Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Contrary to what most of the world may think, Batman is only human.

A very tired, very confused human at that.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, chin propped up on his hands and cowl off but cape swooshing around him, and stared up at the sparse file in front of him. The noises of Cassandra and Damian tumbling around on the sparring mat became white noise for him to think to.

“Long night, Master Bruce?” Alfred approached with a dish of snacks and tea.

“It was another dead end.” Bruce sighed. For the past hour since he returned from patrol, he had been trying very hard to not slam his head against the desk.

He held up a crumpled paper with the message “Too late, Big Bat :D” scrawled on it in marker and placed it on the desk. An arguably well-drawn, smiling bird holding a gun was at the bottom corner of the page.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully and set the tray down. “The Trifecta seem to be playing with you more recently. Do you have any idea as to why?”

Bruce shook his head, leaning back in his chair so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “I thought they were moving cargo tonight. They set up three different operations, and we chose the wrong one to intercept. I don’t know what they were doing.”

The again didn’t have to be said. This had happened too many times for Bruce’s liking. All he got out of these ‘interactions’ were messages like the paper on the desk or weird little knick-knacks. The origami bat from last month was still sitting on one of the worktables somewhere. The Trifecta did this sort of thing often. Like their namesake of bettors in a horse race, it was always near impossible to tell which operation would be the 'winning' one.

“I suppose suggesting to find them without trying to interfere with their operations would not be helpful then?”

Bruce sighed again. “I’ve tried that. They evade me every time.”

There was a beat of silence before Bruce dropped his hand from his face and looked back up at the monitor. “I don’t understand, Alfred. Whoever these people are…they’re highly trained. I’ve never even seen one, but they’re everywhere. Black Mask’s territory has shrunk sixty-five percent again over the last five months. Penguin is terrified of them and is trying to keep what scraps he’s been left with. Smaller gangs barely last a week if they’re anywhere close to the Trifecta’s hunting grounds.”

Alfred nodded. “They are a fascinating group. I can’t help but feel, Master Bruce, that they are like the urban legends to you as you are to most people.”

Bruce snorted, a wry smile tilting his lips up. “That’s not a good thing, Alfred.”

“I am aware, but perhaps there is a different way to go about this, my boy. They are crime lords, yes, but at the very least, they do seem to help people sometimes. Not to mention that they don’t actively seek your harm or that of your children.”

“Hn.”

“If I may offer one more piece of advice?”

Bruce nodded, urging his pseudo-father to continue.

“You might have to let them come to you. They know what they’re doing, considering they can run circles around you without your knowledge. I’m not sure how you’d manage such a feat, but it may help.” Alfred placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and squeezed gently, “Regardless, you will figure it out. You always do.”

With that, Alfred picked up the tray of snacks and started walking towards the stairs to the sparring mats. His voice calling out to the children below became background noise as Bruce looked at the file again.

The Trifecta was a highly dangerous criminal organization. They’d been active for two years and have already racked up a great number of accomplishments. The group had apparently destroyed the Court of Owls, ransacked both Penguin’s and Black Mask’s territories, disrupted the drug trade, and generally took the criminal underworld by storm unless otherwise noted. Their control had grown substantially since their initial arrival.

Bruce scrolled through the file he’d been keeping on them. Some things were police and civilian reports. Others were names that Gothamites took to calling the group. Trifecta was the most popular, but there were several others, with: Shadow Kings of Gotham, the Birds, Triple Threat, and Court of Cryptids being the top four behind Trifecta. He also knew they had an affinity for birds. Case and point, the drawing on the letter.

For two years now, they’ve played with Batman. They’d leave gifts and messages, never threats but often sarcastic jokes. They had lowered the crime rate, though Batman did not agree with the whole ‘control crime or die’ philosophy they seemed to have. It started out as weird. Now it was…well it was still very weird. They didn’t seem scared of Batman at all, which he didn’t know how to take. But it was also as confusing as it was odd.

Never once had Batman ever been in a fight with any of the Trifecta's leaders. He had fought their goons, who were surprisingly well trained and had managed to get a few hits on him. Obviously, they had an effective hiring process and trained those who joined. Still, he’d never caught a glimpse of the big birds themselves.

He knew there were three of them. He knew their names: Corvus, Phoenix, and Strix. He knew that their ‘employees’ were incredibly loyal. It also seemed that, unlike most other crime lords and gang leaders, the Trifecta bosses were benevolent towards their people. From what Batman's heard at stakeouts, the gaggle of goons was well paid, housed, and fed. They also were known to have never harmed children.

Sometimes, it felt like the group was less crime-centered and more vigilante in nature, but then there would be an arms or drug deal that was confirmed to be theirs. It hardly made sense to him, and it was the great unknowns of this case that really frustrated him.

He stretched, sighed, and stood up. Even he had to admit that he’d been brooding about this for a bit too long. After closing out of the file, he turned and grabbed his cup of tea. Maybe joining his kids on the mats would help clear his head a little.

A disgruntled shriek echoed through the penthouse’s living room.

“Jay! Get off me!”

“No! You’re being stupid!”

“Quit whining! I’m literally fine!”

“So ‘fine’ means your third pot of coffee!?”

Another yell and a smacking sound followed. Someone either just got hit with a pillow or a wing. That someone was probably Tim.

Dick was just trying to have one peaceful night. He had just come back home from the arms run, and though it had been hilarious to see the irritated look on Batman’s face when he saw the letter, Dick was hoping for some quiet. Stepping into the penthouse made him realize that such dreams would never come true and neither peace nor quiet were common things in his family. Slowly, he wandered towards the direction of the sounds, the claws on his feet ticking slightly as he walked.

The scene before him was nothing out of the ordinary. Tim was on the couch, his legs propped up on the long coffee table in front of him and his laptop balanced near his knees. There was a half-full pot of coffee on the table next to him. Jason was flapping obnoxiously in his face and throwing himself onto Tim’s lap to try and pin him down.

Tim got a torrent of black and red feathers to the face and started protesting again. Jason, looking slightly distraught and concerned, almost bit the hand that tried to push him off.

“What's going on in here?” Dick raised an eyebrow as all movement stilled and two heads turned his way. Tim’s face was at least a little sheepish, and he side-eyed the coffee pot next to him. Jason’s face, on the other hand, was something between controlled rage and unbridled joy. It made him look a bit manic, if Dick was being honest, but it was an endearing look in his eyes all the same.

There was a beat of silence, and Dick silently hoped that there would be a logical explanation for this.

No such luck, unfortunately, as a barrage of chirps, whistles, and clicks from Jason came his way. A second later, Tim started up with similar noises.

Dick felt like screaming internally or snapping his own neck. Great. Now, they were screaming at him in Chirrish.

“Timberine’s on his third pot of coffee, and he won’t stop! I’m just being a helpful, concerned big brother!”

“Jason’s being a tryhard! It’s not late at all! Unlike you two, I have a company to run!”

“It’s almost three in the morning!”

“Since when has that ever stopped me!?”

A sharp, shrill whistle pierced the air, causing both of the yelling teenagers to quiet down again. Effectively, Dick’s “shut up” whistle, but nicer.

The oldest wordlessly crossed the length of carpet and hooked his arms under Jason. He pulled him off Tim and rolled him to the side of the couch. Then, he grabbed the pot of coffee and empty mug, hissing at Tim when he reached for it, and took them to a table on the other side of the room. He would take them to the kitchen later.

When he returned to the couch, he looked expectantly down at the laptop on Tim’s legs. He furrowed his brows at it, and glared lightly at his youngest brother.

With a sigh, Tim saved whatever documents were open, closed the lid, and handed the device to Dick.

Dick tossed it, gently, onto an armchair nearby. He perched on the longer table in front of the couch and stared at Tim, his glowing, golden eyes boring into Tim’s icy blues. He huffed and tilted his head. “Tim, we are your Talons. It’s our duty to protect you and ensure your well-being. Jason could have gone about it a bit less…intensely, but he was trying to help you. If we didn't try to help keep you alive and well, we would be failing our duties. Talons do not fail duties.”

Tim, for an instant, looked like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to think better of it and deflate into the cushions of the couch. “Don’t talk about yourselves like that…You’re not…you’re not my servants. We’ve been over that.” His voice was low and small. He hated when Dick or Jason talked about the ‘duties’ the court had given them as if the old coots were still around to enforce their disgusting rules.

In the middle of the conversation, Jason had slipped away and taken the coffee supplies to the sink. He was back before either of them realized he’d left in the first place.

Dick smiled softly, though his eyes were sad and conflicted. “If not a Talon’s duty, then it's a brother’s duty to protect his younger fledglings.” His gaze flicked from Tim to the empty spot on the couch in-between said fledglings. His wings twitched slightly.

Tim’s posture relaxed a little more, and he sighed, “You’re not even out of your armor yet. Go change. Then, we can hang out the rest of the night I guess.”

Dick nodded, stepped off the table, and started walking towards the stairs. He didn’t stop but turned his head to chirp over his shoulder. “I call middle!”

Neither teen went to argue with him, and he called that a win. He was quick to strip of his armor, hop in the shower, and change into comfy sweatpants and a hoodie, which had nice slits in the back for his wings. He returned to Tim grumping in his corner of the couch while Jason surfed through the channels to find something to watch.

The sight made his heart melt just a perfectly normal, small amount.

If Dick Grayson, the former Gray Son of Gotham and one of the most powerful Talons of the Court, later held both his brothers a little closer with his wings as they watched a new ocean docuseries, then that was for only him to know.

If Dick Grayson, currently Strix, the eldest of his flock, carried his little brothers to their nest not even an hour later when they had fallen asleep at his sides, then that was no one’s business but his own.

Chapter Text

“Is this really a good idea?” Dick asked, head tilted and one eyebrow raised at Tim.

Tim adjusted the inky black suit coat he was wearing and turned to glance at his brother. “I got invited to this gala. It’d be rude if I didn’t go. Plus, you guys won’t be far away. It’s a good opportunity to see the bats up close.”

Jason hummed from where he was sitting cross-legged on top of the dresser. He was looking at the gala invitation Tim had received last week. “Bruce Wayne doesn’t even know your name. It just says, ‘To the esteemed CEO of Reaper Beans’. I know your identity isn’t super well-known, but how could the Batman seriously not know? World’s Greatest Detective my ass.”

Tim snorted, putting a small, jeweled raven pin on the left lapel of his jacket. He looked at himself one more time in the mirror. It was weird, going to a gala like this again. Of course, he’d been to meetings of the Court and League, but they didn’t have this exact kind of attire required. The last time he’d gone to a Wayne gala, he’d been just four years old and still tried to cling to his parents. Now, at seventeen, he couldn’t find an ounce of the child he’d been back then.

His black coat, pants, and shoes made his ghostly pale complexion stand out more. Scars that faded to varying degrees decorated his skin, untold stories and quiet mysteries carved in each one. His deep navy-blue turtleneck complemented the ring of darker blue at the edge of his irises. He bothered to tame his hair a bit for the occasion, and the bangs fluffed down the corners of his face, with the back tickling his neck as usual. The little raven pin glittered from reflected light.

“That’s why I think this is a bit of a risk. We’ve been keeping it on the low from the bats for this long. What if something happens?” Dick continued his rant about concerns and dangers as if he and Jason wouldn’t literally be watching the gala from nearby trees or the car.

The youngest bird turned away from the mirror and shook his head. “I don’t think this’ll risk much of anything. I know my way around rich idiots. Seriously, this could be a good opportunity for us.”

Jason looked up from the invitation and hopped down from the dresser. “You are one of those rich idiots, by the way. You’re probably right though; nothing should happen, but don’t blame us if something goes south and we have to bust in.” He did a once-over of Tim’s suit, picking off a bit of fuzz on one of the shoulders. The man had standards, you know. “Do you have the knife?”

“Takes one to know one, I guess. You’re also a rich idiot, by the way. So, you don’t get a pass either. And of course I have it, Jay. Right where I can reach.” Tim patted his right coat pocket, preening at the approving trill his brother gave.

Dick sighed and finished putting on his armor. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

“Nope!”

Jason laughed, checked his own gear, and rattled the car keys. “Let’s get going then, boys. Don’t want Timbo to be late for his little party.”

Tim loved driving with Jason. It was a pure fact that both he and Dick agreed on. Jason, the speed demon that he was, had the best reflexes when it came to anything with wheels. So, when Jason had nudged Tim towards his freshly modified Aston Martin Valkyrie, Tim couldn’t help but feel that every minute at the gala would be worth it, even if it did end up to be terribly boring, just to ride in the glorious machine.

The sleek vehicle was Jason’s most recent pride and joy. Cars and motorcycles had always been a passion of Jason’s, way before the Court ever got it claws on him. The four perfect Batmobile tires hanging on the wall of the garage was proof of that. Jason hadn’t wanted that endeavor to go unfinished, after all. While becoming your own mechanic and finding rare, old, or fast cars to refurbish or modify wasn’t at all a cheap hobby, Tim would throw any amount of money to see the beaming smiles he’d that would grace his brother’s face as he worked on his projects.

Out of all the cars in their family’s possession, the Valkyrie had to be his favorite. The main body was completely black, but all the accent stripes had been replaced with glowing strips of blue. An almost winglike design was masterfully set in the doors and sides of the car. The wheel wells and rims glowed in certain spots as well, giving the whole thing a very futuristic vibe. Tim patted himself on the back for making his brothers watch the Tron movies with him.

Flying in style was a bird’s specialty, after all.

Zipping through the city took little more than forty minutes, and they were soon over the bridge that led to Bristol. Jason was playing some movie soundtrack and tapping his fingers to the beat. Dick was flying somewhere around them, and Tim could feel his comforting presence not far away. It was perfect for their little nighttime drive as the smog of Gotham proper gave way to well-maintained yards and clearer skies. Tim spotted his old home farther up the road. Drake Manor loomed, imposing and oppressive, against the soft gardens that surrounded it. A slight shiver tracked down his spine, and he had half a mind to back out of this whole thing. His parents could possibly be there, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with them.

Jason glanced at him and bumped him with a wing. “You’ll be fine. Unlike Dickie, I’m not worried about you. You can be a smug little turd when you want to be. So, you’ll do fine.”

“Oh, I’m a turd now?” Tim joked back, raising an eyebrow as Jason shrugged.

“I’m just saying, if there were two emojis that you embody, it’s the poop one and the sunglasses one.” Jason shot back, a teasing grin playing on his lips. He changed the song to something slower and softer, probably to listen to while on this little ‘stakeout’.

Tim paused, gears turning in his head at what he just heard. “I…I am not a poop emoji!”

Jason shrugged again, not saying anything as they approached Wayne Manor. The smirk on his face told Tim everything he needed to know anyway.

They drove in silence for a few seconds until they rounded the corner and got the full view of the manor.

Jason whistled and started slowing down as the number of parked cars around them increased. “This is a damn castle. No way people call this a house.”

Tim hadn’t seen this side of the house in almost thirteen years. It impressed him now just as much as it scared him back then. “You’d be surprised at what people call houses.”

 Jason nodded and swung into the drop-off area. “I’ll see you later, Timmers. Go knock ‘em dead with all that caffeine-fueled swag you got going on.”

“Every time you say something like that I want to stab myself.” Tim grumped as he opened the vertically opening car door.

“Been there, done that, baby bird.”

Tim sighed and climbed out and away from his absolutely too-cringe brother. “Thanks for the lift. See you in a few hours.”

Jason gave him a salute that disappeared when the door swung back down. Tinted windows were amazing at hiding talonized brothers.

Tim glanced up at a nearby tree that had a perfect view of the ballroom inside. He nodded and saw the brief glint of a blade waving at him. Dick was there. Everything would be fine.

He turned and made his way through the open gates. The large front doors were open, and chattering voices drifted from inside.

Right…everything would be fine.

Chapter Text

Tim Drake had never been comfortable in the world of the elites. He’d always felt out of place and unwanted. Maybe it was because he absolutely was unwanted and more of a burden than anything, but it wasn’t his fault his parents made it abundantly clear that he was an heir and nothing more. It wasn’t his fault that his innocent heart and impeccable behavior wasn’t enough to earn him love. It was, apparently, entirely his fault that his parents eagerly gave him to the Court because his existence became too much of an irritation for them to bother coming home to.

He had learned later that scraps of affection were earned by spilling his heart’s blood or fighting until it could no longer beat. Love itself meant nothing until he was ten years old, when hesitant talons had carded through his hair and whispered hoarse trills his way. Loyalty meant nothing until he was thirteen, when two talons were knelt at his feet, and his official title became ‘Wing Whisperer’. Trust meant nothing until six months after, when he was curled up and bleeding in Jason’s ever-silent embrace and Dick had killed for him for the first time.

He remembered caring very much when his parents first handed him to blood-stained claws and porcelain masks. Now, he doesn’t think he’d change a thing. His blood family may have abandoned him, but he was perfectly happy in the secure wings of the talons that would be the Court’s very undoing.

Love was a powerful thing. When overwhelming, it could bring even the most jaded men to their knees. When weaponized, the world burned in brilliant hues of red and gold. Tim loved watching things burn.

The warmth on Tim’s back, likely due to the watchful eyes of nearby birds, made him shudder minutely. Right, gala. He was here to see the bats in their civilian identities up close and personal. But, he thought as he entered through the worn, wooden doors, he would keep his little mental ramble in mind. He wondered what the bats’ opinions on love and loyalty was. Considering Bruce ‘I work alone’ Wayne definitely did not work alone anymore. Getting a now father’s perspective, who had assassins for both children and vigilante partners, was definitely on Tim’s radar now. Though that…probably wouldn’t be a good first conversation starter.

Tim found himself skimming along the polished floors of the manor, back in a world he didn’t really want to come back to. There was a reason not many people knew that Tim Drake was the newest big CEO on the scene. At the very least, he was among familiar company. If familiar company counted multiple vigilantes, not that they knew that he was one of them. At least he knew though, and that was what mattered at the moment.

The second he entered the ballroom, he was immediately reminded why he found the upper echelons of Gotham particularly insufferable, all fake smiles and dirty gossip. Tim felt, as he always did, like an outcast among the older members of high society. Children were never able to attend as important guests beyond just coming with their parents. He had been one of those little kids once, but now Tim was apparently on another level. He was one of the lucky few, a young CEO who used the money he got from the remnants of the Court and his family’s other “businesses” to create the fastest-growing coffee company in the country. He was extremely successful for his age, and that brought his youthful but probably too-scarred-for-seventeen face under the scrutiny of the old money in the room, even if no one knew who he actually was.

To be honest, he felt a bit like a bug under a magnifying glass. It was something that he had plenty of experience with, not with being a member of the Court of Owls since age should’ve-been-in-kindergarten and all that. Multiple heads creaked in his direction, judgmental eyes studying him before deeming him insignificant enough to ignore. Good. It was better that they ignore him.

His gaze lingered on the hors d’oeuvres platters being carried around by waitstaff. Teenagers, no matter their status, should never turn their noses up at free food. He grabbed a mushroom that was stuffed with something smelling like lobster or crab and could practically hear Dick’s twittering whispers about the poor state of the meat. Dick preferred the tried-and-true birdlike method of ripping your prey apart in great ribbons and gulping it down like some sort of constrictor snake. Dainty little portions? Never in Dick’s lifetime. He had an image to uphold, after all. Jason would probably just laugh and shove every morsel of food on every platter in sight down his throat. No food was too fancy looking to waste, even if it was slimy and molding. It was a street rat’s mentality but an effective one.

So what if his brothers were the most disgusting wood chipper and garbage disposal style eaters he knew? The gala attendants would be mortified. Tim was sure of that. Oh…if only…

It was right as he was turning to a nicely set up drink table though when the lights dimmed slightly.

Bruce Wayne stepped up to the podium and gave a small speech about the typical gala things, thanking everyone for coming, talking about charity, blah blah rich people stuff, blah blah boring business drabble. Tim clapped and smiled politely with everyone else when the speech concluded. The lights came back on, and everyone went back to whatever snobbery they were up to.

Tim could not care less about posh speeches and self-congratulating comments. Of course, Mr. Wayne did a lot of good for the city, day and night, but it didn’t matter when this was the audience of his speech.

