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Chapter Text

If there is one lesson that Tim Drake’s mother had drilled into his mind from a young age, it’s how to hide.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the risks of remaining in Gotham with his… condition. He knew it was unrealistic of him to believe that he could hide his true nature forever while working in such close proximity to Bruce. He knew all this, and he remained steadfast in his decision, regardless. Batman needed a Robin above all else. Even above Bruce’s ‘No Metas in Gotham’.

And besides, he wasn’t exactly a Meta per se… more of a Mystic; though he sincerely doubts Bruce will care about the subtleties of the Metas vs. Mystic debates.

He pushes through the side door of the manor, sprinting his way into and through the dark forest outside. He can hear his older brother’s shouts behind him as he volts over the fence, weaving over the forest floor and tree roots with uncanny precision. Branches snagged at the set of leathery wings on his back. They were shriveled, and weak, deteriorating from lack of use over the years, and currently were completely hindering his ability to make an escape via flight or run at his top speed. He tucks them tighter to his body as he runs.

The breaths in his throat start to run ragged as he hears the voice getting closer and closer. He turns a sharp left, grasping at a thick tree trunk with a clawed hand, red scales slowly phasing out from under their glamour, inch by inch to crawl up his arms. Quickly, he starts pulling himself up. If you can’t fly, run. If you can’t run, hide. He hears the echo of his mother's cold voice in his head. She had always hated hiding her half-humanoid form away from the world, much preferring to boast about her status as a predator and show off her impressively extensive horde of lost jewels, tombs, and ancient knowledge. But his mother understood her role in society, recognized the cost of her title, and accepted them. She, and consequently her son, would hide, sealing the magic away in exchange for the ironic safety that Gotham’s Dark Knight had offered.

Well, here’s to making you proud, Mother, he thinks to himself as he crawls into a hidey-hole at the top of an old oak tree. He curls his tail around his body and carefully tucks his wings around his body in a makeshift shield.

His mother's draconic roots still made their appearance in his life quite often, despite their repeated attempts to nullify and repress his instincts. You could see it in the way he squirrels away shiny trinkets in the pockets of his utility belt on patrol, and even more so in the razor-sharpened quality that takes over Red Robin’s signature smile, promising pain, and ruthlessness towards his enemies. He had kept his new family in the dark for so many years; it’s hard for him to imagine how he could manage a slip-up of this proportion.

-

It was earlier in the day when Tim started feeling restless.

His nails unknowingly shift back and forth from their human appearance to sharpened talons, to nervous to repress the habit. Another jolt of pain racks through his back and head. Groaning through the churning feeling in his gut, he tilts his head towards his calendar. He had missed his normally scheduled ‘Drake-Break’, as he calls them, in order to help the Titans with a high-security hacker that had escaped earlier in the week and man is he feeling the consequences of that decision right about now.

If he waited much longer, he would no longer have the choice in when or where he transforms which is not super conducive to keeping a secret identity on top of your regularly scheduled secret identity. So yeah. He’s majorly screwed if he doesn’t haul ass down to the forest clearing he uses for this exact sitch, right-the-fuck now.

Deep red-colored scales were phasing on and off of his skin as he shoved the Superboy T-shirt he had stolen from Kon in his Wonder-Woman-themed backpack alongside his other comfort clothing. Emergency or no emergency, waking up nude in the middle of a forest was a no-go, but he does allow himself the luxury of throwing a water bottle and a Cosmic Brownie in alongside the clothes. He prepares to shoot off a text to the family group chat to take him off the patrol roster for the night, citing an emergency with the Titans. If his memory served him correctly, Bart is on communications tonight. He would totally cover for Tim, no questions asked if he was persuaded with Alfred’s oatmeal cookies.

The knock at his door comes before he has the chance to hit send.

“Timmy! You in there Baby Brother? Open up, I wanna have some bonding time before patrol tonight! I’m in dire need of hot chocolate, cuddles, and bad sci-fi movies before a long night of punching criminals,” Dick Fucking Grayson yells from the hallway. He and his older brother had just begun to patch up their relationship after Tim had returned from his time abroad, tugging a very much alive, (I told you so, Dickhead,) Bruce Wayne behind him. There was still a long way to go in healing their relationship, but they were working on it.

“Uhh, give me a minute, Dick! I’ll be right out!” He shouts as he stuffs the rest of his necessities into his backpack and moves to the window on the far side of his room, panic causing him to shift even further into his dragon form. Elongated, ruby-scaled ears poked out from his hair, nails sharpened to claws, tips blackening, and bright, unnaturally golden eyes might be something of a giveaway to his older brother. And isn’t that just a whole bag of ‘Nope’ that he wasn’t going to open.

He must have been too busy panicking too, you know, keep the panic out of his voice, because, “Are you okay? You sound off, I’m coming in.”

