Chapter Text
It hadn’t been long since Dick had found out about his...ahem, condition. Two weeks had come and gone, and his brother was still adamant about him ‘stretching his wings in a timely fashion.’ So this weekend, Dick had set up a cabin rental around his usual clearing. ‘Brotherly bonding’ is what he told Bruce when asked. Not technically a lie.
If he was being honest, it felt like he finally had his older brother back to lean on. Tim would never tell Dick that he had doubted his spot in the family. He could never tell him that Damian had almost succeeded in his original plan of chasing him out, or that Tim knew that if pressed Dick would never take his side over Damian’s. It's just– nice to not feel like a second choice for a little while.
Explaining all the in’s and out’s of his shifted form had been a challenge. Tim was never very good at talking about it in detail. In the end, he chose to simply not talk about it at all; staying up for a full 24 hours to create what was essentially a double encoded flash drive with a ‘How to Train Your Drake’ pamphlet housed on it. Quick and efficient. Very helpful, indeed.
So here he was once again, packing his bags and preparing himself for what was sure to end in some sort of disaster. Being a drake meant having a few quirks, you could say. There were the physical things; his senses were sharper, ala werewolf style, and he could technically fly (if his wings could get enough exercise to build their strength back up). That, and his claws were sharp enough to tear through most types of softer metal (he’s pretty proud of that one.) But along with the physical changes, there were also mental ones. He could be a little… overprotective… of the people, he cares about, and just a little too merciless towards those who dare to hurt them. Dragons weren’t particularly social creatures, especially drakes, but they had a tendency to view their family as part of their treasures, and Tim was no different. It’s always the worst when you make your first shift around family.
Stronger scents, fluctuating emotions… Yeah, Tim might be feeling a little anxious over this whole trip.
There are ways to calm these instincts, of course, but they aren’t exactly covert. Showing a claim was one. Not in a weird way, just being near while other people are around, or touching/being touched by the person can calm him down.
Thankfully, after an incident with Jason at a Winter Gala, before he had ever met the Waynes in person, Tim had started training himself to only need the bare minimum. He didn’t even remember most of the night. All Tim knew is that he woke up with Jason’s suit jacket wrapped around him and the boy’s number in his phone.
He was mortified to this day over it, of course, but at the moment he couldn’t be more grateful for his younger self’s screw-up.
He would stand nearby and watch as closely as he could without drawing attention to his actions. He resigned himself to stealing clothing and maybe demanding physical affection from Steph or Cass, the ones he knows will be okay with it. These instincts were easily managed when he embodied his human form, but they intensified 10 fold when shifted. He had to make sure that Dick was prepared for what was to come of his ‘bonding weekend’.
Explaining to Dick that, ‘yes, I do need to steal your clothing, it smells nice and stops me from killing those who approach you,’ and, ‘I will likely need physical affection, but please don’t feel obligated to give it’ – That one earned him an eye roll and a subsequent nuggie, which…fair– was a strange task, but not a difficult one in the end. Dick had even ended up going out of his way to give Tim a few of his old shirts and pajama bottoms. He’d taken the time to cut holes in the back of the shirts so that Tim could wear them comfortably with his wings exposed.
Flipping the light switch off, he makes his way down to the foyer to wait for Dick by the front door. The other had told Tim to meet him there whilst he got the ‘all-clear’ and a box of camping food from Alfred before they set off. Plopping down on the bottom step, he leaned his head back, and his ears picked up the heavy sounds of a motor revving, speeding up the driveway. It had to be Jason. The sound was tastefully obnoxious in a way that only someone as gleefully smug and rueful as his second eldest brother could properly pull off.
Things between Tim and Jason had gotten better, disregarding that “better” between the two of them set the bar so low that Kid Devil was tripping over it in hell. Still, Tim is proud to say that not a single person in the manor had made an obvious attempt on his life in the past year. He wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends or anything at this point, but they’re working on it, and that’s all Tim can really ask for.
The engine came to a stop, and within a few seconds, the door was swinging open to reveal one wide-grinning, shit-eating, Jason Peter Todd. Tim’s mouth twitched upwards at the sight but said nothing to his brother as he strode on with his spectacles.
