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Reality jumped at Tim like a freefall as he jerked awake. “Stay… Stay away from…”
“Heyyy hey hey.” Gentle hands rested on his burning shoulders, squeezing. “You’re safe in the manor, baby bird. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Tim turned his gaze up to familiar blue eyes, blinking hot tears from his own. “It’s not s-safe.”
Dick’s eyes saddened somehow as he tried to smile. “It is now. There was a blind spot in the security. Bruce fixed it.”
Tim turned his face down into Dick’s soft t-shirt, trying to ignore the heavy weight on his back, on his lungs, and scowled. “There wasn’ a blind spot before.”
“Yeah… I know.” Dick’s hands slid gracefully under Tim’s--- under the wings, hugging him ever so gently where the skin of his back was still intact. “God--- I’m so sorry. I was going to fix it, I just…”
Tim’s heart sank. The blind spot had formed while Dick was Batman. The Surgeon’s entrance was Dick’s fault. “It’s okay.”
“It’s NOT, and I don’t wanna hear you say that again.” Dick pressed a kiss to Tim’s hair, but his voice shook, and his voice shouldn’t shake. “I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.”
“Can you fix me, then?” Tim asked sarcastically, but it came out like a whimper, and some deep part of him, deeper than the bones that had been rearranged to accommodate new limbs, told him that fixing this problem was past the threshold of impossible.
Dick drew breath to answer, but another voice, a voice by the door, spoke up with heavy inevitability. “I have consulted with the League. The new structure of your bones, the size of your lungs, are impossible to perfectly reverse. Even with the involvement of magic, removing them would leave you with permanent breathing problems, as well as other difficulties that include a disruption of balance. Your spine is fused too thoroughly with the new bones.”
Tim’s throat burned worse than the heaviness pressing into his chest. “You’re saying that if we reverse this…”
“You will be disabled for the rest of your life. I’m sorry, Tim. I talked to everyone.”
“Babs makes it work,” Dick piped up with fragile cheerfulness. (His hug still hadn’t loosened. Secretly, Tim was relieved.) “If we try…”
Tim squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face against Dick’s shoulder. “I… I need to think. Send me everything you have.”
“Right.” Bruce’s voice retreated, then returned with a much softer, “I wasn’t fast enough. I’m so sorry, Tim.”
Tim didn’t have the heart to look up or even nod his acknowledgment. He didn’t know how to feel about this. (He didn’t know if he could feel at all.)
“I’ve got him,” Dick murmured over Tim’s hair, directing his words to the worried silence still hovering at the door. “We’ll be here. Rest.”
Tim sniffled miserably as the door finally clicked shut. “How long’ve I been home?”
“Four days now. We had you down in the Batcave, but part of the concoction you were drugged with started healing you really fast. If we had acted soon enough to cut you open, maybe…”
“It’s okay.” Tim shivered violently, clinging with both arms. “He… He didn’t use anesthetic. I’ve had enough c-cutting to last me a lifetime.”
Dick let out a very controlled breath. “You must’ve been so scared.”
Tim’s eyes overflowed with burning tears. He nodded silently. Nothing had ever hurt worse than the memory of being awake for… for that.
“Oh Tim…” Dick lifted one hand to Tim’s hair, gently stroking. “We will make this right. I promise.”
You can’t promise that, Tim wanted to scream, but he could hear the emotion behind the words, so he stayed quiet. There was something undeniably safe about Dick’s good intentions. Even… now… after everything else. “Don’t leave me,” he thought he whispered, but maybe that was just another part of this lengthening fever dream.
“I won’t.” Dick’s fingers scratched gently down Tim’s scalp, trailing to the top of his aching spine, then back up; warmth and coolness and the shivery sensation of physical contact all at once. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Tears were still spilling down Tim’s face by the time he was finally blessed with sleep.
“Building on misfortune usually yields better results than trying to erase it altogether.”
All was silent behind him. Tim felt uneasy with his injured back, his new limbs, so openly exposed to so many, but he’d asked everyone into his room for a reason. If this needed to be said, he only wanted to say it once. If they needed to see the fullness of his new body, the body that had been forced upon him while awake to feel it… he only wanted to show it once.
The wings shuffled restlessly against his bandaged back. He would need to learn to control that. There was no delaying adjustment. (Even if resignation would take just a little longer.)
Tim finally turned to face them, taking in the mixed expressions of suppression, anguish, and horror. He smiled bitterly, clasping his arms behind his back. The secondaries brushed against his bare skin, reminding him relentlessly that his reality had been permanently altered. Time for the big reveal. “I refuse to scramble for a sense of normalcy just to lose my autonomy in the end. I already knew I’d never be able to live a normal life. I’m keeping them.”
A collective outcry--- Mostly of dismay, but also of protest--- rose from the onlookers. It was all Tim could do to stand straight, muscles tensed to keep him from toppling backwards on top of his aching wings. (And wasn’t that a thought.)
“Tim,” Barbara’s voice finally cut through the others. “are you sure? We can ask for help; we can get the magic users and scientists of the Justice League on board.”