The door handle starts to twist, and with it, Tim’s heart.

He’s halfway out the window when he hears the startled gasp of his older brother. He looks up, and right into the wide eyes of one very surprised Dick Grayson. “Tim? What’s goin- No! Don’t you dare jump out of that wind-” The words were cut off as he jumped. Aside from landing strangely on his ankle, he managed to tuck and roll in time to avoid any other injuries. The sound of Dick preparing to follow him via the window has him hauling up and making his break off the manor grounds.

-

He holds his breath as he hears footsteps approaching his hiding spot. They slow as they get closer, but never stop. He keeps his breathing shallow, doesn’t allow himself a full breath until those footsteps pull back, seemingly towards the manor. And even then, he waits a full three minutes before letting himself relax against the back of the tree. Sighing, he crawls out of his hole, making a move to jump back down to the ground.

A hand grips at his upper arm, halting him to a stop. “Not a chance, little brother.” The words are breathed directly into his ear. It takes him a second, but he gets his grip on reality fast enough to start struggling before both of those octopus arms have a chance to get a better hold.

“Whoa, whoa, Timmy. Hold on a second, don’t run. Just breath,” The hand on his arm pulled him gently albeit firmly, back to face kind blue eyes, that he was trying to avoid, damn it, stop looking directly into them!

He stares pointedly at the tree beside his brother's face.

“What’s going on, Tim? I need you to look up and talk to me,” Dick pulls his face up to where they can finally look eye-to-eye.

“Please don’t tell Bruce,” Tim begs, tears beginning to form in his eyes. His words have a slight lisp to them as he readjusts to talking through his elongated canines. “You were never supposed to find out. I don’t want to leave you all yet,” The words sound defeated to his ears. He feels defeated. I don’t want to leave my family yet, Dickie. Please, please don’t tell Bruce. Not when everything is starting to look and feel okay again.

“Leave? Timmy, who said anything about leaving? You and I are going to go sneak back to the manor, text Babs to take Nightwing and Red Robin off patrol tonight, and talk.” And, yeah, okay. Maybe walking home wrapped up in his brother’s arm made things feel sorta okay. For now, anyway.

Sneaking back into the manor is easy work for the two. It takes Dick three different tries to launch his backpack back into the room before they shimmy up the drain pipe and climb back through his bedroom window. It takes all of one minute to lock the doors, fetch a first aid kit for Tim’s ankle, and get situated. Dick seats himself on the window seat in order to block another graceful exit, and Tim fails to hide a disapproving pout. His brother takes a pause to look him up and down, analyzing him, before moving to speak.

“So, is this like… something you’re in to?” the words barely leave his mouth before Tim is stuttering out an indignant, “Wha- No! You dick, it is not something I’m ‘into’. I’m,” He hesitates to say it out loud after all this time, “I’m a drake.”

Blue eyes blink back at him owlishly.

“Yes, little brother. You are a Drake. How exactly do last names explain the scales? Or the tail?”

“No. Dick. I’m not saying my last name. It’s a species of eastern dragon shifters. I’m- I’m part. Dragon. If you wanna put it like that,” He spits out the words as fast as he can to just get it over with. Dick looks like he’s pondering. Rolling over Tim’s words in his head. His eyes steel over like he’s found his hill to die on regarding this situation.

“So you’re a Scaly. Okay, and why can we not tell B?” and, just, what the fuck did you say, Richard? “Dick, I am not a fucking Scaly, and if you say that again I will personally burn your entire collection of vintage Superman merch. Do not test me,” he lets out a little puff of smoke and flame to emphasize the words, “And you know B, Dick. He won’t let me stay here if he knows the truth. I don’t want to leave yet. Not now when things are finally starting to look up. Jason and I have been working on more cases together. He doesn’t refer to me as Replacement any longer; hell, even Damian has toned down the insults and has civil conversations with me from time to time. I just. I want time to enjoy it.”

Dick’s demeanor seemed to soften at his words. “Timmy, he won’t kick you out of Gotham. You’re his son.” He must have realized that Tim was no longer a flight risk, and promptly moved to pull Tim into a tight hug on the bed.

“And? What does that matter? He barely lets Clark into the city, and Clark sucks his dick.” Tim groans into Dick’s chest.

“Ok, ew. Please don’t talk about my favorite superhero sucking our father’s dick. But fine. I can see where you would be nervous about telling him.” Dick makes a face at him before continuing, “I won’t push you, but I need you to lean on me with this. It looks like you couldn't control it, from what I’ve seen tonight. That surely isn’t usual, or it would have come out by now. So what happened Tim?” He shifts Tim around in his hold to a more comfortable position.