The feared Red Hood, everyone. Making entrances like a jackass since the day he was born.
“‘Sup, Baby Bird? How’s life moving along for ya’?” The draw of Jason's voice sounding as gruff as ever as he swings his arm up and over Tim’s shoulders, leading them both towards the kitchen with Dick and Alfred. Tim is practically tossed away from him when he takes his arm off Tim’s shoulder to give a quick hug to Alfred. It’s obvious to see that Jason had missed their pseudo-grandfather in his time spent estranged from the family, and it’s nice to see him finding his footing around them all once again.
“Jay,” comes the excited call of their oldest brother. In an instant, the oldest is dropping the bag of marshmallows in his hands to bundle an unwilling Jason up in his arms.
“What brings you by, Little Wing?” He asks cheerfully as he negates Jason’s attempts to flee his embrace. “Wasn’t expecting you to be by till next week. Change of plans?” Jason makes a show of shoving Dick away from him as he responds.
“Well, I figured it'd be a damn shame to deprive dear ole Alfie of my delightful presence any longer than I already had to,” A shit-eating grin crawls onto his face as he moves past Dick to pull out a package of oolong tea, kept there by the butler, especially for him. “Finished up my last job quicker than I’d planned, but hey, all heads roll in the end. Can’t look a dead horse in the mouth.”
Dick’s eyes sharpen, but the smile remains on his face. Tim takes a small step back from the two men who had seemed to enter some sort of stand-off with one another. He’d seen them get like this plenty of times before, and, without fail, it always ended in screaming matches. As subtle as possible, he glances around the kitchen for any sort of escape route.
“Oh,” Dick asked, his voice breezy and his words sharp. “That’s… nice.” The words are gritty like they were painful, but seem to be holding himself back. Catching the quick glance his oldest brother threw his way, Tim could only assume Dick was trying to refrain for his sake. Jason, however, seems to be itching for a fight. Alfred has chosen this exact moment to take his leave, dropping the last of their camping supplies into the basket before pointedly eyeing his grandsons before turning heel and slipping past them all, slipping into sweet, sweet freedom. Tim is incredibly jealous.
In front of him, the tension is sky-rocketing. Jason’s knuckles were turning white, gripping his motorcycle helmet so tight that it seems to Tim as though he may need to invest in a replacement.–He disregards the fleeting thought that maybe that’s the treatment his brother would prefer for him– There seemed to be a whole conversation passing between the two that Tim was not privy to hearing. Spotting freedom in the form of the basket Alfred had left on the table, he breathed a sigh of relief. Sweet, sweet relief.
Though, it seems as though Fate herself has delivered him a personalized “fuck you” greeting card, because as soon as he successfully slides around Jason’s back to grab the food and mumble something about leaving before traffic picked up, whatever silent words were passing between the two apparently escalated far enough to break the silence.
“Jason, if you could just stop for a second and listen–”
“GodDAMN IT, Dickface, when are you going to stop gargling the balls of Justice with Bruce and wake up?” Jason's voice booms with bass through the room, his face twisting into a snarl– a very familiar snarl, his mind offers; flashes of sickening green and blood cross his mind for a moment before he can stop himself. No, Jason hadn’t made any indication of harming him in ages. This type of fear wasn’t fair to him. Still, against his will, his breathing starts to pick up its pace, heavy thuds pounding at the inside of his chest. It feels like all the air has been sucker-punched out of his body by Super Boy’s Super-Fist.
“You don’t seem to get it so let me spell it out a little more plainly for you.” Jason hissed, heavy disdain leaving the words thick in the air as he speaks. “I couldn’t give a shiny rat’s ass about what you or your precious Daddy Bats has to say about the way I run my shit. My guns get results and I intend to personally deliver every head on to your doorstep until this trash-filled city is spotless of the scum that has lined those streets for years, do you hear me? Hell, I’ve killed five rapists since Thursday and I would wave it on a flag, I’m so goddamn proud of it.”
Seeing Dick’s mouth open to respond only enrages Jason even further, spiraling deeper into his tangent.