Oh well, time for drinks. He grinned when he saw a canister of his own coffee blend, Spiced Embers, staring right back at him. At least Mr. Wayne had the decency to let the love of his life show up to keep him company. If he had more hands, he’d pour himself more than two cups, but alas, he was only human. If he filled the largest champagne flutes possible up to the brim in coffee though, then that was the rest of high society’s problem.

And now, he could finally start looking for the bats. Bruce was the easiest, with the Brucie Wayne persona on full display on the other side of the room. Seriously, wasn’t that exhausting? Tim could never be that level of forced cheerfulness on purpose. He’d probably pass out or something. No, he’d die again, actually, and hopefully he’d stay dead if that was the cause. His brothers would never let him live it down. He took a second to silently thank his employees for never expecting that of him.

Damian Wayne wasn’t hard to spot either. The energy of his scowl radiated across the room from where the boy sat at a more secluded table. Tim had no doubt that the kid was currently judging everything going on around him. In a single, unfortunate, second, Damian’s eyes locked onto his. Tim just shot him a tired, lazy smile and raised one of his flutes in a silent ‘cheers’. Despite trying to hide it, stiff confusion rolled off the younger boy in waves. Tim imagined he was quite the sight, a random teenager with too pale skin, too many scars, and too big eyebags appearing at a gala, only to carry around two massive flutes with deep brown liquid. What he’d give to hear what the kid was thinking right now.

A sudden sound drew Damian’s attention away, and Tim took the opportunity to disappear back into the crowd.

Stephanie Brown made an appearance, which was surprising, seeing as she wasn’t technically adopted and almost never went to these kinds of things. Bruce must have bribed her with something good, because she looked utterly miserable in the gaggle of young women twittering about something that Tim couldn’t care less about. Spoiler should be able to get out of this mess, he supposed. Her misfortune if she couldn’t.

The final member of the family he was looking for was standing a small distance away from everything, surveying the room with a silent gaze that missed absolutely nothing. It wasn’t a judgmental look like Damian’s. It was curious, more inquisitive like this was actually an interesting scene.

With his first target acquired, Tim quietly stepped over to the older girl.

She glanced at him as he came closer, and his fake smile dropped in favor of something a bit more natural and friendly in nature.

“I’m guessing it’s more fun over here without a bunch of old farts breathing down your neck?” He stopped not far away from her and took a sip of his coffee.

She hummed, and he could feel her eyes analyzing him. It was probably weird for her to have a total stranger walk over and interrupt her quiet corner. Black Bat seemed almost as shadowlike as his brothers sometimes. So, it was no surprise that her body language read with a slight bit of shock and curiosity. He knew she was reading him too, but two could play at that game. Tim’s been reading body language since practically when he was born. No child grows up with hair-trigger tempered parents and survive in the Court without a skill like that.

“I hope I’m not bothering much. It’s just…boring around here.” He took another sip of his coffee and looked over at her, “You seemed more interesting than whatever business deals they’re talking about.”

The girl next to him shrugged slightly but nodded. Her eyes narrowed minutely at him though. “You haven’t been here long.”

Ah, of course she saw him when he came in. “Yeah, but I’ve been to a lot of meetings of socialites and big wigs. It gets really old really fast.” That was completely true. The meetings the Court had were even more terrible than the boredom of a Wayne gala, or any gala for that matter.

She seemed to get the message, and for a moment, they just stood there, eyeing each other and having a silent conversation with body language. She appeared surprised that someone else was able to converse with her in this way, but it came naturally to Tim. He would talk to his brothers like this all the time, especially if one of them was having a bad day. He knew how to give off an air of safety and calm. After all, he was typically seen as the more chill of the three brothers. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was almost constantly sleep-deprived and running on fumes…or the fact that Dick had thinly-veiled anger issues and Jason frequently looked like he was going to snap someone’s limb in two if someone breathed at him wrong. It probably helped that the girl appeared genuinely interested in his presence.

After a moment, he noticed how they both had relaxed. He maneuvered his flutes so he was holding them both in one hand and stuck out his other one, “I’m Tim. It’s…nice to meet someone who’s easy to talk to, if you get what I mean.”

She smiled, the crinkle in her eyes telling him that she completely agreed. She shook his hand gently but firmly. “Cass.”

Tim grinned, real and genuine, and moved to lean against the wall behind them. “I haven’t been to a Wayne gala in a while. Kinda crazy how it feels like so little changes with these things.”

Cass tilted her head curiously, as if to ask “How so?”.

He gestured vaguely at the crowd. “I haven’t been to a Wayne gala at the manor in years, but it looks just like it did last time I was here. The only thing that’s changed is that the guests are older and you and your siblings are here.”

Cass hummed thoughtfully and looked at him with that probing gaze of hers. “Would Bruce recognize you?”

He searched her eyes for anything accusing and found nothing. Sighing, he shook his head and shrugged. “I doubt it. When I say years, I mean I haven’t been here since I was like…four or something. I’ve been to rich people parties since then but not here in particular.”

“You came with your parents last time?”

Tim nodded. Technically, he was giving away more about himself than he initially thought he would, but it was nice finally talking to someone around his own age who was outside his own family. He hadn’t done this in a long time. Sue him if he was actually enjoying himself a little bit.

Cass seemed to find something in his stance, probably the slight downturn of his shoulders that betrayed some of his inner thoughts. Her eyes seemed to soften a little. “Are they here now?”

“Yeah…” He had gotten a glance of Jack and Janet Drake when he first arrived. Luckily, they were on the opposite side of the room and engaged with a small group. As far as he was aware, they hadn’t seen him.

“You don’t want to see them.” It wasn’t a question, simply an observation. Curiosity flashed in her eyes again, though there was a slight crease of hesitation as well. After a moment, she asked, “Why are you here?”

Tim shrugged, sipping his coffee again and swallowing another petite something or other. “I was invited. Figured it’d be rude not to come. Not every day I get invited to a Wayne gala. Plus, there’s free food. I never cook this type of fancy stuff at home…What about you? I mean, you live here, but how’d Bruce get you to come down here?”

Something playful danced on Cass’s face, and she nodded her head towards the ominous presence in the room. “Keeping an eye on little brother.”

Tim chuckled. So, the graceful, deadly former assassin Cassandra Cain was stuck with babysitting duty. “Feels like something my older brother would do.”

“You have siblings?”

Tim paused briefly, his face hidden from her view as he looked at Damian. Okay, Dick would totally throw a fit for that little slip-up. He probably was, actually. He gave the camera and mic in his raven pin a thought and mentally shrugged. Oh well. Dick can scold him later. He turned back to his companion maybe new friend? And nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got two older brothers. You got anyone other than mister ray of sunshine over there?”

The girl’s smile broke into light laughter. “Him and Steph. She is a sister to me.” She pointed to the girl in the purple dress who almost seemed free from the horde of gossiping women.

“Double sibling buddies then, huh?” Tim could feel his own smile growing. He really did enjoy talking about his brothers. Sometimes, he wished that his family was a little more normal so they could actually join him. But Cass’s family wasn’t so normal either. So, maybe it balanced out.

Cass opened her mouth to say something else when a new voice joined them.

“I literally almost died. I can’t believe I survived that. I’m never coming to one of these god-awful parties again.” Stephanie Brown sauntered over and dramatically flung herself forward to lean on Cass’s shoulder.

Cass chuckled and patted her sister’s head. It took a moment for the newcomer blonde to notice Tim’s existence. When she did, she squinted at him suspiciously and then looked to Cass. “Who’s this?”

“Tim.” Cass stated simply, as if his name was the answer to the great questions of the universe.

The blonde teen straightened and looked him up and down. “How’d you manage to worm your way in here?”

Okay, a little rude, but he wasn’t surprised. “I got invited. Came ‘cuz it’s polite and free food. Cass seemed like one of the most interesting people here. So, I stopped by to introduce myself. She’s cool. She said your name is Steph? I’m Tim. ‘s nice to meet ya.”

Steph stared at him for a second before glancing down at the flutes in his hand. An incredulous expression crossed over her face, much like Damian’s. “Is that coffee?”

Tim smirked a little and took a sip out of the almost empty first flute. “Yup. My own blend too.”

That seemed to grab Steph’s attention. “Wait…The only coffee we got for this is from Reaper Beans…You’re the Beans dude!?”

Tim chuckled and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s me. The beans dude. I’m honored that you have my stuff here.”

Steph tilted her head and glanced at Cass. “We’ve got the source…” Cass nodded sagely.

Tim raised an eyebrow at the girls. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

Steph stood up straighter from where she had hung onto her sister. “Our friend Barbara is a total glutton for your coffee, and now you’re right here. Man…if only she had actually decided to come.”

“Glad to know I’m appreciated.”

A thoughtful look crossed the blonde’s face, and she pointed at him. “Wait, so how come no one knows who you are? You’ve been in business for like…two and a half years now.”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t exactly hide it, but I don’t go around flaunting it either. Some people do know who I am, but there’s a lot of high society drama that I’d much rather avoid. I don’t typically enjoy being around people like-” He gestured around to the crowds. Considering that most of his employees and his brothers knew who he was, that wasn’t a lie. And there definitely were things, and people, he wanted to avoid.

Steph nodded and looked around the room. “I totally understand you there. High society is so boring.”

Right as the words left her lips, their attentions were drawn to admittedly the most non-boring thing to happen all night. A sharp hiss sounded from somewhere around the drink table, and the three teens looked over to see an old woman pinching Damian Wayne’s cheek. He somehow had a butter knife in his free hand and a murderous rage in his eyes.

“Uhh…Cass, that might be your cue.” Tim offered, gulping down the rest of his first flute.

The dark-haired girl sighed and walked off, leaving Steph to try and hide her giggles and Tim to watch in amusement.

“Brothers, am I right?” Tim offered, finally looking back to Steph as they saw Cass get a hold of the situation.

“He’s alright when he’s not busy being a raging hellspawn, I swear.” Steph laughed, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. “You’ve got brothers?”

“Yeah, got two. I’m the youngest, for better or worse.”

“Dang, you and Damian are twins then. He’s the youngest.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Well, considering there’s only three of you, I’d hope he’s the youngest, or I’d be severely worried about his…vertical growth.”

That got Steph snorting again. She just managed to wrangle herself when Cass came back with a disgruntled Damian in tow.

Cass nudged Damian forward so the four of them formed a small circle in their corner. “Little brother, this is Tim. He makes coffee and is a new friend.”

Tim tried to not let “new friend” get to him. Something long-tense in his heart loosened just a little. “Damian right? It’s nice to meet you. Your family’s pretty cool.”

Damian, still frazzled from his unfortunate encounters with too many old ladies this evening, stared up at him with an unimpressed expression. “I saw you fill two champagne glasses with coffee. That seems more like a weirdo.”

Tim barked out a laugh and waved his hand dismissively. “Kid, my whole brand is coffee.”

“He’s the founder of Reaper Beans, Dami.” Steph adds.

Damian hums and looks Tim up and down again before settling for his face. “You have many scars.”

“I do.” There’s nowhere Tim can lie here, not that he’d do that anyway.

“Dami!” Stephanie Brown wasn’t known for her manners, but she at least thought that the verbal acknowledgement was slightly rude. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Tim wasn’t the expert on normal people etiquette and was in no position to judge.

“I am simply making an observation, Brown. Are you a warrior, Tim?” Damian sounded his name out slowly, as if testing it out.

Tim frowned and sighed. He knew the question was coming and therefore wasn’t surprised, but he had to act upset or…whatever. “I mean…not really, unless you consider surviving an abusive living situation for the first fifteen years of life counts as warrior material. My own type of battle scars I guess.” And that was the truth, not the entirety of it, but he hardly had any scars from his current post-Court of Owls era. His brothers were the same way. Nothing was that much of a threat to them that could actually leave a scar nowadays, unless it was a bullet or projectile or themselves.

Damian seemed to falter slightly at that, but composed himself just as quickly. “I understand. I suppose survival may sometimes be the only fruit of war.”

Tim…was frankly a little surprised at that. He knew very well the conditions in which Damian Wayne grew up in. He’d even gotten glances of the little terror when they were both much younger, when Tim had trained with Ra’s al Ghul. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the Court, but Tim was touched that Damian sympathized to an extent.

After a moment, Cass spoke up again. “What were you talking about before I came back? I saw you laughing.”

Steph huffed an airy laugh. “Just a little family stuff. Tim here is the youngest of three. Speaking of, how old are you anyway? If I had to guess, I’d say you’re around our age.”

“You’d be right on then. I’m seventeen.”

Steph gaped just slightly. “Seventeen? And the founder of a crazy successful business? That’s only been around for a few years?”

Tim shrugged and started sipping at his second flute. “Hey, it’s not my fault that Gotham coffee sucks butt. It wasn’t hard to tear the market to pieces when it was already in shambles.”

Steph’s shoulders deflated dramatically. “I guess you’re right. I thought it was all hype at the start, but the first time I went into one of your shops, I totally got why people were so excited. How did you manage to make your coffee not taste like Jokerized piss water?”

“Good filtration systems and good quality coffee blends.” Tim deadpanned, like the answer should have been obvious for decades.

“I still can’t believe you trust Gotham enough to handle your manufacturing.” Steph said, a disbelieving tone because typically manufacturing plants like Tim’s would be ransacked soon after they were built.

“I’m in a lucky spot, I think. I know that I was building in Batman’s area when I converted the warehouses. A lot of the docks men talked about him. Now, I think that area also overlaps with the…what are they called now- Shadow Kings or something? I think people are scared of them, but it works to keep the criminals out. So, I don’t mind.” The bats didn’t need to know exactly what he meant by that.

“Oh, the Wings of Chaos guys, yeah. C’mon Timmy, Shadow Kings is so last week.” Steph teased, but curiosity sparkled in her eyes at the mention of the other vigilante group. “They leave you alone though?”

Tim shrugged. He'll keep the new title in mind, since he hadn't heard it before. “They don’t seem to mind. There’s a couple other businesses nearby that they don’t bother. As long as they don’t burn my property down or something like that, I don’t really care what they or the bats do.” Half-truth, half-lie. He totally cared about what Gotham’s vigilantes did.

“That’s fair. Now, back to the topic of siblings. Yours are older, right? What do they do?” Steph was clearly curious, and Tim could tell that Cass and Damian were just as interested. It’s not every day you meet a weird new teenage CEO, he supposed.

But that was the golden question, wasn’t it. Tim, technically, was the only one with a ‘normal’ full-time job. It’s not like either of his brothers could actually go outside and do things in the middle of the day, wings and grey skin and black veins and all that.

Good thing he also knew where to take this question, even if it was utterly ridiculous but completely truthful. “My first brother Jason does metalworking. He commissions stuff from metal art to replica swords. Apparently, the historical re-enactment scene is on fire right now. The oldest one, Dick…eh…he cyber-bullies children and basement-dwelling chair roaches for a living.”

And the three of them just honest-to-goodness stare at him like he’s grown an extra head.

Steph, per the usual, was the first to break the silence. “Dude, you’ve gotta elaborate on the second one. The first one is like…normal…but…your oldest brother lives up to his name, huh?”

Tim sighed. “You know first-person shooter games, right?” Three nods in response. “He stated gaming as a hobby, but someone clipped him making a grown man cry in a game lobby. It went viral, and we thought it’d be fun to capitalize on the opportunity. So, he made his own channel, and now he makes videos of wiping the floor with whoever he finds in whatever game interests him at the time. Apparently, people find his creative insults and skills and…tendencies to sometimes make any age group cry entertaining enough to watch, and now it’s his full-time gig.”

The three bats looked genuinely flabbergasted, and Damian’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. “I believe a classmate of mine once showed us a clip of your brother.”

Steph nodded in agreement. “And you told us about it when you got home. Tim, your brother doesn’t happen to be ‘Nightwing’, does he?”

Tim internally cringed just a little. He felt, for a second, like dying inside. Instead, he sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s him.” Because it was true. Because Nightwing always played in the late-night hours, was practically nocturnal anyway, and was, unbeknownst to the internet, practically a bird running on mostly human hardware. Because Dick had found raging at random gamers to help soothe his ever-boiling fury when there were no more bad guys to hit. Somehow, his coping mechanism for anger had turned him into a much beloved internet star who trash talked idiots and supported his teammates through the games. It probably helped that his real-life knowledge and practical skills of combat helped him exponentially.

Steph put her hands together and pointed at him, taking a deep breath while doing so. “I’m gonna need a minute.” And she walked off to pace around a nearby table.

“Is…is she okay?” Tim asked, glancing between Cass and Steph.

“She is a fan of your brother.” Damian stated, drawing Tim’s gaze down to him.

“I see…” Tim mumbled, worrying what Dick was thinking right now. He was also slightly freaking out that: one, these kids now knew that Dick was famous, and two, Tim was in completely unknown waters here. He could mask his emotions better than anyone else he knew, but this was getting ridiculous.

Steph returned after a few moments, and before she could say anything, Tim raised his hand to stop her. “I have a request of you three.” His tone was soft.

He could tell Cass was seeing right through him. She reached out gently and held either side of his raised hand in her own. “We will not tell anyone about your brother’s job. We can keep secrets.”

Tim searched her eyes, diving to find any lie or insincerity. He found nothing.

Steph jumped in next. “Yeah, dude. I mean, personally, I think that’s really sick. But it’s not like I’m gonna start screaming to the world about it. Your secret’s safe with us. Don’t you worry…though it’d be a bit cool if I could play a round with him or something sometime.” She muttered the last bit, but Tim heard her all the same.

“I also believe that respecting your brother’s privacy is an honorable cause. You need not fret over information getting out.” Damian piped up, crossing his arms over his chest in a determined pose.

Now, Tim…Tim wasn’t the sort of person to ask a lot of others. He was raised to give everything of himself and expect absolutely nothing good in return. The only thing he should ever expect in life was pain, betrayal, and torture. Mercy wasn't an option. Death was demanded.

Here were these three, the Dark Knight’s little bats, offering something he hadn’t yet requested. His heart swelled and clenched and ached, because the only people who had ever done that in his seventeen years of life were Dick and Jason.

Pressure did not build behind his eyes. His lungs did not try to heave at their genuine kindness. If you said so, you were a liar.

He took a deep breath and nodded, “Okay…Okay, thank you. I really appreciate that. Not a lot of people know the name behind the voice. I really don’t want him to be stressed that people he doesn’t know, well…know.”

Steph clapped his shoulder and laughed. “Course, Timmy.”

“Just so you know, I’ll hunt you down if you spill. My brother’s well-being is a priority of mine, and it’d suck if he got stressed out about this…Plus, I think he’d kill me. You wouldn’t want your new buddy to die, would you?” Tim half-teased and put on a faux-threatening glare from behind his rapidly-emptying flute.

All three siblings nodded seriously, and Cass gave his hand one more squeeze before letting go. “Wouldn’t want you to die. You’re interesting.”

Being called interesting should not have made him smile as much as it did. He really needed to get out more. “Glad to hear it.”

Chapter Text

Even though his heart was put at ease, Tim knew he’d be chewed out later if he didn’t get some sort of information about the bats. So, the end of talking about Dick, thank goodness really, let Tim bring up a new point of discuss. “So, I’ve told you guys some stuff about my family, what about yours? What sorta hobbies and stuff do you get up to?”

Surprisingly enough, Damian seemed to take the lead on the question. “I enjoy drawing. School is a necessary evil, but I believe there are better uses of time.”

“Don’t I know it.” Tim chuckled, “I dropped out a couple years ago.” Completely and unapologetically the truth. Technically, he counted his “schooling” as whatever the Court had him study, and those times were long over.

Damian’s eyes glinted with something that Tim caught as jealousy. “That’s an option?” The younger boy looked up at Cass.

She glared lightly and shook her head. “No. Not an option for you.”

Tim hummed and patted Damian’s shoulder sympathetically, catching the way the boy froze and pulling back accordingly. “Tough luck. But hey, art is really cool, dude. I’ve done photography in my time. What do you draw?”

Damian shifted on his feet, whether it was from suspicion or surprise or embarrassment, Tim wasn’t sure. Could’ve been a combination. “Mostly animals, but I do draw people from time to time.”

“You draw life…That’s awesome. You’ll totally have to show me sometime.” Tim smiled kindly. Something about a little assassin drawing living things tickled him. Maybe because he did much the same with his photography.

