewed the lid, reached up, and dumped the contents on Jason's head.
Jason spluttered. “Hey!”
“Get out of my apartment, assholes,” Tim said, though there wasn't much heat behind his words. “I'm going to bed.”
He shoved past both his brothers and headed for his room. Behind him, he was gratified to hear Jason say, “Yeah, this is definitely water.”
Day ten came and the headaches had mostly gone, thankfully. Unfortunately, exhaustion had set in, and now he really just wanted to crash for about forty-eight hours in bed. Even more unfortunately, he was stuck picking Damian up from school, because everyone else was conveniently busy.
“Hello, Drake,” Damian greeted Tim as he hopped into the car.
“How was school?” Tim asked.
“Surprisingly tolerable,” Damian said.
“That's good,” Tim said absently, trying to focus.
“Why are you picking me up? Where's Father?”
“Busy with publicity thing for some charity, I think,” Tim said. “Alfred was busy deep-cleaning the fridge and reorganizing the pantry, so he asked me to come get you.”
“Oh.”
Damian didn't say anything after that, and Tim's brain wasn't firing on enough cylinders to come up with conversation, so he turned on the radio. Damian started flipping through the stations, trying to find a song he liked, but after a few minutes of him not finding anything, Tim said, “Could you just pick something already?”
“Fine,” Damian said defensively and stopped on a random pop station.
Tim realized that had maybe come out a bit harsher than he had meant, so as a peace offering he said, “Want to go get ice cream?”
“Tt. I don't care,” Damian muttered sullenly.
Tim's favorite ice cream place had a coffee ice cream that was one of his absolute favorites, but he resisted temptation and ordered a blueberry smoothie instead. Damian's eyes narrowed at Tim's choice, but he didn't say anything until they were sitting down.
“Are you unwell?” Damian asked.
“No?” Tim said. “Why?”
“Todd and Richard are worried but they won't say why, and I overheard Father telling Alfred he caught you sleeping in an actual bed. He also seemed worried.”
“Who, Alfred or Bruce?”
“Father,” Damian said. He fidgeted in his seat. “Blueberries have many vitamins and antioxidants.”
“Damian, I'm not sick,” Tim reassured him gently.
“You're irritable, you're sleeping more, you drink water constantly but your appetite has decreased.”
Tim grimaced. Nausea, one of the symptoms of caffeine withdrawal, had forced him to survive on saltines and ginger ale for a few days. “I was feeling a little under the weather, but trust me, Damian, I'm on the mend now.”
“So you'll stay for dinner tonight?” Damian asked. Tim eyed him suspiciously.
“Did Alfred put you up to this?”
“He also noticed your lack of appetite.”
Tim groaned. “Fine, I'll stay for dinner.”
He was glad to see that Damian looked pleased, though he tried to hide it.
Dinner was eggplant parmesan. At first it was just Bruce, Damian and Tim, but Jason walked in late and plopped down in the chair next to Tim. His hair was damp, like he'd showered before he'd shown up.
“Hey, Alfred, sorry I'm late.”
“At least you called ahead,” Alfred said. “I appreciate the good communication.”
The statement felt... pointed, but Tim wasn't exactly sure who it was pointed at.
“What's up, short stuff?” Jason asked Damian.
“Tt,” he scoffed. “I still have several growth spurts to hit, Todd, whereas your growing years are done. In fact, you're only going to get shorter.”
"Ooh, burn,” Tim said, amused.<
“I'm surprised to see you here, Tim, since you've been avoiding us lately.”
“I haven't been avoiding anyone, Jason. Maybe if you came around more you'd see me more,” Tim deflected. It was a lie; he had absolutely been avoiding them. He got cranky when he was detoxing, and he really didn't want to take his misery out on his family. But really, like Jason had room to talk.
“I'm here now, aren't I?” Jason said.
“Yes, and I'm very glad you're both here,” Bruce said. “And I'm sure Tim hasn't been avoiding us, but it is true he hasn't been around as much for the past week or so. I'm sure he's just been busy.”
Tim knew this was his cue to tell everybody why he'd been absent for the past ten days. He could feel four pairs of eyes on him, waiting for him to talk.
“Yeah, sorry. I'll definitely be around more next week,” Tim said, meeting Bruce's gaze.
You evaded my question, he communicated with his eyes.
You didn't actually ask me a question, Tim communicated back.
“Me too, actually,” Jason said. “Promised the bat-brat I'd teach him how to take apart a motorcycle and put it back together.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Tim said.
“It will be an educational experience,” Damian said.
“Sure, kid, and it's definitely not just an excuse to hang out with me,” Jason said, grinning.
“Don't be absurd,” Damian said defensively. “Mechanical experience is a useful skill that I would like to develop.”
Tim breathed a sigh of relief as the focus of the conversation turned away from him.
