"What the hell???" are the first words that come out of TIm's mouth the moment you open the front door to the Manor. "Why didn't you tell me? Better yet—how did you even keep that hidden from me??" He spews out question after question as he walks in and lets you lock the door behind him. Then, he suddenly scoops you up in his arms, avoiding any contact with your upper back, and carries you to your room.

"You're resting. Oh no, no, you're resting, and we're gonna have a nice little chat." Tim sighs frustratedly, gently placing you in your bed and tucking you in like a baby. He gives you a questioning look when you start shooting him strange glances, and then the interrogation begins: Where were you? When did it happen? How did it happen? Who did it? Etc.

By the end of it, you're exhausted and just staring blankly at his face as he continues his anxious rambling, taking care of you without you even noticing. You've had to go over the whole 'Two-Face scorched my upper back with a branding iron, and now I have a bat-symbol-shaped third-degree burn on my back'-yada yada for the umpteenth time already, and you're definitely over it by now.

But then the million-dollar question comes: "Why didn't you tell me?" To be fair, he seems a little hurt. He wishes you had told him earlier instead of pretending to be fine, because your act was flawless. Even when he hugged you, he never noticed a single reaction or even a wince. He just... he wishes he could've taken care of you, y'know? You're family, in whichever way you choose to interpret it, and he's an insecure ball of ideals who needs your complete and undying trust. Or he might kinda lose it. Kinda.

Nonetheless, now that you're talking face-to-face, he already feels better, honestly. Seeing you being somewhat okay-ish beats whatever description Alfred gave him about the state they first found you in. "You stubborn little—I'm not the pot calling the kettle black! Now come on, turn around and let me help you change those bandages."