Damian seemed to relax slightly at his comment and pushed on. “Drawing living things is more rewarding than drawing buildings or still life. To capture the true grace and fluidity of a moving creature is a near impossible feat. It is one that I strive towards.”

And damn if Tim didn’t want to just crush the kid in a hug right then and there. He seemed so proud of his hobby, and Tim knew that he probably had great skill. No one like Damian would half-ass something, even if it was ‘just a hobby’. Tim would know. He was the same way.

“I totally get what you mean. I guess drawing and taking photos are both ways of telling a story, right? I try to capture the outside world from my perspective, but it’s always limited by what lies in reality. With drawing, you get to tell a story from your perspective, but you only have the limits you put on yourself and your imagination. There’s always more to reach for.”

Damian nodded, something like cautious approval rippling in his shoulders. “See, Brown? I told you that my reasoning was not flawed.” He puffed up smugly and smirked at Stephanie.

Steph tapped her chin in faux-thoughtfulness. “Thought you called Tim a weirdo a little bit ago. Wonder what that makes you then…”

 Damian squawked indignantly and looked about a second away from either stepping on the girl’s foot or kicking her in the shin.

Tim could only grin. “Well, us artists just have a special way of seeing the world, I suppose. Jason also does art, you know. Blacksmithing and all that.”

Damian, ever the master of social graces and conversation, practically wheeled on him with a speedy intensity that drew several brief glances from others in the room. “You mentioned that your other brother makes recreational weaponry. Are his blades functional?”

Yeah, he could easily talk with the child assassin about swords and stuff. What kid didn’t love knives anyway? Weird, sad ones probably. “You bet! I’ve been around his forge before, and he sharpens pieces if the client wants it…Would you…like to see one of his pieces?”

The kid’s eyes sparkled with delight at the mention of seeing a blade. The sparkle in his eyes didn’t match the slight inclination of his head though. Tim figured that he was trying to keep himself cool and composed and all that. In that second, Tim may or may not have made it his personal mission to get Damian to outwardly freak out over something.

He smiled and reached into his coat’s right pocket. His fingers curled around the comforting weight. “This is my favorite one. Jay gave it to me for my birthday last year.”

The weapon he pulled out was a six-inch-long karambit. The handle was black with a finger loop and contoured perfectly to Tim’s hand. There was a slightly curved, feather-shaped inlet that started off a rich gold, bleeding into red, and tipped with blue.

It was the colors of his family. The base of the feather, the pillar, represented Dick. The middle of the shaft and start of the barbs, the glue and connection, represented Jason. The tips of the feather, its furthest reaches and first contact to the outside, represented Tim.

The blade itself was barely longer than a middle finger. The metal had been forged in a mosaic Damascus pattern. A raven with its wings spread was featured in the middle of the blade, with long featherlike patterns flared from where the handle started. There was a ridgeback edge along the back ricasso of the blade, which may or may not hide a tiny amount of harvested stone fish venom in its largest tip. You never knew when you’d need to poison someone after all. Tim could always count on Jason’s work to be dramatic as all get out.

Damian’s eyes seemed to widen to the size of dinner plates, and both girls leaned in to get a closer look.

Tim gave it a little spin in his hands before presenting it to his little audience of bats. “Pretty cool, right? I still don’t know how he got that pattern in. Something about alternate chunks of metal being placed in just the right way.”

“It’s beautiful.” Cass stated, slowly reaching out and tracing the length of the blade when Tim didn’t stop her.

“Your brother is greatly skilled.” Damian muttered, looking over the blade’s construction with the eyes of a hawk. “This craftsmanship is very high quality.”

Tim could only imagine how Jason was probably gloating to Dick over the comms right now. It wasn’t often at all that his blades were presented to someone in-person. Reviews on Etsy or whatever platform he used were one thing. Seeing the facial emotions of the person in real-time was another. “Ya wanna hold it?”

He held out the weapon to the kid and briefly considered the fact that this probably wasn’t all that normal. It seemed to give him bonus points with the batkids though. So, was it really all that bad?

Before Damian could answer though, a shrill voice pierced the air around them.

“Timothy! It is you!”

Tim schooled his expression into a mask of neutrality, but everything in his body told him to run. Make a damn break for it and get out. He shoved his karambit back into his pocket before it was seen.

The air shifted as two new presences invaded his space. He turned slightly and stiffened at the sight of his parents coming closer to him.

“It’s been so long, dear. Look how you’ve grown!” Janet Drake’s sweet smile was all lies in Tim’s mind. It was too sharp, too wide. Just seeing her again made his skin crawl.

The last time he saw her was at his ceremony. The same sharp, deceptively tender grin had been latched onto him then the same way it was now.

“It’s not every day someone has two talons kneel at their feet, Timothy. I don’t know what they saw in you, but I’m so glad they did.” Her wicked smile made perfectly white teeth glint in the dim lighting of the room. She circled him like a vulture, prodding at the robes draped around him and running her hands along the feathered headdress weighing heavy on his bleeding head. “Who knew…My little boy…becoming a Prince of the Court. You’ve made your father and I very proud.”

Tim blinked, and his parents were now in front of him, both lazily holding wine glasses and watching him with false enthusiasm.

Cass shifted a little by his side. She had picked up on their fake actions as well.

“Mother. Father.” Tim greeted curtly, nodding at the adults and letting his own false front ride up.

“We should catch up, champ. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you.” His father stated, leaving not an ounce of challenge to be had.

Tim didn’t need an ounce. He let a lazy, lopsided grin grace his features and gestured around him. “I’m sure you’d like that, but I’m in the middle of a conversation, you see. It’d be rude to just leave now.”

Jack’s brow quirked, and the slight downturn of his lips sparked a deep fear Tim had stashed far away. “I’m sure the Wayne children and Miss Brown wouldn’t mind. We are your parents after all.”

Tim heard Steph snort next to him but elected to ignore it for now. This was his standoff.

He tilted his chin up slightly and stared down his father. “In case you have forgotten, Father, I’m emancipated. So, I can be where I wish. Even if the Waynes did not mind, I was the person to strike up conversation with them, and seeing as the conversation is not yet over, it would be impolite to abandon it after I initiated.” He evoked all the haughty, upper-class attitude he had into his tone. In his humble opinion, he could outclass and outsmug his parents any day if he really tried to.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Tim, one eyebrow raised, but it was Janet who swooped in for the killing blow. “I’m sure the children don’t want to hear you complaining about your life, hmm? Is being a bird owner becoming too much trouble for you, Timothy? We could always assist, of course.” Her eyes sparkled with something dark, and they crinkled with that faux-charm that Tim never felt comfortable around.

“He clearly doesn’t want to see you. So, could you just leave us alone?” Stephanie huffed, siding over to Tim and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“This conversation does not concern you, Miss Brown.”

“Uh…duh. Yeah, it does, actually. Tim’s my friend, and he currently looks about two seconds away from either decking you in the face, smashing his flutes over your heads, or jumping out the window. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘parent of the year’ to me, if I may be so bold.” She snarked back, tugging Tim’s shoulder lightly to pull him farther away from the pair.

“I don’t care about what you think he looks like. I just want to talk to my son. Timothy, come.” Janet snapped. Venomous honey dripped from her voice and barely-concealed fury sparked in her eyes.

Tim just barely suppressed a flinch, but the way Steph’s hand squeezed a little tighter on his shoulder told him she felt his tensing muscles.

“Tim, I believe my father would like to meet you. He always is interested in meeting potential business partners and friends.” Damian piped up, putting on the full-blown royalty attitude and glaring at the Drakes over his nose.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Damian.” Tim hummed, matching the boy’s demeanor and nodding formally. He gave his parents a last glance. “If you’d excuse me, Janet, Jack.”

He let Damian and Cass lead him away, while Stephanie stayed behind to sass at his parents for a few minutes more. Making allies out of the batkids was turning out to be a great idea. He pat himself on the back for this completely unintentional development.

Bruce could scarcely get a moment to himself with all the women trying to cling to him and men trying to talk to him about funding their projects. Truly, these people were so shameless sometimes. Regardless, he got through most of the interactions with minimal irritation. Lucky him.

It was two hours into the gala that he noticed his kids were missing. He scanned the ballroom as discretely as he could. Last time he checked, Stephanie was stuck in a group and looking miserable. That was truly her own fault. She should have stayed away from them if she didn’t want to deal with socialite gossip. Damian had been sulking at a table in the corner. Typical, but at least he made an appearance. Cass had been standing near the drinks at some point, but she was always hard to keep track of.

Not a single one could be spotted now.

‘Where are my kids!?’ He had half a mind to think that they all just up and ditched entirely.

A high-pitched, sickly-sweet croon of “Timothy!” drew his attention away and- oh. There were his kids.

He watched the exchange between the Drakes and his children and…wait, Janet said ‘Timothy’…Was that teenager Timothy Drake? Since when did he get so tall? Since when was he alive? He got kidnapped twelve years ago. That was the story anyway. His parents didn’t seem all too bothered though. A Batalarm rang in his head. Suspicious.

From his position at the other side of the room, he couldn’t hear the conversation, but Timothy, because that had to be him somehow, looked very uncomfortable and seemed to be deflecting whatever his parents said. Cass looked…angry? That was odd, but she was close to Timothy on his left side, standing almost protectively nearby. Steph jumped in at some point and got sneered at, probably, but the biggest surprise was Damian stepping forward and looking all manners of snooty. It was a little jarring to see Timothy easily match Damian’s energy.

And then Damian nodded in Bruce’s direction, and his son and Cass started guiding the teenager his way. Steph stayed behind and seemed to have some choice words for the couple. The Drakes looked a bit disgruntled and offended.

Lovely. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to do too much damage control.

The larger issue was headed straight for him though, and Bruce sensed his children’s unease. He expertly extracted himself from the group around him and walked to a less populated part of the ballroom.

“Father.” Damian started when he was in speaking distance. “Cassandra and I have acquired a companion.” He stopped in front of Bruce and gestured to the teen behind him. “This is Tim.”

The boy in question stuck his free hand out. “Tim Drake. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Wayne.” His eyes looked a quarter way closed in a relaxed, lazy sort of way. The two champagne flutes in one hand was…a choice. One was empty, and the other was half-filled with something that smelled suspiciously like coffee. That was…also a choice, a confusing one at that.

Bruce shook the outstretched hand and was not expecting the death grip Tim appeared to have. Did this kid crush apples in his fists for fun or something? “A pleasure to meet you, Tim. I’m glad my children found someone to talk to.” He decided to take on the angle that Damian gave him. His kids seemed to have taken to the teenager like moths to a flame, which was odd, which meant it was curious and worth investigating.

What was more curious though, was the kid’s appearance. Now that he was so close, Bruce was able to see all the features that screamed wrongness on a kid’s face. Tim’s skin was almost deathly pale, not quite gray but very close, almost washed out in a way. It looked like it would tear at any minute, but the calluses on his hands betrayed its durability. Scars both lighter and darker than his skin littered his hands and face. A long scar along the side of his right cheek down to under his chin was ridged, implying a concerning depth of whatever previous injury had been there. There was the remnants of a large burn at the junction of the left side of his jaw and his neck was also raised above the even paler skin around it.

There were several concerning rings around his neck where the turtleneck didn’t cover, and Bruce hoped that there weren’t more underneath the fabric.

The most concerning scars, in Bruce’s eyes anyway, were the spiderweb cracks that seemed to stem from the top right side of his skull. If he looked close enough, he swore he could see more of the scars disappearing into the hairline.

The kid’s eyes reminded him of the neon signs in Gotham’s nightclubs or flashing lights in a rave. They were an icy blue, but they seemed to have flecks of gold depending on how the light reflected off them. If Bruce didn’t have the striking color to blame, he would think they were glowing.

Ink black hair was a contrast to his pale complexion, and Bruce could see the unruliness of it under the attempt to somewhat wrangle the strands into something gala-worthy. It was a bare-minimum attempt, to say the least, and Bruce found it a little funny considering his apparent lineage.

Tim shrugged and offered a grin, making him look more like a sleepy cat than anything. “More like I found them, and now I’ve just been kidnapped over here. But it’s fine, not like that’s anything new. At least this time, it’s fun.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. He would just play along for now. Humor was apparently a coping mechanism, one Bruce himself didn’t have, but to each their own. “You’ve been kidnapped before?”

Tim tilted his head and studied him for a second. It was…it was actually a little disconcerting, like being stared at by a bird of prey. “You haven’t?”

Clearing his throat, Bruce internally wondered how in the world his children managed to pick up a sleep-deprived looking delinquent. “Well, I have but…” He trailed off, something else coming to mind, “Wait, how did you get in here? I saw what happened with your…parents over there, and I believe I’m correct in assuming that you didn’t come with them.”

Because you were supposed to be kidnapped or dead, and your parents never made a public indication of anything different.

Tim made a silent ‘oh’ face and reached into his pocket for something. “The invitation you sent? It said ‘to the esteemed CEO of Reaper Beans’…Considering that’s me, I felt it’d be rude not to come.”

Now, hold on, again. Bruce needed a second to just sit down and process the existence of this weird kid, who was not a random stray child by any means and apparently the mystery CEO that had come into Gotham a few years ago. He had no such luxury, however. If he hadn’t been so tied up in business affairs and flirting with women, he probably would have been more mentally prepared, but now, he had to try to put his metaphorical cowl on and get on the case. Truly unlucky.

“It’s true, B! This is the bean man himself!” Stephanie sidled up next to him, looking utterly too pleased with herself for some sort of trouble to not have occurred. Bruce just hoped that the Drakes weren’t unconscious and shoved in a closet somewhere. That’s definitely something Stephanie would do. He should probably check on that sooner rather than later.

“Are you gonna keep calling me that?” Tim drawled, raising an eyebrow at the blonde girl and sipping on his coffee.

“Yeah, and what about it? Timbean? Beanorino? Bea-“

“Okay, I get it, stop. Oh my gosh, you’re as bad as Jason.” Tim’s face scrunched up at the names, and he poked her in the arm.

Stephanie laughed, and Cass snorted, looking very amused by all this. Damian, on the other hand, looked both invested and bored at the same time.

“Back on the topic of Jason. I did not get to hold your karambit, Tim.” Damian stated, as if he’d just had a lollipop stolen from him and was demanding its return.

“I’m sorry, a what?” Bruce asked, feeling the exasperation begin to settle in his bones.

Tim turned back to the younger boy and smiled, something real and warm flickering onto the teen’s face. It totally didn’t make Bruce’s heart melt a little. Curse the fact that the kid’s parents were still alive.

“Oh, shoot, sorry Dami. Should be clear now.” Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out an arguably gorgeous, well-crafted blade. He handed it, safely, to Damian and gently ruffled the boy’s hair as he pulled away.

Damian seemed to pause at the nickname, but he gave no indication whether that was positive or negative. When the blade reached his hands, he very carefully traced over its surface in awe.

“Don’t touch the biggest barb on the back. It’s got venom in it.” Tim adds nonchalantly, making a circling motion with the hand that’s holding the flutes.

Damian looks up at him with stars in his eyes. “What sort of venom? How is it stored?” Very few things made his son so excited. Drawing, animals, bladed weaponry, and fighting made up the majority of that exclusive list. Bruce really hoped they hadn’t talked about that fourth thing.

Tim began explaining the stone fish venom and how Dick, whoever that was, had collected it when they had traveled to Australia for a week. He started discussing the plunge mechanism of the weapon, but Bruce was slightly tuned out of the conversation.

This wasn’t happening, right? They weren’t really talking about the ins and outs of deadly weapons in the middle of his gala…right? This was a civilian they were talking to, a weird one sure, but still. This was not a vigilante meeting or knife show-and-tell!

He tuned back into the conversation only to hear Tim say, “-I had to cut his finger off. It was either that or I would’ve bitten him. That’s why I always carry something on me anymore. It’s too dangerous otherwise.”

What the hell? Bruce, once again, cursed the fact that Tim had parents. Maybe he should have Alfred set up a spare room anyway.

His three children were just crowded around and listening intently to Tim’s story of what seemed like a kidnapping attempt gone wrong. Wrong for the kidnapper that is. Damian was gripping the handle of the karambit with enough force to turn his knuckles white.

“Can we…pause for a second?” Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I feel like I’m missing some context.” He’s missing all the context actually.

Stephanie sighed and gestured to Tim. “He’s seventeen, founded a stupidly good coffee business, has two brothers, who seem very kickass by the way, and likes knives. Also, his parents suck.” She turned to Tim. “Why do your parents suck? It was like they wanted to rip your soul out of your body or something.”

Cass hummed her agreement and patted Tim’s shoulder in support.

Bruce felt far too lost and far too under-prepared for this. Why did Gotham think it was a good idea to make him a hooligan magnet again?

Alas, the conversation continued whether he was prepared or not. Tim hummed thoughtfully at the question. “I mean…I was born? I think that was the biggest issue. But hey, boarding school got me away from them. So, it all worked out.” The answer came as normally as being asked what was for dinner. The kid looked completely unbothered. Cass glanced at him, a gaze of clear concern flickering in her features. Bruce would have to ask her about that later.

Steph whistled lowly, “Well, damn…Alright then.”

Bruce, seemingly completing his buffering, blinked at Tim and narrowed his eyes. “You said you have brothers? I didn’t think the Drakes had more children.”

Tim’s eyes seemed to glow with this unnerving knowing that really threw Bruce off. Did this kid find his whole situation funny? Bruce was going to have a headache, and he’d just met him.

“Oh, they don’t. My brothers and I kinda…adopted each other. Met each other at boarding school and have been together ever since. None of us are blood-related, but they’ve been the only family I’ve ever really had. They’re awesome though so I don’t care.” Tim grinned, that lazy look in his eye mixing with some sort of mirth that Bruce didn’t understand.

This kid was definitely worth keeping an eye on.

“His brother Jason made this blade…Father, could I send for a commission from him? His work is superb and would make an excellent addition to my collection.” Damian piped up, suddenly at Bruce’s leg and looking up at him with pleading, green eyes.

“You have a knife collection?” Tim whispered excitedly, his grin turning into a beaming smile when Damian nodded. “That’s sick! So do I. We’ll have to compare someday.”

Yeah, Alfred’s definitely going to need to set up a guest room. Bruce suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose again. “Damian.” He said, trying to be authoritative, but it was already too late. Once Damian latched on, he wouldn’t let go. Bruce silently prayed that Tim wouldn’t become his son’s new knife dealer. He didn’t know if he could take that.

The kids were already talking about weapons again. Even Cass chimed in a few times to talk about her choice of blade. This conversation wouldn’t be a problem if they were all vigilantes and in the Cave or Watchtower of somewhere else, but this was a civilian they were talking to, at a civilian gathering. He could tell the topics were drifting away from weapons. Thank goodness. They were talking about video games now. Finally, a normal conversation for kids.

Well, normal until Stephanie asked another question. “So, what’s the story behind Dick saying ‘This lobby is more chaotic than playing jump rope with my entrails’? I know his humor’s dark, but that one caught me off guard.”

Tim nearly choked on his coffee and sputtered a laugh. “He’s just a goofy guy like that, Steph. His humor’s always been like that. At least you don’t have to live with it. He dropped a glass of milk once and stared at the mess for a minute before saying ‘Life is a ruthless pin, and I am the lowly cushion.’ when a glass shard got in his foot. Jay and I have started a quote book.”

‘No. Nope. No, Bruce, we’re not going to open that can of worms right now. Let’s walk away.’ He thought that one unhinged child (read: Stephanie Brown) was enough. Apparently, it was worse when you put them with others of their kind. By the sound of it, Tim’s brothers were even more worrying than he was.

Things continued like that for a while, bouncing between normal topics and then zinger lines that sent Bruce reeling inside, such as: “It’s all about perspective. Getting knocked out by kidnappers is like getting a free nap. I didn’t even have to do anything!” and “Jumping off a roof is the best way to do it, honestly. No pain, just splat. Just gotta get high enough!”

Bruce had to step away a few times to bid various guests farewell and give himself a moment.

Everything had settled for a bit. Tim had put his karambit back in his pocket, and Bruce cheered internally. Thank you, concerning and possibly suicidal or depressed child, for putting your deadly kidnapping deterrent away and out of view.

It was all fine until Jack and Janet Drake approached him. He moved a bit farther away from the kids. “Jack, Janet, pleasure to see you.” He kept his tone even and formal as he reached out to shake their hands.