“Motherfucker. Fucking hell. Real fucktastic,” Tim groaned. He rolled onto his side and spit out a mouthful of blood. “You should all go fuck yourselves.” Day twenty-three was going real swimmingly.
“Who knew the little birdbrain had such a mouth on him?” said the leering thug.
“Yeah, I'm a real delight when I haven't had my coffee,” Tim said, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation with minimal broken bones.
“Your mama should have washed your mouth out with soap.”
“Don't bring my mother into this, you fucker,” Tim snapped, trying to drag himself upright. One of the other guys kicked him and he collapsed again, wheezing from the pain.
There was a sharp whistle, and everyone's head turned.
“Hey, guys, what's up?”
Oh, thank God for Stephanie.
“Come to crash the party, Batgirl?” one of the guys said.
“Crash. I like that,” she said with a smirk. “I think you guys are the ones who are going to crash, though.”
Tim rolled out of the way as Batgirl started in on the guys. He used the wall for balance as he stood up. His head was spinning, his body ached, and he was really pissed off. He lunged onto the back of one of the guys who'd mugged him, wrapping his throat in a chokehold. The guy scrabbled at Tim's hands, but Tim neatly dragged him backward and bashed his head against the wall, dropping him cold on the ground. “That's what you fucking get for talking about my mother, you piece of shit.”
Batgirl had cleaned house on the other guys. She wasn't even breathing hard.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem,” she replied easily. “Nothing I love more than saving you boy's asses. What happened?”
“I thought there were fewer guys than there were,” he said.
“You should have been able to handle this many,” she said, gesturing around them. “Everything okay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he grumbled.
“Because you haven't been yourself lately and we're worried,” Stephanie said.
“Well, I'm fine,” he said. “I'm just tired. And distracted. I have a lot going on, okay?”
“Yeah, that's another thing B is worried about. You don't seem to be getting as much done.”
He usually tried to give himself a lighter workload during his month of no caffeine. His life was already stressful, and taking away the comfort of a habit didn't help.
“Well, I'm sorry if I'm not living up to Batman's high standards. You'll have to forgive me for not being fucking perfect, alright. This isn't even my case! It was just something Jason asked me to look in on,” he snapped.
“Geez, I'm sorry. You don't have to jump down my throat,” Stephanie said, raising her hands placatingly.
Tim took a breath. “No, I'm sorry. I'm tired and sore and I shouldn't be taking it out on you.”
“When's the last time you slept?”
“Last night.”
“For how long?”
He weighed his options, deciding if he could lie to her, then decided he probably shouldn't since she'd just saved his ass. “Four hours.”
“Oh, yeah. That'll make you cranky,” she said. “Come on. Let's get you some ice for those bruises and into bed. Honestly, it's like I'm your mother.”
“My mother was never as cool as you,” he said.
She grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Tim was practically drooling with anticipation by the last day of his self-imposed coffee fast. Once the withdrawal symptoms had gone away, he had started sleeping better, thinking better, and generally just feeling better. He'd gone to bed in his room at the manor after patrol, feeling like a kid on Christmas. Honestly, suffering through thirty days of agony was absolutely worth the anticipation of that first cup of hot coffee of the new day.
He woke up and practically raced down to the breakfast room.
“Morning, Alfred,” he greeted cheerfully, bouncing over to the coffee pot. “Morning, Bruce. What are you doing up so early?”
“Meeting with Lucius,” Bruce grunted.
Tim vibrated with excitement as he poured coffee into a mug. He sat down and inhaled the scent, and then took a sip.
“Um, Alfred? Did you buy a different brand of coffee?” he asked. It didn't taste quite right, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly was wrong with it.
“Master Bruce requested decaf this morning.”
Tim glanced at Bruce, who was blearily staring into space. “Ah. Well, that's fine, I'll just make my own cup of regular.”
“Actually, Master Bruce said that you've been more fatigued lately and as such you should limit your coffee intake.”
Tim's heart stopped, restarted, and stopped again. “What.”
“I am surprised you are up so early,” Alfred said. “Perhaps you could help me with something in the kitchen for a few moments?”
Tim's heart and brain were still trying to restart, but he numbly nodded and followed Alfred. Thirty days of no caffeine. He'd been so excited. This was supposed to be a nice day. He wasn't going to cry, he really, really wasn't.
“Master Tim,” Alfred said. “Master Tim?”
“What?” Tim dragged himself out of his thoughts.
“Here,” Alfred said, smiling fondly at Tim and handing him a cup. “It's regular.”
Tim nearly wept. “I thought Bruce said-”
“Bruce might be the greatest detective in the world, but sometimes that man is blind to what's right in front of him. Do you know, he's been googling cancer symptoms for the past month? Honestly, you'd think he'd learn to delete his browser history."
Tim drank his dark brew gratefully, and didn't question how Alfred knew about his caffeine detox. “Thanks, Alfred.”
“You're very welcome.”