“I can. Control it, I mean. Normally. When I wait too long to shift it gets harder to control, painful even. There was one time where I waited so long that my skin started bleeding to reveal my scales.” Tim rushes out. His head was now resting on Dick’s shoulder as the man wrapped up his entire body in limbs, effectively trapping Tim in his embrace. He had forgotten what it was like to be close with his older brother like this. The man held him even tighter when he referenced pain. It was like the tighter he held on, the more he could hide Tim away from getting hurt again.

“Well, you’re not doing that again. No more pain for Timmy. How often should you be shifting? That doesn’t mean how long can you go without having to shift; I mean how long should you be going.”

“... Every three weeks or so is what the normal maximum time should be..” he mumbled into Dick’s shirt.

“... Tim. How long had it been before today?” Dick asked with a deadly calm.

“Eight weeks...? Maybe? Give or take?”

“EIGHT WEEKS? Timmy! No. No, no, no. You stay here. I’m going to ask Alfred for some cookies, and grab those bad sci-fi movies I mentioned earlier. You stay here, and… like that,” he gestured vaguely at Tim’s wings. “I will be back. And tomorrow we can work out a healthy schedule for you to,” He gestured up and down at him again. “That.”

It had been so long since he and Dick had been this close. It feels nice. So nice that he almost didn’t mind that he’d blown his secret. Almost. Still, he knew Dick would be there for him on this one.

***

When Dick returned, he once flung himself directly on top of Tim, earning a low growl. He felt extremely satisfied with how the night had panned out. He learned something new and very but not super very, because looking back on it, there was no way that Tim Drake was completely human unexpected about his second youngest brother, and spent the rest of the night clinging together, even longer and closer than he had originally planned. A night well spent in his books.

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.

Chapter Text

Preview:

If there was one lesson that Tim Drake’s mother had drilled into his mind from a young age, it was how to hide.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the risks of remaining in Gotham with his… condition. He knew it was unrealistic of him to believe that he could hide his true nature forever while working near Bruce. He knew all of this, yet he remained steadfast in his decision, regardless. Batman needed a Robin above all else. Even above Bruce’s ‘No Metas in Gotham’ nonsense. Especially above that one, actually.

And besides, he wasn’t exactly a Meta per se… Magical creatures fell more under the jurisdiction of mysticism rather than having any traceable meta genes, though he sincerely doubted that Bruce would care much about the subtleties of the Metas vs. Mystic debates when he was tossing Tim out via the cave’s underwater tunnels.

Pushing through the side door of the manor, Tim sprinted his way into the dark forest that surrounded the property with sloppy movements. He could hear Dick’s shouted pleas for him to come back echoing behind him—catching up to him—as he vaulted over the fence and weaved over the forest floor and tree roots with uncanny precision despite his stumbling reflexes and deadweight.

Branches and thorns clipped at the edges of the large, leathery wings on his back, ripping small holes in the soft tissue that wasn’t covered in plate-like armor. Pain darkened the outskirts of his vision, but he didn’t dare stop to evaluate the damage. It wouldn’t have done him any good, regardless. His wings were completely emaciated, shriveled, and weak, deteriorated from the complete lack of use over the years, and currently heavily impeding his ability to make an eloquent escape. Huffing out a small flame of annoyance, Tim tucked the wings tighter to his body as he ran.

The breaths in his throat ran ragged as the voice got closer and closer. He took a sharp left, grasping at the trunk of a thick oak tree with blackened, clawed hands, and pulled himself up into the cover of the tree. Red scales phased out slowly from under their glamor as he climbed, overtaking the pale skin of his arms inch by inch despite his every effort otherwise.

If you can’t fly, run. If you can’t run, hide.

The echo of his mother's favorite lesson resonated through his head. She had loathed hiding her Draconic nature away from the world. Much preferred to boast of her status as Predator and show off her impressively extensive horde of lost jewels, tombs, and ancient knowledge. But his mother understood her role in society. It was one of the main reasons that she and her son could maintain such a high status without being trafficked for their scales, or the hearts in their chests. She recognized the cost of her title—the price of her blood—and accepted them. She hid them both from the world, sealing away their magic in exchange for the ironic safety that Gotham offered.

‘Here’s to making you proud, Mother.’ He would make sure those lessons never lost their meaning.

Crawling into the small hidey-hole at the top of the old oak, curling his tail around his body and carefully holding his battered wings as a makeshift shield. As if they would protect him from the consequences of his own choices. Terror pooled in his stomach as the leaves and sticks halted their crunching at the base of his oak tree.

He still had small tells, hints of the grand ancestry that colored his whole being, despite his mother’s repeated attempts to nullify and repress his instincts. It was visible in the way he squirreled away shiny trinkets in the pockets of his utility belt while on patrol, and even more so in the razor-sharpened quality that bled into Red Robin’s signature smile, promising pain and ruthlessness toward his enemies. He had tells, yes. So one could imagine how frustrating it would be to slip up after so many years, not because of an uncanny genetic fault in his coding, but because Tim couldn’t remember to lock the door after getting roofied.