“Likewise, Bruce. We’ll be taking our leave.” Jack answered, while Janet was glancing at where the kids were standing.

Everything about the couple was stilted and put Bruce on edge. “Have a safe drive home, then. Thank you again for coming.”

“Keep an eye on your children. I wouldn’t want Timothy to be a bad influence on them.” Janet piped up, looking every bit prim and proper as she nodded in their direction.

“I see. Well, they seem to be getting along. So, there shouldn’t be much of a problem. Tim seems like a good kid. I’m surprised but glad to see him alive, what with the kidnapping and all.” Mentioning that should get some sort of reaction.

Janet just looked at him for a minute. “He’s a manipulative chameleon, Mr. Wayne. We don’t know where it came from, but it’s his nature. He was always trying to swindle us out of things, when he was little. That charm he has is how he got away from his kidnappers. I’d be careful around him, if I were you.”

She spun on her heel and strode towards the doorway. Jack shook his hand again and nodded. “Take care, Bruce.” He turned to follow his wife with only a brief glance at Tim.

Manipulative chameleon, huh? That’s one way to describe your own child. It left a sour taste in Bruce’s mouth, and he turned back towards the children once the Drakes were out of sight.

He was torn from his thoughts when he caught Tim looking at the doorway his parents had just disappeared out of. The kid’s cold, calculating, absolutely disquieting eyes flicked to him and bored into him with little effort. It made him consider that maybe this kid wasn’t actually a civilian.

But there was something else behind those chilling eyes. It looked like pain and sorrow, laced with a fear and concern that made Bruce's stomach turn. He vowed to look into the Drakes after the gala was over. Something wasn’t right here.

“Good riddance.” Stephanie huffed, also looking at the doorway.

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s very rude, Stephanie.”

“Well, they’re even ruder than I am. So, I don’t see the problem.”

Tim suddenly looked down and grabbed a phone out of his pocket. “Aw, man. My brothers are getting bored. I think I’m gonna have to head out.” He texted something back and pocketed his phone.

“You can come see us again soon.” Cassandra chirped, patting the boy’s shoulder with a smile.

“You must ask your brother about a blade.” Damian reminded, probably already thinking about what new knife or sword he was going to get.

“So which brother is ‘Chicken Nugget’, and which one is ‘Mad Max’?”

Tim huffed a chuckle at Stephanie’s question. “Dick and Jason, in that order. The nicknames in our gc change pretty frequently though. So, it probably won’t stay like that for long.”

“And your name is currently Big Duck Energy…why exactly?”

“It has to do with my last name, but I don’t want to get into it.” Tim rolled his eyes, “And again, it’ll probably change by the end of the week. It was ‘Russian Sleep Experiment’ last week. So like…y’know.” He ended with a shrug, like it explained everything.

“I so wanna be in a group chat with your brothers. That sounds so entertaining. Can I get your number so we can talk more? I’ll put Dami and Cass in there too if we make a group.”

As the kids exchanged numbers, Bruce looked at his watch. Ten o’clock already, and he still wanted to patrol tonight. Good thing that the guests were gradually starting to leave.

“We will walk you out.” Cass offered, grabbing Tim’s free arm and gently tugging on it.

Tim smiled in that soft, surprised way that made Bruce think that he didn’t get out much. “Sure, I’d like that. And don’t worry, Dami. I’ll ask him for ya.” He chugged the rest of his coffee and placed the flutes on a nearby table.

Bruce followed behind the gaggle of children as they made their way towards the entrance. The Drakes’ words niggled in the back of his mind. Did they say that just to get under his skin and make Tim seem like a bad guy? Or was he actually someone who schemed like that? It was too early to tell, but for now, his children looked happy, and Bruce wouldn’t ruin that unless there was sufficient reason to. He was sure the kids would be interested in looking into Tim anyway.

He had so many questions and concerns.

Tim smiled as he stepped out of Wayne Manor, the clambering sounds of his new friends swarming around him. The night didn’t go as expected, far from it actually, but he was happy with the outcome regardless.

His smile dropped though, when he saw the Valkyrie doing slowish laps in the driveway circle. He thought that the lights on it stayed blue, but no, they were obnoxiously flashing multi-colored lights like a comb jelly’s bioluminescence. He had a feeling that Jason was using a lot of self-control to not do drifts or donuts in the space.

The worst thing was the music that was blaring out of the vehicle, muffled as it was. The chorus of some sea shanty that Jason had recently found only became louder when the car stopped at the gate, and the window slid down halfway.

And Tim wished in that moment to curl up and die. He didn’t care if Jason blasted “Roll Northumbria” at home- he actually enjoyed the song himself-, but here? Really?

Stephanie gasped beside him though, and she excitedly slapped his arm a few times. “You didn’t tell me you had taste.” She hissed, walking a little faster towards the gate.

Of course. Of course she was the type of person that liked sea shanties. He was starting to worry that a new kind of Jason had just entered his life. That would be a nightmare.

“And it’s one for the hot sun aboovvveee!” Oh, Jason and Steph were singing along now. Tim hated that they sounded good. He knew his brother could sing well, but now was not the time.

He just sighed and trudged towards the gate with the Waynes.

“Two for the empire we looovvveee!”

Tim turned to Bruce and shook his hand again. “Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Wayne. Your family is awesome. I’m glad we got to meet.”

Bruce’s lips twitched up in a small smile. “It’s nice to be able to put a name to a face, Tim. And I’m glad my kids enjoyed their time with you. Maybe you should bring your family next time.”

“And it’s three for the fire that burns down below-“

“That is a terrible idea, but maybe. I should get going. Cass, Damian, it was great meeting you both.” He gave them a nod and turned away to make his way to the open gate. He could see a little bit of Jason from here, but he was mostly covered in shadows.

Good. If Jason was dumb enough to reveal his wings or anything else right now, Tim would rip his ear off or something. At least his brother was wearing sunglasses. No one needed to see glowing green and gold eyes right now.

He was passing by Steph right as she, and Jason, belted out the next line.

“Rollll on, Northumbriaaa!”

“Bye Steph!” He called back to her over the volume of the music, waving to the family and striding to the car as he did so.

The door opened, and he entered with the same swift motion he used to get out of it, all so he could close the door before it rose all the way. Jason did a good job so far at hiding, but you could never be too careful.

Jason immediately closed the window and turned the music down, cackling maniacally at Tim’s glare.

Tim was about to scold him for it, but a sudden presence made him turn his head, only to be met with Dick’s face directly behind him. “…Hey…”

“Hey.” Dick supplied smoothly, like he wasn’t contorted like a wonky videogame ragdoll in the tiny amount of space behind the car seats. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Tim figured as much and prepared himself for whatever lecture was coming as the trio pulled out of the driveway. He briefly wondered what the Waynes thought of his exit, but with the looming threat of ‘group chat’ on the horizon, he imagined he wouldn’t have to wait long for that either.

Chapter Text

“I like them.” Was Jason’s first comment as they pulled out of the Wayne’s driveway. He flung the sunglasses off in a smooth motion and was grinning like a lunatic, probably from the high of embarrassing Tim. His fingers inched towards his phone to fiddle with something.

Tim sighed and braced himself for whatever genre Jason’s mood swung to in that particular moment. “I figured. I’m sure you would’ve loved to talk about the karambit if you were there.” If there was one part of the surveillance he didn’t mind, it was the fact that he didn’t have to re-hash everything to them. Thank goodness, because he couldn’t mention everything that happened without falling asleep.

Jason’s smile grew, and his face softened just a touch. “Those kids know quality when they see it. It was…cool to see though. Wish I could’a been there with you, Beans.”

Tim wrinkled his nose at the name. Yeah, Steph and Jason would get along like peanut butter and jelly. “I’m sure. They’re really interesting. I mean, I’ll probably be thrown into a group chat with them soon enough. If you want, I could see if they’d let you in too.” 

“And how they defended you when your parents came along was sweet, even if you’ve barely just met them.” Jason continued, trilling and gently ruffling Tim’s hair. “It didn’t go how we planned. Dickiebird almost had an aneurysm a few times, and he definitely hit himself in the head with the tablet a few times, but we’re proud of you. Socializing is good for baby birds.”

And wasn’t that ironic, coming from Jason. Tim knew that he socialized the absolute least of the three of them. Tim had his legal company to run, and he also did a lot of work in their less legal businesses. Dick also managed a lot of their ‘empire’, but he also got to talk to people with his games. Jason didn’t really have anything, other than responding to messages from clients or the odd meeting for some deal. He outwardly was the most silent of the three. Tim felt a little bad, but he knew that his brother was happy for him, even about something that Tim knew Jason would probably never truly have.

“You’re still grounded.” Came Dick’s blunt declaration from the “back seat”.

“What!? C’mon, Dick. What did I do to deserve that?” Tim hissed, whipping around and almost laughing at the pretzel shape Dick had contorted himself into.

“You gave up a lot about us. That wasn’t the plan.” Dick argued, looking slightly miffed at how the evening went down.

“I know, but this wasn’t exactly a business meeting. The conversation just flowed like that. It’s not like they didn’t talk about themselves a bit either. Plus, don’t you think that having fans talk to me about you is at least a little bit cool?”

Dick opened his mouth but snapped it shut again. That was answer enough. Showboat.

Tim grinned. “See? They think you guys are really cool anyway. I don’t see the issue.”

That earned him a half-hearted glare from his oldest brother. “Okay. You’re not grounded, but I’m kicking you out of the nest for…til…a week.”

“A WEEK!?” Tim screeched in protest.

“What!?” Jason bellowed, finger slipping on his phone screen and, oh great, literal sad violin music started playing. Since when was that on Jason’s playlists?

Tim blinked at the outburst before glaring at Dick. Good job setting the mood though, Jay. He always did have the best timing.

“What do you mean ‘what’, Jay? He’s gotta do something for giving me a heart attack!”

“Your heart is beyond heart attack concerns, Dick.” Tim chirped, “Besides, I don’t wanna sleep on the couch for a wee-.

“You’re gonna take my pillow away?” Jason keened, giving the most glassy, wide-pupiled, pleading look to the oldest.

“Jay, eyes on the road.” Dick muttered, face scrunching in something that looked like guilt when he saw the sad, kicked baby bird eyes that Jason was giving him.

Tim, just in case, reached over and kept a hand on the steering wheel.

“But…but Diiick!” Jason warbled, drawing out the vowel and tilting his head to add to the effect.

Let it be said that Tim was never not impressed by his brother’s acting.

The two talons stared at each other for a moment, and then Jason actually pulled off the road and stopped the car. “You can’t take him away for a whole week.”

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m still going to be there. Can’t you use me as a pillow?”

Jason, now free of driving responsibilities, shook his head vigorously. “That’s not how it works. You’re the blanket! Tim’s the pillow. I’m the one who benefits.”

Dick sighed, maneuvering himself so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s only a week, Jason.”

Jason made a wounded sound and rested his head on the steering wheel. “The middle child is always the ignored one.”

Tim hummed and shook his head condescendingly. “Are you reading those parenting books again, Dick? You can’t seriously punish Jason for my actions. Just look at him.” He could absolutely play along with the act that Jason was so convincingly pulling off.

Jason, with all his dramatics, flopped to the side so he was half-lying in Tim’s lap. His eyes were nearly fully black from how large his pupils were. His wings were puffed out sadly, and Tim rubbed one of his shoulders sympathetically, giving his own wide birdy eyes at their older brother.

“Okay…fine...Just tonight then.” Dick muttered, earning two little cheers from the front seats and slumping in his position.

Jason perked back up and got the car going again. He swiped on his phone for a few seconds before a rumbling, base-filled thrumming filled the car. It seemed like his adoration for Lord of the Rings carried over into his music interests.

Tim never failed to get whiplash from his brother’s variety. First, it was sea shanties. Then, it was (accidental) sad violin. Now, it was Dwarvish chanting. Anything from country to heavy metal could be next. The possibilities were truly endless, with very few exceptions. He knew that Jason would rather be caught dead than listening to certain genres. A lot of modern pop got on his nerves, and most rap stressed him out, though there were always the odd few that got his approval.

Dick, though defeated in the previous discussion, tried a new approach. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

Tim could agree with that, and they spent the rest of the ride home discussing the intricacies of what happened. Cass’s ability to read him were impressive to see up close. Steph was the kind of considerate and chaotic combo that made for a perfect vigilante. Damian was the sweet picture of baby assassin acclimating to a regular, as regular as they could get anyway, family.

Jason was thrilled to commission a blade for the kid and would do so for the rest of the bats if they asked. Dick was begrudgingly optimistic about this fragile friendship with them, though he was rather disgruntled at Tim’s encounter with his parents. Tim was just happy to relay his excitement to his brothers.

As they pulled into the underground garage and filed into the elevator to the penthouse, they were all calmed from previous nerves about the whole situation. In reality, this just gave them even more drive to confuse the big bad Bat. They all found it hilarious how absolutely concerned Bruce Wayne was. The footage would be backed up for sure.

It was later in the night when Jason went out. They had all decided it’d be good for Tim to get some sleep. Dick had a streaming obligation, but all the stress from worrying about Tim and the gala would probably send him off to bed early too.

So, for tonight, Phoenix was the only bird on patrol. There was a light rain coming down, more of a mist than anything, and the smog made the city glow in reflected light. It was pretty like this, almost tranquil. It made him see the city from a different perspective. From here, he couldn’t see the grimy, filth-covered alleys or the cracking limestone of the Court’s old houses. From here, he could appreciate the stately buildings. It wasn’t nearly as ancient as Rome or Atlantis, but the city had aged far faster than other places. It definitely looked ancient, like a monolith of old things and knowing eyes and mystic powers. If it wasn’t for the low clouds that would obstruct his vision, he would have flown even higher to take him even farther from the streets below.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a joyride around Gotham. He did have a job to do.

One ear was peeled for the sounds of civilians in distress. The other was listening to the soft orchestral soundtrack of those space robot movies Tim loved so much. Transformers, was it? Sounded about right. In any case, it was a peaceful backdrop for Phoenix’s late-night flight. There was some other music Dick had recommended recently. It was from a game…

Jason squinted, trying to remember. It was about a week ago, before the most recent arms deal, and Dick had been playing…something. Something calm and on his own for once. Said it was good…Minecraft? No, it wasn’t that. Those songs were already very much queued up on his playlists, and if Dick did play that alone, it was usually for a video. Maybe it was some Zelda thing? Dick had been playing that lately. Something about running over monsters with a magic motorcycle thing being cathartic. He’d ask Dick about it later.

His black and red armor, shiny but dark and aerodynamic like a bird, glinted in the dim glow of the city as he soared over high rooftops. A little while ago, he’d spotted Spoiler and Black Bat patrolling around the Coventry. So, he decided to swoop elsewhere.

Tilting his wings, he glided over towards the boundary between the Bowery and Park Row. His birthplace. The Crime Alley where Jason Todd hatched out of an egg of rot and decay and took to the streets like a silent wraith. Dead before he’d even had the chance to live.

He dove swiftly and perched on one of the decrepit apartment buildings. From here, he could see the building he spent his early childhood in. It hadn’t been all too different from the Court, from what he remembers anyway. Always be silent. Always obey the commands of your superiors. Always get the task done, no matter what it cost you. Disobedience…Pain. It always meant pain. And cold…So, so cold.

Jason remembered it had cost a lot to simply be allowed to exist within those walls. He’d always been a ghost to the world, always an outcast, always alone.

He remembered very little of his mother. There were a few good times: her getting him tattered copies of books, kissing his head before he went off to school, trying to get in the way of him. But there were also the times where she wasn’t really there. She was a ghost in her own right, drowning in drugs and sickness. At the time, Jason thought that he could smell the putrefied flesh in her body before she had even taken her last breath.

He needed to change the music. Instrumental, he loved it, but it gave him too much time to think. He didn’t like thinking too much anymore. Thinking was…painful. The past was far behind him, nothing but a shroud of misery and mist that he’d rather forget. He’d already confronted it multiple times, but it never went away. Running from the past was impossible, but you could make your present louder than it. He’d love to forget it.

Louder was better. Words were better. He needed lyrics.

He watched the names of songs flash in the HUD of his helmet with one eye. The other was trained on the streets below.

A haunting minor. A deep base. “I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” thundered softly in his ear.

Good…Calm enough to keep his heart slow. Powerful enough to chase away the thoughts.

The grim reaper liked to listen to the songs of gentle death. Better than violent death. He already knew what violent death was like. Already knew its sounds and songs. He’d never known a gentle, permanent death. This was as close as he could get without chopping his head off. Death itself never liked to keep him for too long anyway, and he doubted even that wouldn’t work for long.

He wondered distantly if there was something wrong with him. Why couldn’t he have died all those years ago, before anything, before everything? But Dick and Tim’s faces faded into his mind’s eye, and he gulped back the thought. He couldn’t want to die, not when he had such a nice life now.

There was a mugging going on below a ways across the street, the pleading couple clinging to each other and a burly man snarling in their faces.

How rude of him.

Jason launched from one side of the street to the other, latching onto the brick façade of the building above the crime. He moved in a combination of four legs and two, wings shifting on his back and poised to pounce. Like an animal. Like the predator he was.

The ruffian smelled like acid and spit and cheap liquor. He hit the mist-slick road like a sack of bricks, and Jason squatted from a perch on top of him.

He turned to the couple, the man having pushed his girlfriend? wife? behind him, and tilted his head in that avian manner he knew unsettled people but couldn’t help. “Are you okay?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, carrying through the narrow space of the side alley like the raining mist around them.

The man nodded. “Thanks…You’re…you’re one of those birds, right? Shadows or something?”

Jason nodded. “Phoenix.”

The woman poked out from behind the man’s arm. “Thank you, Phoenix. We’re okay. A little shaken, but alright.”

He nodded, pleased that they were unharmed. “Get home safely.” He crooned, before pushing off the ground and taking the hulking body of the mugger with him.

Strong wing beats took him over streets in a straight line to the nearest GCPD station. He never did much here, just dropping the man enough like a missile that he’d thunk against the front doors and someone would retrieve him. They always knew who it was when criminals arrived like that.

It was getting cold out. Jason hated the cold. The cold reminded him of his father and them and the freezer and please, please don’t take him to the Pit again. He swears, he’ll be good. He’ll never make a sound again please-

He turned the music up.

The song in his ears repeated from the start. Huh, must’ve bumped something in his glove, but then he found that the notes were a little less rumbly and a lot lighter. Ah, his cover finished, and now the original was playing. That was fine. The original was its own sort of haunting.

His flight took him back around to Crime Alley, and he huffed as he landed in another area. Overall, it was a pretty quiet night. Even the bats had seemed to sense it and had headed in some time ago. A glance at his HUD’s clock told him it was almost four in the morning. He’d probably head home soon.

A gunshot rang out much farther down the Alley, and he tilted his wings in the direction. A second shot followed.

He arrived to eerie quiet, and he turned the music down in favor of listening better. He already had enhanced senses, but it was better to be safe. The smell of death laid heavy in this dead-end alleyway.

Ah. There it was.

The body of a larger, scantily clad woman was slumped in front of a dumpster, a perfectly round hole in her head and blood oozing onto the ground. A pistol was gripped loosely in her limp left hand. So, one shot came from here.

He turned in the direction the woman was facing, and the soft gurgles of blood helped him hone in on the source.

Oh…It was a child.

A lanky boy, no, teenager, was shakily holding a pistol up at the woman’s body. He sniffed and gargled a cough.

Green pooled into Jason’s vision, but he stomped it down with the ferocity of a lion pouncing on a rat. The woman had shot first, then. The kid had protected himself just a little too late.

Instead of giving in to rage, Jason dropped into a non-threatening crouch and inched towards the boy. “Hello, little chick.” He cooed, soft and quiet and low. The kid did not deserve to die scared.

There was a choked out sob, and the gun dropped from the boy’s hand. “M-Mr. Phoenix?” The child was forcing his voice to work even though his body was failing him. Jason was impressed by his resilience.

Jason padded closer and gently moved the boy from the pile of trash bags he’d been lying against. There could’ve been any number of reasons that the woman had attacked him, but it didn’t matter now. Not when both parties were dead or dying.

He sat down cross-legged and held the little chick on his lap, keeping one hand on the back of his head, if only to make him more comfortable.