It was okay, Tim didn’t hear what Dick said next; he didn’t need to. Every person in the house could recite his arguments by heart, as well-meaning and repetitive they are. It gave Tim a chance to focus on his feet and try to ground himself in the most literal form possible.
His efforts were useless against the sound of glass crashing to the floor. Rational thought be damned, Tim is hauling ass; pulling an impressive dead-sprint out of the kitchen and up the stairs. His mind is blurring over in its effort to stop thinking about feeling wet blood drip down the sides of his throat. Stumbling into the nearest room he could find, finds himself climbing up the shelves of a bookcase and folding himself to fit in the space between it and the ceiling.
He pops in the earbuds from around his neck, shakily pressing shuffle on whatever playlist hits his fingers.
All at once, his lungs release, and he’s slumped even further into the crevasse as his muscles untensed all at once. Dulcet tones of Britney Spears flow through his ears as his body gives in to his need for a short-period coma.
“–imbers?” The noise is distant and fuzzy. Not to mention annoying, His tail flicked haphazardly in the perceived direction of the sound.
“‘M sorry!”
“–ome on out, Baby Bird. I was just bein’ an asshole, you know me,” the voice sounds out from below. Vaguely, Tim notes that it sounds a little frantic… and sad. He frowns. No, sad voice don’t be upset.
Now fully invested in his new lifes’ goal to chase away the worried sounds in those voices, he sleepily scuttled back down the bookcase; too disoriented to realize that he was crawling towards the ground head first, and probably causing puncture marks in the antique wood with the tips of his claws.
A pair of hands pluck him off the shelf about down, holding him upside down. Tim, immensely pleased at being held near the warm scent, let this happen; sheathing his claws when they instinctively sharpen in surprise.
“Here we go again, aye Timmers. It’s a miracle that no one else in this house has caught on to your shit, I swear.” The voice grumbles while he’s manhandled right side up and tossed onto a shoulder fireman-style. “Let’s get you somewhere a little more secure.”
Listening to the clunky steps hitting the hardwood flooring is nice, Tim thinks as his head bounces back and forth off of some sort of squishy wall.
“Jason?” a new voice pops up, causing a low hiss of “shit” from the wall of squish he was on. “Did you find Timm- oh thank God! Oh wait, no he has scales, not good.” The excitement turned to panic in seconds but Tim merely carried on watching the gentle, back and forth sway of his tail through jean-coved pant legs.
“Dickie!” Coughed the warm voice, more frazzled than when Tim had first heard it, the next ones sounding like they were forced through a cheese grater on their way out.“Yeah, I. uh, I found ole Timberly. He must have been so excited to try on his new cosplay that the little sucker just passed straight out.”
I wonder if Alfie packed cheese in those baskets.
“Wait, Jason, you know about,” there was a strongly emphasized silence punctuating the words.”...Tim’s scaly hobbies?”
Jason– Tim was pretty sure it was Jason, snorts. “Yeah, Dickface, I know Timmy’s dirty little secret. I’ve known since the beginning he wasn’t fully human. Though, clearly, you’re not keeled over in surprise so you’re probably better acquainted with the situation than I am. Nearly pissed a brick when I was this little shit crawling down from his hiding spot. It was horror. Movie. Shit, Dickie.” He emphasized.
A delighted laugh sounds from Dick. For sure, Dick–
“Yeah, well, help me get him to the car without Alfred seeing and he’ll be out of your hair for the week within the hour.”
They start moving slowly throughout the halls of the manor, careful to heed the whereabouts of its occupants at all times. Before long, he’s being unceremoniously tossed into the backseat of a nondescript SUV. Annoyed, he curls further in on himself, wrapping his tail around his body to pillow his head and try to block out the rest of the conversation.
“So where are you two off two on your lonesomes?”
“Timmy needs some time to unwind, so we’re headed up to camp along the river and… Stretch our legs. So to speak.” And, more excitingly, “Timmy gave me a little pamphlet about it. I cannot wait.”
“You have the subtlety of a hippo in line at the bank, Dichard… Give me 10 minutes, I’ll be back out here with a bag. If you leave without me I’ll track you down and slash your tires.”
Still bleary with sleep, Tim grins, and agrees to let himself freak out over Jason’s knowledge after a longer, more fulfilling nap.