This was becoming embarrassing.

A disgruntled rage simmered over Tim as he stormed out through the front doors of the manor. Shouted plea’s to stop, as well as a snotty ‘pitiful’ go entirely ignored as the heavy wooden door fell back against the frame with a thud. A thin layer of hurt ran currents just beneath his skin, electrifying each step closer to his motorbike until he felt as though he might drop to the ground before he could make an exit. He narrowed his focus down on the bike ahead of him, and walked forward one step at a time; stubborn pride had always been his biggest supporter.

Where he was going and what he would do when he got there were choices he hadn’t considered yet, he couldn’t think about anything other than getting away from the looming feelings of inadequacy and betrayal that greeted him that morning with a cheery smile and a “Hey, Little Brother”.

Another wave of irritation washed over him, the sting of the wind on his face created an unwanted clarity. All the thoughts coursing through his mind brought him back to Damian, smiling his self-satisfied little puke-demon smile behind Dick as he pleaded with Tim through a desperate and apologetic smile to understand why he had to cancel their plans last minute, again. It had been mundane, Damian and Colin had needed something or another, and it was immediate and urgent, and Tim we can do it tomorrow, can’t we?

Guilt gnawed on his sides and seemed to laugh at him as shame and self-pity put a joint effort to crash him into the guardrails. They could have done it tomorrow. The milkshake joint would have still been standing, more than likely, and he understood the title and responsibility Dick was forced to bear with Bruce lost in the time stream, but goddamn it. Tim felt angry and hurt and tired—Dick had promised they could be brothers again, but the constant canceled plans, the “he can be cruel, but he’s just a kid” arguments, the side-taking, the way Dick still seemed to carry himself as a parent…

He needed his own space again; moving back into the manor had been a mistake. It had been dumb to not get out while he was ahead. Breaking his promise to Dick would hurt, but no more so than having to live with the walking, talking embodiment of his inferiority complex did. He could get used to it. Anything was bound to be better than what he was dealing with now.

Dirt and gravel kicked up debris as he revved his engine and shot down the driveway at breakneck speed. Tomorrow, he would email a realtor about his old apartment building. Tonight, he was going to drink until his vision blurred.

His nails unknowingly shift back and forth from their human appearance to sharpened talons, unable to repress the habit—Another jolt of pain racks through his back and head, telltale signs of twisted, notched horns creating grotesque lumps on either side of his skull. Groaning through the churning feeling in his gut and head, Tim rested his cheek on the cool wall to counteract the burning feeling from his insides. Panic was brimming up from underneath a hazy overlay that he hadn’t noticed until he had stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. Dizzy, slowed motor control—He'd been drugged? Was that possible with his physiology?

Confusion and disbelief were at the forefront of his attention, a space in which common sense usually commanded. It left him dazed, in a quickly escalating panic. He clung to his desperation as he searched every nook in his brain, but the events of the night kept inching further and further away from his reach. He hadn’t had a drink, yet, had he? He couldn’t recall. His breaths came out wheezing past constricted lungs, his thoughts mangled into unintelligible garble until all he could hear was his instincts screaming for him to get out while he still could.

Tim stared down the bathroom window as though Ra’s Al Ghul’s reflection stared him back. Second-story bathroom, vaulted ceilings on the first floor, and a ledge that would only give him an extra five feet of buffer room, if he was lucky—He was probably looking at a 30ft drop, give or take a broken bone or two. No problem, he took a deep breath and lifted a heavy, shaking foot over the ledge.

A knock on the door had him startled as he hefted his other leg over, nearly losing his precariously placed footing and plummeting down toward a full set of broken ribs. His feet flailed to regain his grip, the knocking hadn’t paused for a second. If he stopped to listen past the roaring of his heartbeat, he could faintly hear someone calling his name—Checking on him? Taking him back home? No, he had come alone, hadn’t he?

This was wrong. Human drugs shouldn’t affect him like this. Magic? He had smelled none? The doorknob jiggled, becoming more aggressive with every twist.

This wasn’t right. Tim had to go—Had to get out, now, right now—He jumped.

He landed feet first into a roll that should have been impossible with the lack of coordination that remained in his limbs, despite the pain that now bloomed in the tendons of his right leg.

His speed limp down the impossibly long drive would be very impressive as well, if he weren’t too busy pulling his hoodie over the massive materializing wings on his back and pulling out his phone to order a Lyft back to—Back to where? Back to the manor? That meant going back to Dick and Damian looking like he crawled out of one of Jason’s old Lovecraft novels. Then again, staying here meant risking the possibility of being dissected like such a creature. Jason? Jason’s off-world with the Outlaws, fuck. No Titans in the vicinity either.

The manor it was. Maybe he would be able to gaslight Damian into believing he had a pet lizard.