The boy had less than a minute to live, he knew that much. He knew that normal humans didn’t recover from things like this.

“Y-Ya r’lly ‘re like th’ grim reap’r.” The boy rasped, looking up at Jason’s birdlike helmet with glassy stars in his eyes.

“That’s what they call me.” He whispered, flipping the helmet/hood back and letting the flexible pattern of metals lie against his neck and back. “I’m sorry I cannot do more to help you, chick.”

“’s okay…N-Not alo’”

Jason hummed, letting his pupils, which had been slits, round out to something softer. Tim had often compared his eyes to a soothing bowl of chicken noodle soup, with its greens and golds swirling like a bubbling cauldron. He didn’t quite understand how the feeling and warmth of soup could be like his eyes, but he trusted Tim’s judgement with his life.

“I don’t like letting children die alone.”

The boy stilled for a beat, and Jason would have wondered if that was the end had he not been able to hear the weak, frail heartbeat.

“C-Could y’….s’ng t’ me? Like Mama use’ to?” There were tears in the boy’s glassy eyes. His throat was shredded, and Jason knew that he would get no more words from him.

And who was the grim reaper to deny a child his dying wish?

Maybe he would never have a gentle death, but he could give it to others. He’d done it many times to others.

“I’m going hoommee, to see my motheerrr.” He crooned, the soft song pulsing in his ear. The boy’s eyes locked onto his.

“And all my loovveedd ones who’ve gone oonnn.” He pulled the chick closer to his chest, hoping that his deep notes would reverberate in his chest enough for the boy to feel. From what his brothers told him, his base abilities sounded like the purr of a large cat mixed with the rumble of thunder. Apparently, that was comforting when it came from him.

“I’m only goinnnggg over Jordan.” The boy smiled at him, mouth parted just a little as his eyelids fluttered.

“I’m only goinnnggg over hoommmeee.” And the faint heartbeat settled at last, still and solid within the boy’s ribs.

Jason let the tears fall. Sometimes, when he thought that the Court would always hold his mind, when he thought that all the kindness had been beaten out of him, he reminded himself of times like this. He reminded himself that he was able to cry over the death of a child he never knew. In Gotham, that sort of empathy was a rare thing.

He gently closed the boy’s eyes the rest of the way. He didn’t want to leave him here, but if his hunch was right, this kid was homeless. He smelled of the street and garbage and blood. It didn’t really matter what happened to him now. The only solace Jason found was that the murderer was also dead.

There was a long, holey towel bunched up near the side of the alley, and Jason pulled it over with a wing. Carefully, so very carefully, he laid the cloth down and put the chick over it before pulling the side of the towel up and over to cover him.

It wasn’t a grave, nor a final resting place, but it was something. And that’s all Jason was able to give. He already did the hard part. He was already like a vulture, like the ferryman, like Death. His role was over.

Quickly, he called the police and tipped them to this location, only sticking around on the rooftops amidst the shadows until the cops showed up and started working with the body.

As soon as the boy’s small frame was out of sight, Jason high-tailed it towards home. Of course, he couldn’t save everyone, but kids were different. They had always been different. He was one of the Court’s most efficient executioners. He’d seen dead kids before, but now. Now, he could stop it. Usually, anyway. Freezing shudders racked his body. He was alone again.

The music blared in both ears now, as he had no intention of stopping. Not when his vision was blurry and his breathing was ragged.

Diving into one of the secret passages only a few moments later, Jason pounded towards the elevator shaft. The claws on his suit ticked lightly on the concrete. It’s not like he was trying to be quiet anymore anyway.

Instead of taking the elevator, he popped the roof of the cabin off and shot up on the vertical, using a combination of strong, upwards leaps and wing beats to propel himself up the empty space.

Soon enough, he was at the top, several hundred feet being scaled in a matter of moments. There was a little keypad next to the elevator door just for this occasion, and he punched the PIN in to open the doors, while also simultaneously shutting down his suit’s sound system.

All at once, he threw himself into the penthouse’s main living room and immediately started to tear his armor off. His helmet was shucked off along with his gauntlets. The armor on his wings was more carefully removed. He stripped the chest and back plates off and pulled his legs out of the sleek armored boots. Everything was dumped by the door.

In the frenzy and clattering, Tim sat up blearily on the couch. “Jay? W’s goin’ on?” Jason had definitely just woken him up.

It didn’t matter though. Jason barely heard him. He was so cold. He didn’t realize he was shaking so hard until his wings spasmed from invisible tremors. The only warm thing on him was the few tears on his cheeks, but even those were rapidly cooling.

With only his undershirt and shorts on, he lunged towards the couch and barreled towards Tim.

There was an ‘oof’ sound from the younger when they collided, and Jason made quick work of wrapping himself around his little brother.

“Jay?” Tim urged, panic sliding into his voice as he reached up to scratch at Jason’s wet scalp. “Hey, big bird, what happened?”

Jason opened his mouth, but he couldn’t make the words. He was so cold and alone, but now he wasn’t alone because Tim was here, and everything was fine. It was fine. Instead, he let out a weak little trill and smashed his ear against the left side of Tim’s chest. His heartbeat was right there, a little jumpy, but it was there. It wasn’t fading.

Tim whistled a little reassurance to him and pulled him up higher. It was quiet for a minute or two, with Jason just trying to slow his erratic breathing and finally calm down a little bit.

“A kid died in my arms. A woman shot him in the throat.” He twittered quietly. Chirrish was his best bet, since human words were failing him.

Tim hummed in understanding and rubbed his back. “That’s hard.” He whispered, laying back against the armrest of the couch. “But you were there for him. It’s good he wasn’t alone.”

Jason nodded but said nothing else. Out of all his brothers, he was the most sensitive to deaths like this. They all knew it. They all knew Jason’s history. They all knew how badly he handled the death of children, even now.

They sat for a few more minutes like that, only for Tim to start pushing him up a little bit later.

Jason chirped in confusion and shot him a look.

Tim just smiled, something soft but also mischievous. “I think this warrants breaking Dick’s ‘no Tims in the nest tonight’ order.”

Jason huffed and stood on shaky legs. Tim was immediately at his side to push closer to him. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

He nodded, trying to cling to his little brother as much as he could without knocking them both over. He was freezing.

They trudged to the stairs and made their way to the bedroom. The door was silent when they entered, and Jason could make out Dick sprawled out in the large nest at the back of the room. One wing was straight up in the air. The other was flopped out at his side. He did look quite comfortable, and Jason hated to bother him but-

“Dick, move your butt. We’re coming in.” Tim said, loudly to try and rouse the biggest bird. He even kicked his foot for good measure.

There was an offended sounding squawk from the nest, and Dick’s golden eyes peered up at them. They looked heavy and foggy from sleep, and Jason felt just a little twinge in his chest. He was so proud of how far they’d all come. They could finally sleep peacefully, and here he was ruining it. He should’ve just gone to the forge. It was a different kind of warm but better than nothing.

“Timbo, you’re supposed to be on the couch.” Dick grumbled, rolling over anyway so he could face them. “Oh, hey Jay. Welcome back.”

Jason twittered quietly at him and stumbled into the nest, no thanks to Tim’s little shove. He landed next to his big brother and immediately felt his body start to calm.

This was his nest. His family was here. They were warm. He didn’t have to be cold anymore.

“You’re shaking.” Dick stated, quickly pulling Jason down and folding a wing over him.

Tim crawled in on his other side and scooted under the large wing as well. “A kid died on him. Lady shot him in the throat.” He informed.

Jason was infinitely grateful that he didn’t have to talk about it again, and with the explanation, Dick seemed to get the message. He even reached over and pulled the weighted heating blanket they always kept around.

Jason was finally warming up. His body couldn’t betray him with his brothers by his side and heat tickling like warm lava on his skin. He heard them talking quietly above him, but he paid no mind to it. All that mattered was the warmth and the heartbeats and the safe.

Finally, he could breathe again. Jason was always good at ruining Dick’s attempts at discipline, and now he could rest easy in their nest. He fell asleep to the sound of quiet breathing and the feeling of warmth from all sides.

Chapter Text

“You’re telling me that we, for the past two years, have been buying all our coffee from a teenage ghost?” Bruce sighed, exasperated.

The past three hours of de-briefing about patrol and the gala was, exhausting. And he was the Batman, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t need to have all of the Batcomputer’s screens be filled with various articles relating to the apparently not dead, very much alive Timothy Jackson Drake.

Maybe he should ask Alfred for more painkillers. His headache was coming back.

Stephanie shrugged from her perch on one of the nearby railings. “I mean, yeah? I didn’t know he was supposed to be dead though. How’d that happen?”

“Tim Drake was reported kidnapped at the age of five. That was twelve years ago. His parents never mentioned him publicly after the kidnapping, but the way they spoke to and about him at the gala leads me to believe that they knew he was alive.” Bruce explained, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

His kids had given him the rundown on what the Drakes had said before they’d brought Tim to him. It had been a good call on their part to get the teen out of the situation. The whole interaction with them made something in his gut coil tight. It was…not a good feeling. It felt like they were about to open a can of worms that he would probably wish to have never opened in the first place.

“He was scared of them.” Cassandra piped up from her seat on the desk. She had been relatively quiet through most of the conversation, speaking the most when discussing how Tim had approached her in the first place.

“I second that. He flinched when Janet ordered him to go with her. It was barely there. I don’t think I would’ve noticed if I hadn’t been literally holding his shoulder in that second.” Stephanie confirmed, huffing and shaking her head. “Their whole vibe was really off, B. Like, they both give me the creeps.”

“Hng.” Bruce turned back to the monitors and the file where they had compiled their observations, thoughts, points of further discussion, and various news clippings.

Damian shifted on his feet and scanned over the file. “Tim did mention his scars’ general origins, Father.”

Bruce nodded, urging him to continue. Any information was helpful, and the kid’s scars were a bit much to look at, even for him. The spiderweb on his head in particular. It appeared to be similar to wounds on people who’s skulls were bashed in with blunt force. A sledge hammer perhaps? But the thing was that people didn’t usually survive from those wounds, especially not one as severe as Tim’s had to have been.

Damian breathed out softly and nudged Bruce’s fingers out of the way to type away on the keyboard. “From his words, they came from fifteen years of an abusive living environment. He did not elaborate on particulars, but he was noticeably surprised when I sympathized.” He briefly stopped typing to look at Bruce, green eyes filled with an emotion that Bruce didn’t have a name for.

The look was gone as fast as it came. “His scars are not normal, Father. We know that much, but I believe something more sinister is afoot.”

Cassandra hummed and looked at the picture of a five-year-old Tim Drake, taken right before he had disappeared. “He was hurt. He hides well. His body betrayed his feelings a few times. Never for long.”

Bruce’s brow scrunched where he was reading a line on the file. “Those brothers he talked about. He said he met them at a boarding school, right?”

Stephanie hummed and tilted her head. “Yeah. He also said that he dropped out of school a few years ago. It’s probably when he started his business.”

“But the abuse happened for fifteen years.”

The Cave fell into an odd silence, a sudden tension spilling into the cavern that hadn’t been there before. Bruce swore he felt himself age a few years in a few seconds.

“Tim is close with his brothers. Loves them very much. He is not scared of them.” Cassandra whispered, letting more puzzle pieces fall into place.

Bruce sighed again. This wasn’t just a weird disappearing act the Drakes pulled, was it? “There are a few options then. If we take the timeline at face value, the abuse stopped roughly two to two and a half years ago. It would coincide when he dropped out of school. From what you all have said, it seems that he lives with his brothers, who he met in school. Or, he could have made a slip in his story and the timeline is less linear than we think.”

“They probably dropped out too then.” Stephanie hummed, hopping off the railing and striding closer to the computer. “But they couldn’t have been there for all abuse that took place. Fifteen years means that five of those years had to have been before he disappeared, aka, Jack and Janet are smelling mighty sus right now.”

“Hng.” Bruce agreed, steepling his fingers and looking at the file. He thought back to what the Drakes had told him, and with this new information, it wasn’t painting a pretty picture. Did the Drakes abuse their son only to send him away to a boarding school? But abusive behaviors still had to occur there too, if Tim’s words were truthful. So, whatever school he went to didn’t have his best interests at heart.

Speaking of which…”Janet described Tim as a, and I quote, ‘manipulative chameleon’. She said to keep an eye on you three, because he would be a bad influence on you.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, contemplatively.

“No.”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow in Cassandra’s direction. “What do you mean?”

The girl shook her head and huffed a frustrated breath. “Not manipulative. Was wary of us. Very intelligent, yes, but not malicious. There’s…kindness, but he is scared to show too much.”

“Our running theory is that he doesn’t get out much. Like…he seemed genuinely touched that we said we wouldn’t go spreading his brother’s alias all over the internet.” Stephanie added, coming to lean over the Batchair and sprawling gracelessly over Bruce’s shoulder. Typical.

“Additionally, he did not expect us to help him deal with his parents. I believe he was prepared to verbally spar with them for as long as it took for them to leave. I did not want to take that chance. That is why I brought him to you, Father.” Damian crossed his arms, his nose scrunching in that brooding way when he was trying to figure out a case. In Bruce’s eyes, it was adorable, and he suppressed the urge to ruffle his son’s hair.

“He is guarded but not jaded.” Cass quietly concluded, still staring at the picture of a Tim long lost to time and whatever horrors he had experienced.

Bruce nodded but sighed. Yes, he trusted his children’s judgement, but this case had too many loose ends that had no end in sight. He didn’t doubt (much) that Tim was a good but heavily traumatized kid with a very good social mask, but there were too many what-ifs and could’ve-beens. They were flying blind for the most part, and Bruce couldn’t help but think that they were missing something big and important.

“Do you think his brothers were also abused?” Damian asked quietly, drawing Bruce’s attention back to his youngest.

Of course, that was a possibility. If Tim was so close to his brothers and lived with them, then they had to know more about his condition. Bruce’s gaze flicked to the part of the file detailing Dick and Jason. And Bruce, for a split second, hoped that Dick actually was just short for Richard and that his parents didn’t actually just name him “Dick”. That in itself would be case for possible parental neglect. Considering they had no last names, though, they only had so much to go off.

Jason, aside from blacksmithing and possible vehicular-centered work, was a complete mystery. It wasn’t known how old he was or what he looked like or really anything else about him. They had a hunch that he was the one who picked Tim up, and that just made Bruce groan inside. If Jason was like Stephanie, he really hoped it would be a while until he met the kid. He could only handle so many unruly children.

Dick, for all his fame online, was just as much of an enigma. When Stephanie had told them all that Dick was streaming, they tuned in for some live information gathering. It was currently safe to say that Dick was the child who maybe concerned him the most, and he simply hoped that the war crimes and verbal abuse Dick committed in games was confined to that side of his life. It was terrifying how convincing he was in building and leading an anarchic uprising. In Minecraft of all things.

Tim had spoken of him fondly, as he did with Jason, but some of the things Dick said were…disturbing. Spitting such venom at people with such…detailed descriptions of gore and violence was frankly a bit of a shock. Bruce himself wasn’t much into watching videos or streamers, but he didn’t think words like that usually flew with moderation teams. It also wasn’t just the learned trash talking or cussing out that Bruce was familiar with in teens or young adults. There was something deeper in the boy’s words that made Bruce’s stomach churn.

“It’s very possible.” He answered his son. “Dick’s videos suggest that he is intimately familiar with pain. I don’t believe it’s just dark humor, as Tim was suggesting. I think that was just a ploy to get attention off the fact that his brother has also been hurt. By who or what, we don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Jason dealt with the same or similar violence.” There was absolutely no way that Dick didn’t have, at the very least, some sort of severe mental trauma. If he didn’t, Bruce would probably eat his shoe.

Even more baffling, there are hints of his more easygoing personality in other videos. From Stephanie’s seemingly infinite wisdom on the topic, Nightwing greatly supported the teammates he had in games and was surprisingly effective at leading a group of strangers into fictional battle. Furthermore, there was a rare Let’s Play series on the channel of him playing Minecraft with his brothers. Nightwing’s personality was always more laid back when he played with them, and Bruce could tell that that was the real man behind the rage. Still, the kid needed serious anger management.

The four of them sat in thoughtful silence for a while. Bruce subtly glanced at his children’s faces. They all seemed focused and were looking at separate pieces of the file. He was glad that they’d made a friend, really he was, but why couldn’t it have been a normal person for once? He glanced at the picture of Tim on the screen before saving and closing out of the file. He already had a feeling that this was going to be an absolute nightmare.

He’d update Oracle on their progress tomorrow, but for now. “Enough brooding for you all. Off to bed.” He rolled his shoulders to make Stephanie slide off him and started nudging Damian away from the screen.

There were immediate protests from his two youngest, but he raised a hand to quiet them. “It’s been a long night for you three. I’ll be up soon too.”

After a bit more grumbling, the two trudged towards the stairs, but Cass stayed behind, looking curiously at him. “What are you thinking?”

There was a cheeky grin on her face, and he knew she had him pinned. No reason to hide it from her. He stood and gently ruffled her hair. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a few new brothers in the near future.”

Her smile grew, and she leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment before trotting over to the stairs to join her siblings.

Bruce was left to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course, his children had to adopt the first feral, sleep-deprived teenager they came across. At the very least, he supposed, it would be an interesting mystery to solve. What a stressful night, and for once, that stress did not come from the rouges of the city. He truly was the luckiest vigilante in the world.

Chapter Text

• As detailed in a previous chapter, “Nightwing” has no relation to the Kryptonian hero’s name (Dick isn’t even aware of that connection). It came from the fact that he is most active at night and has wings, not that the internet knows either reason. The general consensus is just that it sounded cool.

• There have been attempts to ban Dick from every platform he’s stepped foot in. If a ban is successful, it has never lasted longer than a week. Tim has hacked him back in on occasion, but the more frequent response is literal internet riots. A streaming company’s headquarters once had protesters clogging the building and blocking all vehicle entrances/exits until Nightwing’s ban was lifted. Most companies are a little bit scared of him, and it’s sort of a case of “If we keep it appeased, it won’t bite us.” when it comes to dealing with him.

• He has a lot more sway over internet affairs than he puts on/thinks. Refer to above bullet point for examples.

• He's known for the outrageous things he says (Like Tim's sayings at the gala but on steroids, no sleep, and pure rage) and the volumes he can reach (bird voice box capabilities mean there are very few limits to his range of sounds). Several people may have hearing damage from listening to his videos at too high a volume.

• It is public information that he lives in Gotham. This apparently is part of his charm in the opinions of many fans. You really can’t get much crazier than Gotham. There also aren’t any other truly Gotham-based creators in the gaming space. So, Gothamites absolutely adore him. If you go to any high school in Gotham, you’re going to know who he is. Nightwing merch is everywhere in Gotham and rivals vigilante merch, especially in youth demographics.

• Speaking of merch, Dick has a good amount for being so early in his career. Having a CEO brother helps with this, but his stuff is also high quality. Because he's a faceless youtuber, many of his designs are of various sayings or feature his 'avatar'/channel mascot, which is discussed below.

• Nightwing has earned himself multiple nicknames during his (arguably short but growing) career, such as: Wing, Winger, Wingding, Night, Sirenhead, Angry Bird, Goldie, Silver Tongue, and his personal favorite, Faafo (pronounced fae-foe). This nickname originated from his time in an ARK: Survival Evolved SMP, and someone called him that, and it stuck. It refers to the first letters of the words in the phrase: “F*** around and find out.”

• His channel’s logo/mascot is a black and gold bird of nonspecific variety. Is it an owl? Is it a falcon? Is it a crow? Who knows?

• He has gotten multiple doxxing threats and typically responds to them by cackling and saying things along the lines of “I’ll uno reverse on your bitch ass if you try it.”. The worst response is when he goes all quiet and just goes “Oh….I know a guy…” and ominously trails off. No one has been successful (courtesy of Tim and Dick’s combined computer knowledge)

• His viewers begged him for a few weeks to try out horror games (any kind), and he obliged. Multiple viewers donated to the stream and said that they had never heard a man laugh so much and that they may be traumatized. Dick doesn’t jump or scream or anything. He runs through horror games like he’s on the world’s best roller coaster and cackles as he does so. Some of Dick’s most horrific one-liners come from the horror streams, with famous classics being sayings like: “That’s not what a gut splatter looks like! I’d demonstrate myself, but my camera's broken.”, “My great-grandfather was scarier than this. He was a cult leader and serial killer though. So, it’s a pretty high bar to get over.”, “OooOOooh soO sCaRy, this monster design is so damn uninspired. This things what’s scaring you people? I’ve seen muggers who are uglier.”, and “This game’s premise is a joke, honestly. If only I could project my nightmares into a game. That would be some real horror.” People don’t usually ask specifically for horror streams anymore, but he does pop one off every so often. The concern for his mental health and sanity are always scrutinized on social media after those. The Birds find great enjoyment stalking threads theorizing that Nightwing is actually an immortal wizard who wields death magic/necromancy powers.

• He doesn’t like horror games and finds them boring and cheap. “If you want to be scared, just look at Gotham’s news on the daily. That should give you a good enough adrenaline dose.” He called FNAF stupid once and had the internet in an uproar for a few days.

• Whenever he's the focus of some drama, he usually just laughs and cracks jokes about it. He could not give less of a shit about most of the things he's criticized for. Surprisingly to most people, his reasoning is that he doesn't like the drama and would rather keep that to the games and having a good time.

• He's pretty active in the social media communities (Reddit, Twitter, Discord, etc) and often shares fanart on stream (He has a big soft spot for the fanartists). He has yet to read fanfiction of himself on stream, but he knows it's out there...lurking...

• There have been a few people that have told him on stream that he's the reason they're still alive/didn't commit or give up. Whatever anger he may be displaying at the time instantly melts away and he gives them a genuine pep talk about it. Could it be a bit of a parasocial behavior? Yeah, but he knows what those thoughts are like, and everyone who overcomes those feelings deserves to be told that someone is proud of them. He also doesn't know why he's a "comfort streamer" to some people, but he doesn't worry about it too much. He's getting an anger release while also helping people (somehow). It's a win-win.

• He frequently hosts charity streams that often go towards various youth programs, schools, rehab centers, orphanages, and homeless shelters across the country. He's very specific over who he donates to though, because he doesn't want the non-profit to be a money laundering scheme. There's a big vetting process that Tim and Jason help with.

• His favorite genres to play in are any games where there’s a lobby and microphone usage, namely first-person shooters (COD, Rainbow 6, Titanfall, etc). However, he does play a pretty wide variety, including MMOs (he’s not the biggest fan of them, but he encounters other people to cause problems On-Purpose), survival games, weird indie/small team games, Minecraft (Because people won’t leave him alone about it and love his videos, especially when he’s playing with others), and anything else that may interest him or what his viewers highly request. He's not too picky though.

• His ‘Getting Over It’ series has the most views out of all series on his channel. It is also age-restricted because of nonstop swearing that can last multiple minutes at a time. For whatever reason, it seems to recirculate in the algorithm every so often.

• When he’s not playing games where he’s yelling at people, like more chill games, his running commentary is typically made up of insulting the game personally and a stream of consciousness type rant of various current events or just random stuff he's thinking about.

• People watch those^ videos a lot, because he’s considered more reliable and trustworthy than most news outlets. His commentary is no-holds-barred, extremely offensive to absolutely everyone (literally no group, individual, party, media, or outlet is safe from him), and surprisingly informative. Some (a lot of actually) people call him a conspiracy theorist. Most call him a visionary and wonder if he’d run for some sort of political office (He says a lot of things that end up being true, and people again are on about the immortal wizard theory). Whenever he’s asked about running, he always makes a disgusted sound but never outright confirms or denies anything. This worries some people, for some reason.

• His ever-growing ‘Among Us’ series is roughly 2^nd in views behind ‘Getting Over It’. He is an absolute beast at ‘Among Us’ and games like it. Other gamers both love and hate playing with him, but he’s frequently invited into gaming circles to play because they (and he) know that viewership goes off the charts whenever he’s involved. If he’s a crewmate, he’s near guaranteed the win (Unless they kill him first, which they often try and are not always successful). It has never taken him over three rounds to sniff out who the imposter(s) is. Being a master of interrogation and fear has its perks apparently. He’s also an equally lethal imposter. The other people playing swear up and down that his personality can flip on a dime depending on the role Dick gets, but the problem is that there’s never a pattern to the switch.

• Someone once donated and said that they listen to Dick’s streams to fall asleep but their partner is concerned, and he did a full-on spit take because he was, in fact, drinking water. He said “If your partner’s still with you after listening to me scream to help you sleep, then that’s a keeper. You'd be brain-dead to lose that one.”

• The Titans have a youtube channel that they all play casual stuff on (typically). Dick knows this. He knows who they all are. He uses this knowledge to his advantage whenever they collab, which is fairly often because Dick (and his brothers) find it hilarious. The greater internet (and the Titans) are confused on why Nightwing just vibes with them, but they weirdly have fun with the angry, insult bird king. So, they don’t complain.

• He once said "You're as screwy as that blue-haired weirdo from Stardew." and that's how the internet found out that Nightwing plays Stardew Valley off-camera to just chill. His community are in the process of begging him to play SV on stream. His considering it, but he'll probably only do it if he drags Tim and Jason with him...using the shared money option, because of course that could never go wrong. It's only a matter of time before it happens, if the horror stream successes are anything to go by.

• Everyone (except the Titans and other heroes who have played with Nightwing) he’s ever worked/collabed with swears that Dick is actually a Really Chill Dude when he’s not yelling at people.

• He’s the leader of a parrot-themed faction in 2B2T (the anarchy Minecraft server) and has a very loyal following of about fifteen people. Because it’s pure anarchy and anything goes, Dick has committed war crimes levels of violence in that server with a laugh on his lips. He’s pretty much that charismatic cult leader who also has the knowledge and guts to act on his ideas.

• If any of the readers are familiar with the irl youtuber Smii7y, and his little thing with the milk bag at the start of his videos? Yeah, Dick does that too, with the little Nightwing bird.

• Tim sometimes edits his videos. Dick also edits his own videos. You can tell whose editing style is whose.

• Dick has a longstanding Minecraft Let’s Play series (which is ranked third in his lineup) with Tim and Jason. It was an on-a-whim idea, and the internet loves them. It’s games like these with his brothers where he’s at his most “chill”, aka mostly brother banter and not screaming to be hurtful.

• The brothers also play other games together, and them appearing in videos is becoming a bit more frequent. For example, ‘Golf With Friends’, ‘Uno’, any prop hunt style game (though he also plays that type with others), and just goofy pseudo-competitive games are all up for grabs when it comes to videos with Jason and Tim. They also are a squad in Fortnite and just cause everyone they come in contact with a terrible time. It’s the games like Fortnite that their teamwork abilities come through, and half the audience is convinced that Nightwing and his brothers were in the military or something similar.

• Speaking of Fortnite, they're currently working (as of the fic's timeline) with Dick to collab a Nightwing skin and kit. He is thrilled about this.

• Tim’s name through all of the videos is either DeadTired or DeadBean. It depends on the day, really. He's not picky.

• Jason’s name constantly changes with very few times that a name actually repeats. Toddimus Maximus (which is the most frequent repeater), Edward Scissorhands, Harpy, Music Man, Radiohead, Parrot, Guts n Glory, Boombox, CrayJay, EpicBirdGamer, BirdWithThumbs, and ItWillKiiill (if anyone gets this reference, I love you) are all names that Jason has used. Dick uses an acceptable nickname to refer to him every time a new name comes up, and it’s just a running joke now.

• Dick sometimes gets caught up in things and starts swearing at people in Chirrish. Some people believe that he has a pet parrot of some kind. Others do believe it’s coming from him but are too scared to bring it up in his chat.

• When he’s in lobbies with decent people, he’s not too obnoxious but will make dark jokes (They’re a staple on his channel). He supports teammates that are civil and typically takes charge of the group he’s in. The poor buggers who have to play with him have never had orders barked at them like they were in a real operation. Most people think it's a little terrifying to watch this random dude become a military commander in a split second.

• Speaking of which, he apparently has a bit of a following with military vets. They compare him to a drill sergeant and think if his online career ever tanked, he should highly consider it. 

• Dick has zero qualms about fighting with children in game lobbies or in any digital space. A 12 year old cusses him out? Well, that just opens the floodgates of all the wonderful things he has to say. Dick’s the sort of guy to say “You’re the reason bullying should be brought back.”

• If someone other than him makes a dark joke, he’ll latch onto it and take it a step further. So, when in groups that feed off each other's chaotic energy, he fits right in there.

• The amount of memes this guy is the source for is unreal, and he’s faceless. He can barely go a weekend without something he does or says going viral.

Chapter Text

Dick usually wasn’t the first one awake. That honor was almost always taken by Jason. As Dick looked at his little brother tucked between himself and Tim, Dick knew that this was one of those rare ‘almost’ times. Both of his fledglings were still asleep, and the room was still dark from the blackout curtains. Not to mention that it was also probably very early in the morning.

It wasn’t surprising, from the night his brother had. Dick fuzzily remembered Tim waking him up and pulling a trembling Jason into their nest with the explanation that a child had died in Jason’s arms. Those sorts of nights were always some of the worst for Jason, especially when he was patrolling alone. Dick wondered how his little brother guided the young soul this time. Did he sing again? Try to fix it? Had he moved or just sat? Did he hold the kid like he usually did?

He wasn’t sure if he’d get those answers, but that was okay. Dick never asked anymore. It was never worth the broken look on his little wing’s face to get those answers. If Jason wanted to, he would tell them. If not, that was okay too. It was all up to him. Dick and Tim both knew better than to push too hard, and all they could do was support.

Sighing quietly, Dick nuzzled his nose into Jason’s soft hair, the bird-like talon equivalent of a familial kiss, and started to gradually pull his outstretched wing back to his side. By now, he knew what to expect for the rest of the day, and Dick could shuffle his schedule around, no questions asked. Sure, he did have work to do for their underground businesses, but they had competent lieutenants and ran a tight ship. Things weren’t out of place unless they were meant to be, and this week, Dick had ensured that nothing outrageous was happening. The only thing of note was the new drug being pushed into dingy back alleys and clubs. His patrol tonight would let him meet with their men though. He could ask about developments then.

Maybe he’d give his brother a bit of extra spoiling during the day. He knew Tim would do the same, but he was also due to work today. Tim could probably declare a family emergency and ditch for the day, but that would all be decided once he was up. If it was just the two talons though, Dick filed away the thought of a preening session. That usually helped Jason relax, both of them to relax really.

For now, Dick very quietly ensured the heated weighted blanket over Jason and Tim was still in place. Easing himself up and out of the nest, Dick stretched and watched Jason’s wings shift a little from the new free space behind them. His little brother trilled softly, but otherwise didn’t stir. Good. Dick needed some time to himself before chaos erupted once again.

As he padded through the doorway, he threw a last glance at his fledges. They were a close tangle of limbs and blankets, and Dick smiled softly to himself. After such a busy night for Tim and a bad night for Jason, the two of them deserved a treat. Good thing for them that he was decent enough in the kitchen.

He trotted down the stairs and let his wings stretch out behind him. Early morning sun from the penthouse windows warmed his feathers, and he wandered briefly to the living room. Blankets were strewn about on the larger couch in the room, the one that was long enough and wide enough to accommodate wings and tails and sprawling limbs without the fear of falling off. The thing was more of a bed with four sections rather than a couch. Overkill? Perhaps, but Dick couldn’t give less of a damn what other people thought about his couch.

He smiled a little sadly at the makeshift nest that had been thoroughly dismantled, images of Jason tearing through the room to get to Tim filling his mind. The pile of armor near the elevator completed the picture, and Dick walked over to it and crouched down. There was unmistakable blood on the chest plates, leg guards, and boots. It was too red to be Jason’s. The kid had definitely been held then, and Jason hadn’t made a move to get up with him.

Dick could see it now, Jason huddled over a child and sitting cross-legged somewhere, probably an alley. It had been cold and misty last night too. No wonder his little brother had been freaked out. He’d have to keep an eye on him today.

He briefly considered taking the armor to the Roost, but then he’d have to walk all the way back upstairs and risk waking up his brothers when he passed their room. They were all light sleepers, especially because talons technically didn’t need sleep, and it was a risk Dick wasn’t willing to take at the moment.

Instead, he left the armor, for Tim to deal with of course, and strode through the wide, arching hole in the wall and stalked towards the large kitchen. If he wanted breakfast to be ready by the time his brothers woke up, he’d have to make something relatively simple. While he thought, he unlocked the tablet that permanently lived in the kitchen and opened to his Spotify account. It wasn’t nearly as mind-bogglingly complicated as Jason’s, what with his little brother’s hundred or so playlists and too many songs from too many genres and time periods that made Dick’s brain spin, but it got the job done.

In Tim’s words, Dick’s music taste was the blandest, most basic thing to ever have the misfortune to exist, as if Mr. ‘I only listen to rave music and Wonderwall’ was any better. Regardless, it had been his youngest brother’s goal to bring some “flavor into his life”, apparently. Jason, who he thought would’ve had more to say about it but only showed his disapproval with disgusted nose wrinkling and irritated tail lashes, made no attempt to influence Dick’s taste (except shove the names of songs into their group chat and have an entire playlist dedicated to “Things Dick Should Listen To”). At least he didn’t barge into Dick’s gaming room in the middle of the night to smack his headphones away and shove those nasty earbuds, Tim, get off, at him.

All things considered, mostly Jason’s terrible night considered, Dick found himself selecting one of those ambient music compilations that Tim recommended to him. It was a Chillwave something or other, which Tim said allegedly matched Dick’s “moody brooding vibes” when he was focused. Dick, not really reading into genres or artists and went more by sounds he liked, didn’t really care, but now the music had rain sounds to go with it, and rain sounds made everything better.

While the serene synths warbled through the kitchen, Dick set out to make a bird family staple, chocolate chip and banana trauma waffles with scrambled eggs on the side. Light enough to not irritate Jason’s occasionally sensitive gut (he didn’t know how much or if his little brother had one of those vomiting fits again), but heavy enough that Tim would be less likely to moan and groan about being hungry. Really, his baby birds were so picky sometimes. Well…Tim was picky on purpose. Jason was only sometimes picky on necessity.

The morning quiet was nice, and the only sounds beyond the soft music were the clinking of utensils, cracking of eggs, and stirring of batter. He put on some coffee to brew as well. So, the inevitable bubbling of the machine joined the breakfast orchestra. Calm before the storm that was his fledglings. He basked in it.

After the eggs were partially done scrambling and the batter was ready to be ladled into the waffle maker, a new presence joined him in the kitchen. Silent footsteps and not a breath to be heard told him it was Jason. Without looking up from the waffles, he crooned gently and held out the wing nearest to his brother in a silent invitation.

Jason chirped back in a quiet “Morning.” as he leaned into Dick’s side.

Dick just leaned his head against Jason’s shoulder and curled the outstretched wing around him. He noted that Jason had a blanket wrapped around him and simply hummed at the gesture.

 It was a quiet, intimate thing that slotted cozily into the lazy morning. Dick didn’t say anything else, didn’t press or ask, and he knew that Jason probably, maybe wouldn’t be talking too much today. That was fine. As long as his fledgling was safe at home, everything was okay.

A moment later, Jason peeled himself away with a sigh and moved a little to Dick’s left. The following clicking of talons and flap of wings made Dick smile. Jason, now perched on the black, silver-speckled countertop, was curled up in a position that looked like a gargoyle and a puffball of feathers had a baby.

“Makin’ trauma waffles and eggs. You want anything else?” He chirped, starting to pour the first round of batter into the waffle maker.

Jason shook his head but started tapping on the tablet. Dick let him go. Contrary to popular belief and frequent shock, Dick didn’t mind Jason’s vast musical palette, confusing as it was. The middle child in their little flock was the most sonically inclined, after all, since he had about as much DNA from a Pesquet’s Parrot in him as he did human DNA. He knew nice sounds when he heard them.

The soft notes and light percussion of a song Dick didn’t recognize suddenly filled the kitchen. Not that he recognized a lot of songs, but that was beside the point. He glanced up and saw Jason staring out the wall of windows on the opposite side of the room. His eyes had that hazy quality to them that always put Dick’s nerves on end.

Whether it was Jason disassociating or having some sort of flashback or something else entirely was lost on Dick, but his little brother didn’t look particularly upset, just…quiet. It was that bone-deep tiredness that only came for him when he had no more energy to burn. It used to be a much more frequent look on him, back with the Court, but nowadays, Dick saw it less and less. He was infinitely glad for the overall change but still made his insides twist uncomfortably at the thought of his little wing suffering.

The light on the waffle maker flickered to green, and he pulled it out with his claws. The first waffle always went to the most recently traumatized bird in the room. So, it only made sense to wave it in Jason’s face.

For a few seconds, Jason didn’t react, but soon his pupils started tracking the appetizing circle. Dick grinned and chuckled when Jason’s head lurched forward to catch the waffle in his jaws. The younger talon glared at him and gave a little huff, but he ripped it into quarters, unhinged his jaw, and swallowed each piece whole. It was ridiculous and revolting, and that coming from Dick was saying something.

Dick watched on with an unimpressed look. “You’re supposed to savor that. Y’know, good food a day keeps the mental breakdowns at bay or whatever.”

Jason only cooed at him, and it was infuriating how well it worked to make Dick’s heart melt into mushy goo. He was well aware that Jason used his unconventional middle-child status to its full effect. He was well aware that Jason had him, and Tim for that matter, wrapped around his claw. Really, it shouldn’t be this easy for Jason to just waltz over everyone and eat like a rabid animal. But…Jason never waltzed, much less over someone, and he barely asked for anything, and rabid animal was more accurate in some ways than it wasn’t. Whatever, Dick just smacked his wing with the spatula and called it a day.

Up until that point, the music playing had mostly been background noise to Dick, but it was getting louder and more insistent. He’d been able to ignore the first verse or two without even trying to, and the chorus seemed to be coming back around. Jason seemed pleased and was tapping a claw to the rhythm. So, Dick decided to tune into the lyrics a little more.

“We fight every night for something.”

Huh. Not what he expected. He pulled another waffle out and poured more batter in.

“When the sun sets, we’re both the same.”

Is this song about vigilantism or something? It definitely sounded like that. Dick knew that songs could be interpreted in a lot of different ways, but this seemed a little on the nose.

“Half in the shadows, half burned in flames.”

Totally about Gotham, one-hundred percent. The place was always at least half on fire, even if it was just the metaphorical sense…most of the time. Some of the time.

“We can’t look back for nothin’.”

Jason’s hand crept out from the blanketed and feathered blob to snatch a waffle. Dick watched with narrowed eyes as his hard work disappeared into the shadowy abyss. Can’t look back for shit, indeed.

“Take what you need- say your goodbyes.”

Oh, maybe not about vigilantes then. Dick hated to put on his music critic hat. That was Jason’s job. That was a thought: ask Jason his thoughts on the song when it ended. He mentally patted himself on the back for working smarter, not harder.

“I gave you everything.”

Obnoxious slapping of bare feet on tile slightly ruined the whole quiet atmosphere they had going on, and Dick rolled his eyes to himself as Tim trudged into the kitchen, looking very out of it and foggy-eyed. Briefly, Dick glanced behind himself enough to see Tim collapse onto a stool by the kitchen island. The youngest’s head plopped onto the counter there but made no other motion to acknowledge them.

Dick snorted and turned back to the waffles. Silly fledglings and their silly perching habits.

“This darkness is the light.”

The line repeated once, and the song rose to its instrumental crescendo, suddenly reminding Dick of those cyberpunk-style games that were all the rage. Maybe the song was made for some game? The chorus pretty much repeated once more as well before the song ended. Dick made a mental note to get the name of it, because he could totally see himself listening to it while working.

With the song of interest over, Jason tapped at the tablet, and Dick swore he could see the impish little smirk on his brother’s face. He followed where Jason’s gaze went and stared at Tim.

He was able to cover his ears right as the death metal screaming began.

Tim screamed, definitely a very manly, not at all high-pitched shriek, and fell off the stool, and also took the stool to the ground with a clatter.

Jason, the little bastard that he was, puffed up and hissed with delight. His tail feathers lashed around wildly and almost got in the scrambled eggs.

Dick, ever the oldest and definitely most responsible of the flock, smacked Jason’s head with the spatula.

His little brother giggled, giggled, at the hit and pulled the blanket over his head. Of course, of course Dick’s nice, peaceful morning would be ruined as soon as Tim was awake. Good riddance, quiet solitude. You will be dearly missed.

The screaming was still ringing in Dick’s ears, and he knew that the volume would only get louder the longer Jason sat there. So, with all the grace of a dock worker hauling burlap sacks, he scooped Jason up and rolled him onto the island, very purposefully giving him an extra shove to send him to the other side.

Was it an accident that Jason ended up rolling off the island and on top of Tim, who let out a disgruntled yowl at the sudden boulder lying on him? Maybe, maybe not, Dick didn’t care one way or the other. Who’s to say, honestly?

He slapped the tablet and turned the music off, just so he could put his playlist from earlier on.

For a minute or two, there was complete and utter silence, save for the soft music and light clattering of food and utensils.

Suspicious silence. Tim and Jason went together like peanut butter and jelly, and the parenting books he’d tried, and failed, to read said that too much silence was a bad thing. It didn’t matter that the silence in question came from a seventeen-year-old angst lord with caffeine and electrum for blood and a nineteen-year-old parrot who ate fruit like he was addicted to it. Parrots were like perpetual toddlers though…

Oh no…Jason was going to be a toddler parrot teenager for the rest of his probably immortal life, wasn’t he? Would Tim ever “grow out of” the edgelord phase- was it even a phase? And Dick was going to have to suffer through all of it for the rest of time as humanity knew it? Dammit, he hadn’t thought of that.

He’d probably cry from the existential misery of it all if he didn’t love his chicks so much. Plus, his career never had to die if he never got old. That’d be nice.

But back to the problem at hand…Right. The quiet.

Dick poured the finished eggs onto a large platter and watched a hand, with no claws, which meant it belonged to Tim, sneak through his feathers towards the dish.

Not today, Satan.

He grabbed the knife next to him, that was used for cutting waffles mind you, like a normal person, and did the only logical thing a talon could think of.

He stabbed Tim right through the back of his hand.

Chapter Text

The sound Tim let out was something between a high-pitched squeal and a sorrowful hiss. Maybe more of a dying horse sound? Yeah, that sounded about right. Dick snorted. It wasn’t even a long stab by any means. Just a little stab, a baby stab even, in and out of his hand. Tim was so dramatic sometimes.

“You’re gonna clean the floor.” He deadpanned, rotating his head around in all its 180-degree capable glory to glare at his tiniest fledgling. The dark red, almost black blood that had splattered on the floor had also unfortunately gotten on his feet too. It wasn’t that he hadn’t dealt with blood on his feet before, but it was just a nuisance. Why was one morning of peace too much to ask for?

“YoU’rE gOnNa ClEaN ThE fLoOr.” Tim mocked, unfurling himself to step down from the counter. He immediately almost slid on the puddle of blood as he did so, and it was only because of Jason’s lightning-fast reflexes and iron grip on Tim’s bicep that kept the baby bird upright.

Dick just regarded him with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes, he wondered how this was one of Gotham’s most prominent upstarts and the prime logistics leader of a criminal empire who struck fear into the hearts of scum everywhere. Really, how did Dick end up with this freaky little business-minded, never-stop-thinking weirdo as his head-handler turned gremlin little brother?

After Tim regained his balance and further smeared his own blood with his foot, Jason let go of him and scooted forward on his toes to the edge of the island counter.

Dick raised an eyebrow at him too. “Do you…want something?” His little wing was peering up at him with a look of suspicious innocence, all big, round pupils and fluffed out wings that made him look much softer and rounder than he had any right to be. Even the smaller, downy feathers that curled off his ears looked fluffier than usual. His clawed hands were resting on his knees, and the middle child let out a little rumbling warble that may or may not have turned Dick’s heart to mush again. It didn’t matter that Jason was a roughly six-foot-four, nineteen-year-old mass of extremely lean muscle and scar tissue; he still looked as adorable as a duckling. How his younger brother was able to go from the most ominous, frankly terrifying, ‘reborn child of death’ to the epitome of birdlike cuteness was beyond Dick, and it was also something that he could never master himself. Curse the Court for making such an effective weapon for psychological warfare.

Sighing, Dick pointed to the waffles, which earned him a shake of Jason’s head and a pointedly offended look. He pointed to the eggs, which earned him a vigorous nod. Of course. With no further fanfare, Dick lifted a large, serving spoon-filling portion out of the bowl. He was going to put it on a plate, because they were a perfectly normal family having perfectly normal breakfast, chaos and blood aside. Jason just tilted his had up and opened his mouth though, looking every part the baby bird that Dick almost always saw in him. He was looking at Dick expectantly, and the eldest could do nothing but tip the spoonful into the waiting garbage disposal.

Due to being distracted by fledgling #1, Dick may have almost kicked out when something wet rubbed against his foot. Instead of ripping apart whatever decided to challenge him, he looked down to identify it first. A longsuffering sighs left his lips for the nth time that morning.

Fledgling #2 was crouched over the puddle of blood with a roll of paper towels tucked under one arm and those kitchen disinfectant wipes in the other, while his own impaled hand already started to clot and heal. The blood was sluggishly soaking up into a wad of paper towels, and Tim was practically smacking his ankle with a wipe, only further smearing it against his foot. Thank you, Tim. Very helpful.

Maybe, just maybe, if he looked away, it wasn’t really happening. If he could just distract himself with something else for until Tim was finished, he could ignore the unpleasantly cold wetness being repeatedly batted against his foot. It was a wipe, Tim. You wipe with it.

Dick had to force himself to not pinch the bridge of his nose. As a distraction, he reached over to the tablet to put on something else. Not a playlist but…maybe the radio? Might be able to get some news in or something. Anything was better than this.

He may have, in a second of unconscious weakness, forgotten what the radio app had been tuned to previously. All of a sudden, the grating, whining voice of some female popstar singing about bad men and breaking up and overall terrible personal life choices blasted through the kitchen, completely uninvited and unappreciated. Which one was it anyway? It was some top 40s of the week station or something. So, the woman had to be popular…Taylor Swift? Doja…something? Cat, was it? Sabrina Carpenter maybe?

Dick didn’t know, didn’t care, and only had about two seconds to his thoughts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard a lot of mainstream pop before (his career practically forbade it), and it wasn’t like he hated all of it (certain select songs were better than others), but that wasn’t the concern here.

The concern here came from the unholy shriek of a raging parrot behind him.

Dick felt it before he saw it, because Jason so suddenly launched into a flurry of movement that even Dick had a hard time dodging. Sharp talons, from a hand, grabbed his left shoulder, while sharper talons, from a foot, dug into his right shoulder. It was truly lucky that neither of his well-groomed black-banded owl wings got hit. Jason was launching off his makeshift, brother-shaped perch like a heat-seeking missile with supersonic rockets strapped to it faster than Dick could make a move to stop him.

Just barely, Dick was able to save the stack of waffles by pulling them out of the way of his brother’s fury, though he did get smacked in the face by Jason's tail feathers. He could only watch helplessly as the hissing, shrieking bird skidded on the counter and crashed into the wall. The blanket that had previously been wrapped around Jason now hung limply across Dick’s slightly outstretched left wing.

The music cut off as suddenly as it had been turned on, and for a solid five seconds, there was not a sound nor a movement in the kitchen. Tim had frozen and was staring at Jason in a combination of shock and amusement. Dick suddenly felt the urge to go to bed and forgo any thought of a preening session with the other talon. Jason himself was staring at them both with wide eyes, like a cat who landed a jump that even it was surprised by.

Blinking between them, Jason’s gaze finally settled on Dick, and he shifted on his feet, tablet in hand. “Sorry about that.” He whispered, looking mildy surprised and just a tad sheepish.

Dick was pretty sure that Jason didn’t even realize what he’d done until after the fact. “Did you just have a negative, instinctual rage because of…” he trailed off, looking at the tablet and tilting his head a little, “pop music?”

Jason huffed and started scrolling, presumably back to his own profile. “It’s a crime against humanity. It’s all the same type of falsely sappy, sniveling, breakup garbage.” Dick froze as he braced for another one of the patent-pending music rants by Jason Todd. “There’s no innovation or heart to it. I don’t want to hear about how some idiot got back with their ex because they said they were ‘so sooo sorry and you were actually right and I wanna just kiss you and pretend that we never cheated on each other’ (said very patronizingly, in Dick’s opinion). Does anyone actually listen to these lyrics? Or is “Kissy face” and a bunch of lazy sounds or thinly-veiled moans genuinely what people like to hear?”

“Maybe people who are in love like it because they relate to it?” Tim, so so stupidly, decided to offer.

Jason’s eyes, suddenly much more threatening and bloodthirsty than the adorably round soup bowls they had been before, snapped to Tim’s. “THERE ARE BETTER LOVE SONGS THAN “APT”!” He cried, like this was a life or death debate for the ages.

Dick raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Different people like different things, Jay.”

“Those people are stupid then!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re gonna call like…probably over a billion people stupid?”

“YES!” Jason was even more viciously tapping at the tablet until he seemed to relax.

"So, all it takes to make you crash out is putting on "Espresso"? I'll keep that in mind for next patrol." Tim hummed, tapping his chin in faux-thoughtfullness...like an idiot.

"I'll rip your head off if you do that, Timmy. Don't test me."

“Name a better love song then.” Tim goaded, and please Tim, stop poking the parrot. Someone’s gonna lose a finger.

Without missing a beat, “’Forever’ by Noah Kahan.” Was Jason’s answer.

“Is that pop?” Tim continued, and Dick just wanted to stab him in the brain, just enough to shut him up for a bit.

“It’s folk-pop.” Jason hissed, looking irritated by the apparently very important distinction between the two.

Suddenly, a gentle acoustic guitar tickled through the air, and Dick knew that this was definitely the song that Jason just mentioned.

Jason sat on the counter, the smug curl in his lips relaxing as the song played on, and Dick had to admit that…yeah, this was a lot nicer than the “competition”, calmer at the very least. He started cleaning up from his cooking escapades so they could all enjoy an actual breakfast instead of…whatever this was. If it helped get his foot away from Tim’s probably on-purpose smacking, then it was all the better to move.

The lyrics were surprisingly touching, and Dick could see why Jason loved it so much. The forced frown and furrowed brows on Tim’s face indicated that he was also enjoying it but couldn’t actually admit it yet. Silly Tim. Just admit defeat already and be done with it.

Jason seemed to have put on the Noah guy’s whole album, and Dick found himself swaying to the music more often than not. It was heartfelt and honest and melodic, soothing as much as it was heart wrenching. The kitchen was cleaned pretty quickly with the help of the music, even the floor was spotless from the previous little incident. Jason had busied himself with putting the bowl of eggs and stack of waffles on the island and setting out some plates, forks, syrup, and glasses of water.

Soon enough, they were settled on the stools around the island. Well, Dick and Jason were. Tim was face deep in a wide wine glass filled with coffee. The glass was so steamed up that Dick could barely see Tim’s face through the fog. Jason was happily tapping his clawed fingertips on the counter to the rhythm of a song called “New Perspective”. Tim looked…half asleep was probably the best way to put it. Blackout drunk was the other description that came to mind, but that was perhaps a little too mean to his littlest brother. Plus, Dick had seen a truly blackout drunk Tim. This was similar, yes, but didn’t have the exact same unhinged vibrating and lack of filter.

“Have you ever thought of picking up guitar, Jay?” Dick asked, genuinely curious. It always seemed that Jason’s favorite songs had some sort of string instrument as a main component. If it made it so happy, maybe it would be worth picking up.

Jason shrugged, lifting his hands and flexing his fingers. “Talons and strings don’t mix.”

Dick could sense the underlying disappointment and unspoken I want to but physically can’t. He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t push the topic.

Jason peered at him for a moment but seemed to think of something else. “How’d your stream go?” His wings shifted on his back in that telltale way they did when Jason really wanted to change subjects. Dick would gladly indulge him.

Snorting, Dick took a sip of water. “I was playing Minecraft with the Titans.”

“That sounds like a nightmare.” Tim’s voice was muffled due to his mouth being completely within the confines of the glass, but at least his ears worked.

Dick nodded and swallowed down some eggs. “It was like herding drunk talons. I did lead an uprising though.”

“Oh?” Jason commented.

Dick could only shrug in return. “I convinced Roy and Wally that Garth, Kori, and Victor were withholding materials from them. They were, by the way. At least Garth was, stupid Atlanteans.”

“How’d that go?" Mumbled Tim, finally revealing his face from his session of inhaling coffee fumes.

“I burnt down most of the town and blew up about half or Garth’s underwater base. They were yelling at me, and Wally and Roy for being accomplices, and then they threatened to ban me.” He ignored the “Sounds about right” from Tim and continued. “I was simply redistributing wealth.”

“And blowing up private property.” Came from Tim, the spoil sport that he was sometimes.

“Please, Roy and Wally had the time of their lives. They said they’d join me for another rebel uprising, ride or die. After that, I did a round of cod and beat down on a snotty brat who was yelling at his mom for not heating up his nuggets fast enough. Spoiled little prick.”

The muttered, “Huh…Sounds fun.” and a shaking head was the end of Tim’s opposition. Good, he didn’t even have to mention the flying lava dumpers.

“Chat asked about Jason.” Dick added, earning a confused head tilt from the bird in question. “They miss you, Jay. Apparently, there haven’t been enough new clips of your singing.”

He saw the slight flush on his brother’s pale, gray cheeks and ears. “No, really, they love you. They’re begging for you to come back.”

“Awww, Jay’s embarrassed.” Tim cooed teasingly, poking at Jason’s now limp hand with his fork.

“I’m not embarrassed.” Jason insisted with a slight growl in his voice, but Dick could smell the stench of a lie from a mile away. Truth was, Jason had a better voice than anyone ever had given him credit for. After the genetic experiments were successful for Dick but awry for Jason, the younger of the two talons was permanently relegated to be the Court’s personal pin cushion and chew toy. Though the pain and suffering Jason went through was horrific, Dick would be wrong if he said the results weren’t disturbingly incredible. Jason’s vocal range was unreal for any single bird or human separately. The combination of the two had yielded a creature capable of perfect mimicry of any human voice, male or female, or animal noise. Whatever happened to merge a bird’s larynx with human vocal cords had certainly worked in Jason’s favor.

Not only could Jason sing perfect covers of any song from any artist, he could create booming sounds to unite human language and animalistic notes. The first time he had accidentally broken out in song on one of Dick’s Minecraft streams had inadvertently started the internet’s obsession with his little brother. And Jason was not a man who often took praise well.

Regardless, Dick patted his shoulder and let the topic drop with his arm. “All things aside, I was going to stay here for the day. We should all go to the meeting later tonight though.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully and finally took a swig of his coffee instead of just snorting the vapors. “I gotta go have a couple meetings with my guys at the office. So, I’ll be out for most of the morning and afternoon, but I’ll be up for tonight. We need to find out more about the new drugs.”

“I didn’t hear anything about it on patrol. It’s starting slow and being kept under wraps it seems.” Jason added, popping another waffle quarter into his mouth.

Dick nodded and stared at his own waffle. “So, we’re pretty confident that Crime Alley’s not being targeted for the moment.”

Tim waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a party drug, Dickie. So far, it’s mostly showed up in clubs and rich people parties. That’s not street material…yet.”

“Which is more reason to get it under control before it spreads. All we know is that it causes hallucinations and ease of bruising, prevents blood clotting, and there’s been a few cases of blindness.”

“We’ll see what happens tonight and move accordingly.”

“Are we sure it’s not just an out-of-date pharmaceutical?” Jason wondered aloud while pouring syrup over his eggs.

Dick snorted a laugh but shook his head. This was definitely deliberate. It was a pretty new development in the criminal world. So, it had yet to take root too far, but it was still concern. Since the bats seemed to have most rogue issues under control for the time being, it gave the birds more time to investigate the nitty-gritty of what could be happening.

For now, with the knowledge that Tim would definitely be out of the house, Dick started building a list of things to do with Jason. No way was he going to let Jason hole up in his forge all day. Not for one second.

Batman was busy. That was the first conclusion Cass had on this lovely morning. The second conclusion was that Bruce looked about ready to pass out when he had left for Wayne Enterprises earlier. It made her wonder how many cases he had been looking at all at once. Considering the slight rogue movements over the past month, it could’ve been Mr. Freeze or Two Face, but it also could’ve been the new case that had wormed its way into the bats radar.

Tim Drake was an enigma, a puzzle with pieces that didn’t quite fit. When Cass had first seen him at the gala the previous night, she had been interested. He was, in Damian’s words, a weirdo, sure. The whole two champagne glasses of coffee wasn’t something that Cass had ever seen before. Not to mention the scars on his face and the grace of his gait. Tim Drake walked with both authority and hesitance, like he knew he was supposed to be there but didn’t know what to do about it. His steps were not at all similar to the tapping heels and clomping shoes of other high society gala participants. They were silent in their nature, almost like he had never known anything different.

And then the boy had come over to her and struck up a conversation with only his body language. They had greeted each other and made it known that neither was a threat to the other. They’d displayed their intentions and emotions as clear as day. Cass had been shocked at his fluency in the unspoken language.

Shock had turned to a slight fondness far too quickly. Tim was…a funny guy, Cass found. He was witty, and instinct told her that he knew much more about the world than what he let on. There was a sort of deep intelligence that suggested a vast pit of knowledge in his brain. His adoration for his brothers was clear to see, and Cass wished to meet them at some point, if Tim wanted to keep up a friendship anyway.

It was a funny thing, that this was one of the first people outside of her family that she would want to call a friend. She knew that Tim had gone through terrible things, the little they were able to find about his past even more suggestive of that. She had sensed his fear during the confrontation with his parents, but Tim had remained composed. His tongue was a knife when he wanted it to be, but his heart was gentle. That much was obvious to her. It was the way Tim seemed delighted to talk about art with Damian, the way he was so proud to show them the blade his brother had gifted to him. It made her wonder, if perhaps Tim knew more about them then he let on. Or, perhaps he truly didn’t see a lot of people around his age and thought that it would be a good conversation piece.

Cass wanted to put the puzzle of Tim Drake together, but Bruce had put a stop to it last night. Rogue movement and the arrival of a new drug in the Diamond District had put Tim’s case aside. At least…aside for Batman. Cass wasn’t about to go down that easily.

That was what led her to creep into her little brother’s room as soon as Bruce left. It was the weekend, and Damian typically went up to his room after breakfast on days like these.

“Cassandra.” Damian greeted, turning away from his desk to look at her. She noted that his laptop, off a little to the left, was showing an up-close picture of a crow, with his sketchbook open in front of him.

She smiled at him and stepped towards him as soon as his posture relaxed enough. “Dami.”

“What brings you here? You do not usually visit at this time.”

She shrugged and looked over at the sketchbook. The roughed-out sketch of a crow was starting to take place on the paper. Feeling particularly proud of his efforts, she ruffled his hair. “Looking good.”

Damian faltered slightly at the praise and quickly smoothed his hair back from where she had mussed with it. He snorted, feigning offense. “I know you did not just barge in here to mess up my hair and look at my drawing.”

She plopped down on his bed, still smiling. “True.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well?”

“I was thinking about Tim.”

Damian was silent for a moment, and he spun the pencil in his hand a few times. “Oh.”

She nodded sagely and caught his gaze. “Does he seem…like us? To you?”

Her little brother’s brows furrowed, adorably in her opinion, and his face scrunched up in concentration. “He was…an intriguing individual. His words and movements were careful and controlled, but he appeared more out of his element when he was around us.”

“When he was actually talking to people.” She added, making Damian nod. “He seems…trained. Somehow.”

“Agreed. If he can effectively wield a karambit, it leads me to believe that he is not at all defenseless. His scars are proof of resilience, even though we saw very few of them. His hands are calloused, perhaps even more so than Father’s. The results of abuse are clear.”

“They have done much, his hands., for a long time, I think.”

“That would be logical. Could he really be an assassin though, like us?”

"I don't know..."

There was another pause, and Cass pulled her phone out. Tim’s number was staring up at her. “I want to know.”

Damian finally stood up and walked over to sit beside her. She didn’t outwardly react when he leaned into her, but internally, she was cheering. “As do I…Despite his past torments and afflictions, he still seems…kind.” His tone was softer than usual, and he seemed to recognize that with the haughty huff he let out afterwards. “And he is the only one who actually appreciates the nature of a good artist.”

Cass giggled a little. Her little brother was so funny sometimes, trying to be all tough and stoic, when he really was just excited at having a person around who understood him. She knew that feeling all too well herself. “You would like to have him around more.” It wasn’t a question, considering she knew the answer.

Despite being answered with a “tsk”, Cass could read between the crossed arms and intense gaze and see the curiosity in Damian’s eyes. They both wanted to know more about their mysterious, sad new friend.

Silently vowing to apologize to Steph later for leaving her out, Cass created a new group chat, adding Damian, Steph, and Tim. “Weird Sibling Club” seemed to be an appropriate name for the time being, like Steph had made it. Cass was thinking ahead really, because it was possible, perhaps even mentally encouraged, for Tim’s brothers to join them at some point. That would surely be fun.

With the chat named and all currently necessary members added, she christened the new line of communication with the first message.

<->Weird Sibling Club<->

Cass

Good morning! How is everyone? 😊

Steph

U MADE THE GC WITHOUT ME!???

Cass

Oops?

Steph

HOW DARE U!??? WHERE ARE U? IM HUNTING U DOWN!!!!

Tim

Took you guys long enough. I thought you’d throw me in here the moment I left last night

Cass

…oops??

Chapter Text

The moment Tim left the penthouse, a sense of quiet permeated the air. Dick loved his youngest brother. Really, he did, but more often than not, he was just so full of…energy. Sometimes, Talons just needed silence.

Jason had wandered off not long ago to drag his gear to the Roost, leaving Dick alone in the living room. The kitchen was clean from all previous incidents, and he was currently busying himself with replacing the scattered blankets and pillows onto the couch.

He let his mind wander as he did so, thinking back to the previous night, of the gala and Jason’s unfortunate patrol. He thought about the Bats, whether they could really be trusted in their civilian identities, and about the new party drug being pumped into the wealthier areas of Gotham. It would only be a matter of time before it began to circulate through the rest of the city, but maybe, they could find the supplier and cut off the supply at the source before that happened.

Birds and drugs never mixed well, in their experiences.

The pad of too soft footsteps made him turn his head. Jason was walking back down the stairs, unfocused eyes staring at the ground and fingers twitching like they should be holding something but couldn’t figure out what should be there.

The silence turned from peaceful to solemn in an instance.

Once Jason reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused, barely raising his gaze from the ground. He was shaking, almost imperceptibly but still present. It was a stark contrast to how surprisingly active he was only two hours prior.

Dick couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or grief or guilt that caused Jason’s silence, but he crossed the room all the same and spread one of his wings to its full length. It wrapped around his little brother like a gentle blanket, warm and soft and brushing against Jason’s own feathers like they were at home there.

As Dick walked forward with deliberately slow steps, his wing forced Jason to follow. He seemed just a little unsteady on his feet, probably from dealing with his armor that was stained in a child’s blood. Dick kicked himself for not taking care of it earlier. With how haphazardly the gear had been strewn about, he should have known that Jason wouldn’t be in a particularly good mental place to clean it.

He guided Jason to the couch and had him sit on the edge of it. “You could’ve let me know if you didn’t want to clean the blood.” He said, settling himself behind Jason, moving the dark tail feathers to the side so he wouldn’t squish them, and tapping one of his brother’s wings.

Jason opened it at the touch, unfurling black, grey, and red feathers that shimmered in the warm light of the late morning. The contrast of the dark monotones with the bloody scarlet was always stunning, and the red almost glowed orange in the sunlight. As much as Jason sometimes hated his feathers, they simply reminded Dick of fire, capable of great destruction but simultaneously providing life-giving warmth and comfort.

Sometimes, Jason was like a candle, a small, flickering thing, but still strong until all of his wax burnt away. Sometimes, Jason was like a campfire, crackling playfully and bringing the people he loved closer to him in a warm embrace of stories or games. Sometimes, Jason was like an uncontrollable wildfire, born from lightning striking dry savannas, raging and burning everything in his path, roaring in the language of embers and smoke.

It was lucky that Dick was fluent in the tongues of fire. Right now, the wax of the candle was very low, and it was his duty to once again pile more in and extend the wick.

From Jason, there was no acknowledgement for Dick’s words, and that was fine. There didn’t have to be. With how Jason’s fingers flexed and clenched in indecision, Dick knew he was turning thoughts over in his head. It was enough to just sit and wait.

Dick started running his talons through Jason’s strong feathers, zipping ragged barbs back into place and picking out lose feathers. Preening was always something that helped soothe both talons. Something about the ability to exist in peace, to do something for each other that would be considered a vulnerable weakness anywhere else, was comforting. It reminded both of them that they were no longer slaves to the Court. That they were alive and their own.

This was something reserved solely for the two of them. Tim didn’t have feathers, and though he knew the basics of their care, it was never the same as practiced claws running through tired plumage.

“Why is it so different?” Jason whispered after a few moments of silence. His voice came out soft but strained at the same time.

Dick frowned to himself but continued his careful ministrations to Jason’s coverts. “What’s different?”

“Just…” His brother trailed off, his wings drooping slightly. “Why have you two adjusted so fast? I don’t get it. We’ve been out for over two years, but I just can’t shake anything like you or Tim have.”

Ah. That was…a difficult question. Dick turned it over a few times, but his claws never stopped raking through dark feathers. It was difficult because it simply was the truth of the matter. Tim had adjusted pretty well and quickly to life outside of the Court. It was different for him, since he wasn’t a full talon and still was about one-hundred percent human, minus the electrum in his blood, and he had taken it upon himself to get them a place to live. The early days outside of the Court was rough on all of them, but Tim had pulled them through and was thriving now.

His own case was a bit trickier. He’d been with the Court the longest and had been subjected to many terrible things. He struggled with the fact that he could be autonomous and separate from his brothers. Tim’s ‘ownership’, as it was, of the two talons had helped him tremendously during their time in the Court, considering that Tim made sure that they were given rests and nourishment. Tim taught him personality, love, how to read, and so many other things for the second time in his life.

But Jason hadn’t been as lucky. He may have spent the least amount of time in the Court out of the three of them, but the true horrors of the Grandmaster’s fury descended on Jason most intensely and most often. Out of both his brothers, Jason was the one that he used to see the least.

Before he could voice his thoughts, Jason barreled onwards, tumbling over words with self-directed frustrations. “Tim was the Court’s Prince. The heir of everything. And you were the Gray Son of prophecy, for crying out loud. I was just…I’m nothing but a dirty street kid that just so happened to be a good plaything. I should’ve been able to bounce back faster than you guys. You suffered more than I did, but I’m the one almost having a panic attack because there’s kid’s blood on my armor? It’s pathetic.”

Okay, there were many things Dick wanted to say about all of that, like the use of present tense when saying he was nothing. And Dick suffering more was completely false, given what he knew about Jason’s life pre-Court and the screaming and muffled cries that used to pierce through the catacombs like gunfire. Dick hadn’t been submerged for weeks at a time in solitary, drowning imprisonment within the Lazarus Pit. Tim hadn’t been chained down and dissected alive, forbidden to scream or cry.

Not to mention Jason referring to himself as a “plaything”. Was it true? To an extent, yes. The experiments for truly birdlike talons had been deemed successful on Dick, but those conducted on Jason were considered a failure. A parrot instead of an owl. A singing siren instead of a wrathful wraith. But, Dick knew there was more to it. Jason had fixed the Court’s vehicles until his lungs gave out from the fumes, forged their blades until his own fingers were burnt to stumps, given his life for their research and amusement, and worn the silencing muzzle without complaint when they got too tired of hearing him breathe, to the point where his cheeks were permanently split wide open from how far it ripped and dug in. Jason hadn’t just been the Court’s toy, he’d been their workhorse.

If any of them were to be dropped into a city with nothing but their wits and skills, Jason would make it the farthest in terms of building himself a home. Home was always where Jason was, where oil from modified cars sat in drip pans, warmth emanated from forges like dragon’s fire, and gentle wings and barely-there smiles would offer a home-cooked meal off a freshly-repaired stove.

Jason was the best of them, skilled and handy in ways Tim and Dick were not. He was the best of them because he was still so kind despite not having any reason to be. Tim had no issue stepping over those he disliked to get ahead. He would leave a person in financial ruin if he deemed them worth the trouble. Dick hit vital organs the most often of their flock. He was the most comfortable with the mass culling of severe offenders and criminals. They were broken, yes, but they were also hardened, jaded and indifferent towards death. Jason was just broken, though Dick, even now, wasn’t sure just how bad it was. Jason rarely talked about it, claiming it wasn’t worth worrying about. Years of the screaming and being the designated executer of innocents told Dick otherwise, but more often than not, he held his tongue. Maybe that had been a mistake.

Regardless, Dick would not stand for such self-deprecation. “You’re not nothing. You’re not pathetic. You care about the lives of the innocent and scared.”

“You guys care too.”

“We don’t drop everything to comfort dying children in the middle of battle. That emotional weight has always been on you. You put it on yourself, yes, but that burden is harder than any physical fight.”

There was a beat of quiet, and Jason turned his head to look at him. Dick blinked back, holding eye contact for a second. Jason didn’t look like he believed him. Huffing softly, Dick reached up and ruffled his brother’s hair. “They call you the ‘grim reaper’ and ‘fire angel’ for a reason, Jay. Tim and I don’t get nicknames like that. They’re only reserved for you. Out of all the kids we’ve helped, who do they run towards first? Strix? Corvus?”

He moved to preen Jason’s other wing as he waited for the younger to answer. He wanted Jason to acknowledge the truth for himself, not have it be told to him.

“They run to Phoenix.” Came the soft whisper of a young man who thought far too little of himself.

“That’s right. They run to Phoenix, to you, because they know that you’ll hold them even if their bones are shattered and their eyes go blank. You’re trusted because you care…You care so damn much. You always have, more than most people ever would.”

“I’ve seen so many die before…I used to kill them. Death shouldn’t bother me, not even when it’s kids. They shouldn’t…They shouldn’t trust me. I’m a monster, Dick.” Jason’s voice was wracked with guilt, wavering at the edges as it pitched to something lower and softer.

It reminded Dick of distant thunder.

“You are a monster.” Dick agreed, because it was true. All three of them were monsters who killed and were killed and maimed and were maimed. There was no denying their past. He ignored the dejected puff of breath and limp limbs from his brother. “Not all monsters are evil, Jay.”

Jason glanced at him, skeptical. Dick just rose off the couch and rounded to the front, both so he could see Jason’s face better and also to reach the undersides of his wings. In that moment, Jason looked every one of his nineteen years and then some. The bags under his eyes, though ever-present in all three of them, were ringed deeper down his face. Gray, slightly translucent skin looked clammier than normal, with black veins pulsing nervously beneath.

Scars of wounds that were never allowed to properly heal crossed over his face, showing the wear-and-tear from the Court. Three claw marks tore across the left side of his face, starting at the temple and ending at the edge of his jaw. A single, horizontal slash cut his nose in two and pulled at the corners of his eyes. The most glaring wound split his mouth open, where lips didn’t indicate the end of his maw. The corners of his mouth were in the hollows of where his cheeks used to be. He could bare his entire collection of teeth at someone if he wanted to. The thick band of dark scar tissue around his neck, nearly identical to Dick’s own, flexed when his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“To a mouse, an owl is a monster. To a bat, an eagle is a monster…But are the owl and eagle evil?”

“They hunt mice and bats to survive.”

“And didn’t we?”

Jason paused, searching his face for something that Dick could not know. He knew there was no lie in his features though. They had survived. Dick had hunted down the Court’s enemies. Tim had disposed of traitors of the Court. Jason had killed people, no matter the age, who got too close to the Court. Death was the only option for them. Dick was brainwashed and conditioned to violence. Tim was raised in it. Jason had been on the receiving end of harsh treatment even before the Court. Not that he wasn’t brainwashed as well, but it was harder to be the beast who held the blade, not the chick who held the bloody metal like a fleshy sheath.

More unfortunate souls stumbled into the Court’s business than the number of traitors and enemies Tim and Dick had gotten rid of. Dick and Tim used to kill out of duty and a desire to live. Jason used to kill to give a merciful out from an even worse fate.

“Jason, the boy who died last night…You were the reason he didn’t die alone. No matter what happened, there was nothing else you could have done…” He patted the finished wing and moved to the other one. “I honestly don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Let them go without getting angry.”

“Oh.” Jason looked down, tucking his freshly-preened wing close to his body. “I do get angry though.”

Dick snorted. “I meant that you never let it show on your face. You’ve given so many hurting kids nothing but calm energy, even to the ones who do end up making it. You’re the last thing a lot of them have seen, and they’ve never seen you angry. It’s amazing, watching you go from fighting a murderer to scooping a child into your arms in a single breath.”

Jason nodded but avoided his gaze. “If I had been in that alley just a minute before…”

“You can’t save everyone. None of us can. We just take care of who we’re able to, and you did that last night. You cared for that boy in his final moments. You let him pass on peacefully instead of alone.”

“I found him leaning against a pile of trash bags. Some lady shot him, and he shot her back…He was hit right in the throat. Could barely talk to me, but he asked me to sing for him. Said his mother used to…He smiled when I did.”

Dick hummed softly. “And you held him until…”

“Yeah.”

Smiling, Dick ruffled Jason’s hair again and smoothed down the final stray feathers with his free hand. “I’m proud of you, y’know that? So, so proud.”

Jason huffed and tucked his freshly preened wings close to his sides. “Thanks…”

Dick’s smile didn’t drop, but he grabbed Jason’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. “You’re gonna preen me now, right?”

He saw through Jason’s fond eye roll and dragged his little wing to a patch of carpeted floor that was bathed in sunlight. A change of scenery never hurt anyone, and the sun was good for both of them. “Good. If I fall asleep, don’t hit me.”

Jason smacked the back of his head in response, and Dick laughed. Good, if Jason was with it enough to smack him for something so trivial, then that was a step in the right direction.

Dick sprawled out on the floor like an oversized cat. His black and white striped wings splayed out haphazardly at his sides, and he shuffled around a little bit until he deemed his spot comfortable enough.

The face-down starfish position made Jason shake his head fondly. Stupid, idiot owl with his stupid, mushy pep-talks. Whatever.

He plopped down and unceremoniously pulled Dick’s left wing into his lap. Admittedly, the sun was a soothing warmth against his cold skin. Maybe after he finished preening Dick’s wings, he’d take a nap here too. Not like he had anything else planned for the day, aside from sharpening all their throwing knives and maybe drowning out his thoughts with fire and metal down in the forge.

Dick had crossed his arms under his head and was flopping on them, though he kept a single eye on Jason. His expression was soft, made even more peaceful by his face being half-smushed in his arms. “Hey.”

Jason didn’t dignify that with a verbal response and just raised an eyebrow at him. Did he really have to talk more? He’d already spilled his guts, metaphorically this time, and did the whole ‘talk about feelings’ thing.

“So, was Tim right?”

“About what?”

“You going feral over pop music.”

Jason closed his eyes. “Oh for the love of-“ Deep breaths, Jason. Inhale. Exhale. Don’t rip your brother’s throat out. “In this hypothetical situation, it depends on the song. If I tolerate it, then no. I would not go feral because of it.”

“Okay, but like…if we blasted "Hot to Go" in your armor’s speakers?” The smirk on Dick’s face was suddenly looking incredibly punchable.

Jason glared at him. Seriously, couldn't they just let this go? How dare they try and infiltrate his carefully crafted playlists? “I would finish whatever mission was going on, if possible.”

“And then?” Dick twittered teasingly.

Jason leveled him with the most irritated, deadpan stare he could muster. “I’d rip your fingers off, throw them in the oven, and turn them into mini-hot dogs. Then, I would eat them in front of you, because brothers who weaponize my music taste don’t deserve any phalanges. I’ll take your toes too, just to make a point.”

“Huh…” Dick tilted his head so it was turned forward. “That’s creative.”

Shaking his head, Jason went back to smoothing out Dick’s feathers. He knew what his older brother was doing. He knew Dick was trying to distract him, and that was fine. Maybe it was even working a little bit, but his mind kept circling back to the previous night. If he had just been a few blocks down, he probably would have heard the start of the confrontation. Just maybe, he could’ve stopped another child’s death. It was his weight to carry, to try and make up for the atrocities he had committed.

Children shouldn’t trust him. No one should, but they did anyway. Somehow, whatever energy he had that people picked up on was enough. He was the first one their goons went to if their families needed help. He was the first bird that the Alley folk recognized as safe.

He didn’t deserve trust nor respect, but people gave it to him no matter what he thought of himself. Dick tried to explain it to him, just moments ago as well as other times in the past, but he could still barely believe it. He didn’t understand what made him so special to people. He was an undeserving leech, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for people to realize that.

At least Dick was happy, with both his legal and illegal careers. He had fun with their new lives. Tim was much the same, satisfied with a company he pulled from the ether and happy that he was making a difference. They both had crawled from the Court’s ashes and put themselves out there. They succeeded. He was happy for them. They deserved only the best.

Jason felt like he was still caught in the ruins, covered in those same ashes and unable to move on. He saved as many people as he could, sure. He took care of their workers and had a healthier relationship with hobbies that used to be slave labor. He had fun making blades and fixing cars on his own volition.

Part of him though, the child who was dumped on the streets at barely seven years old, still wanted nothing more than to curl up in the darkest, shadowy corner he could find and rot. It was stupid to think about the past again. He hated remembering. Maybe he should turn some music on before he could think even more about it.

But his brain did not relent. He knew he shouldn’t be childish or want to flee from a place he knew was safe. Heck, he wasn’t in the Court for nearly as long as Dick or Tim. Technically, he should be the best put together. He wasn’t raised with lofty expectations like Tim or crushing, mindless duty like Dick. He was the cheap work, the failed bird. He was assigned tasks, and he completed those tasks, no matter the punishments that always came his way.

It should have been no different once they left the Court behind. He should have taken the task to survive for himself and given his brothers more time to heal. Instead, Tim had taken on that burden, and Dick had protected them. It didn’t matter that most of his own bones had been shattered at the time. He’d fought with a broken body before. It shouldn’t have been different back then, but he couldn’t help but-

A wing smacked him in the face.

He blinked and looked at the offending appendage. Ah, he’d been repeatedly going over a single part of Dick’s wing. Great, he’d alerted the mother hen to his overthinking.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Dick’s voice didn’t pitch in a question. They both already knew what was happening.

“I know.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Dick sighed, looking disappointed for a moment before he rolled to the side and wrapped his right wing around Jason’s shoulders. “C’mere.”

“But I’m not done preening-“

“Don’t care.” Dick pulled him down onto the sunny patch of floor with little effort.

Jason did go down willingly though. So, he couldn’t give Dick all the credit. Regardless, he scooted under his brother’s wing, immediately feeling calmer from it. Maybe it was his more avian instincts telling him as much, but curling up and making himself small under Dick’s massive wings always helped him feel safer. Maybe it was the safety that came with enclosed but not claustrophobic spaces.

A deep, rumbling trill came from Dick, so loud that Jason could feel the sound in his chest. He pushed in a little closer and stretched out his own right wing from under Dick’s. The sun was warm on his face and feathers, and Dick was cool against his side.

“Stop thinking.” Dick crooned in Chirrish, pulling his phone out and sliding it to him.

Yeah…yeah he should do that. Jason smiled, resting his head on one curled up arm, and swiped through the song library. SYML’s “The War” looked particularly appealing at the moment. He pressed play and set the phone back down.

Dick, coming prepared apparently, pulled out a portable speaker from his hoodie's pocket and hooked it up to the device.

The wing above him moved to get the sun out of his eyes. “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason hummed and let his eyes droop closed to the sound of soft piano notes and smooth vocals. He did need rest. His brain had been working overtime for too many hours recently. He could just…drown in music and bask in the sun for a while. Sunlight was supposed to help with mood anyway, right?

The last thing he remembered before drifting was Dick curiously scrolling through SYML’s songs and mumbling something that sounded like “Oblivion might be nice...” Oh, Dick had no idea what he was turning on, but Jason had fallen asleep to it before. Maybe he’d ask Dick what he thought when he woke up.

Just. After a little nap.