Tim swallowed bile. “The Surgeon knew what he was doing. I’ve studied every report, every file. I’ll get stronger by leaning into this instead of fighting it.”
This statement was met with uncomfortable levels of silence.
“They can hollow your bones,” Damian finally spoke, shattering the hush with jarring suddenness that did not match his low volume.
Everyone’s eyes turned at once, Tim’s included. “Who?”
“Constantine, of course.” Damian straightened under the scrutiny, but his voice still faltered. “Zatanna, of course, might be a better match for the job. If you are going to keep them, you must learn to use them, and they are not big enough to carry your full weight. Hollowing the bones of your back or your ribs might be enough to balance it out.”
Tim felt dizzy. Hollow… bones. Right. “Of course.”
“Let’s give him time to think.” Dick shooed them out one by one, first a disgruntled Bruce, then an impassive Jason, then a shell-shocked Steph. “He’ll tell us what he needs when he’s ready. Kiddo?”
“Yeah.” Tim shook himself. His back ached. (Every part of him ached.) “I’ll… share the game plan. After some rest.”
Dick hesitated at the door once everyone was out, exchanging a worried look with someone in the hallway. “Do you want me to stay?”
Tim licked his cracked lips. He couldn’t be alone like this. It wasn’t--- “Nah. I’ll be okay.”
Reluctantly… suspiciously… Dick finally closed the door. (Good. Tim didn’t want anyone to see him cry.)
“I know what you’re doing.”
Tim looked up, squinting as his eyes tried to adjust from the brightness of his screen to the darkness of the room beyond. The bedside lamp didn’t reach to the window the noise had originated from. “Are you serious right now? There’s a door.”
“Which you locked.” Jason squeezed his huge frame at an impossible angle to get through the open window, grunting. “Yeah, yeah, I could pick it, but you clearly want privacy.”
Tim raised a sharp eyebrow. “It’s okay to invade said privacy when it’s through a window, though.”
“Yeah, keep up. Anyway…” Jason perched on the edge of the bed, eyes on his hands. He was fidgeting. He never fidgeted. “I know what you’re doing.”
Tim tucked his knees closer to his chest. The urge to wrap his body in his new appendages was a strong one, but he didn’t know how to control that yet. “Oh?”
“The harder you throw yourself at a problem, the easier it is to ignore how overwhelming it is; the easier to forget it’s a problem in the first place.” Jason’s luminescent green eyes flicked up to Tim’s face. “You’re scared.”
“No shit,” Tim couldn’t stop himself from saying. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “You here to rub it in?”
“God--- Give me half the benefit. I know what it’s like to be to be taken apart, okay? Probably better than the rest of ‘em, ‘cept Damian. I hear that kid was butchered before he was even outta the womb.”
“Too much information.”
“The point being… let me help you.” Jason held uncertain eye contact. “Please.”
Tim slowly lowered his tablet, locking it to save the suit modifications from prying eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like…” Jason stood up, restless. “It’s a windy night out. You could practice holding position over the roof. Or… maybe that’s too much. Maybe just practice lifting ‘em. With a spotter. So you don’t… I dunno… break anything.”
Tim found himself standing up. Why? Why was he--- “Okay. I… um… don’t know how to control them yet.”
Jason stood in full view with his hands at his sides, nodding. (He looked relieved. Why…) “Can you feel ‘em, though? Like… a sensory thing?”
“Yeah.” Tim licked his lips somewhat nervously, turning his back. (It felt unsafe.) “I mean… We can try.”
A breathless pause. Then… “Are you sure?”
Tim nodded agreement, because his throat was too thick for words, and braced himself. His guard dissipated as soon as Jason’s fingers glided through the tops of his feathers, and oh--- What had he been expecting? Not THAT. Not the melting away of all anxiety; not the soothing erasure of the itchiness he’d been trying to ignore.
“How’s it feel?” Jason whispered hesitantly.
“Good.” Tim’s shoulders slumped against his will. “Really… really good.”
“Birds preen each other. I mean… not that you’re…”
“No, it makes sense.”
“I guess you’d need help with that. The spots you can’t reach.”
“Yeah, I wonder if there’s---”
“Oils, I was just thinking.”
“I’ll look it up.”
“There’s probably healing stuff they use for wild birds in rehab. I mean, these are prey wings. I think. Not… from a bird, though.”
“I have no clue where he got them, honestly. I could be wearing… like… some alien’s stolen limbs.” A giggle made its way from Tim’s chest. His muscles felt a little shaky from the force of his relief. Jason’s careful strokes, so slow, so gentle, had never once paused. “It’s not really funny. I dunno why I’m laughing.”
“I mean…” Jason chuckled quietly. “It kinda is. He could arrive on Earth like---”
Tim pretended to flex. “WhErE aRe My WiNgS?”
Jason finally paused to muffle his laughter. “Stop--- Everyone’s probably sleeping.”
“Probably not though.” Tim grinned at the far wall, focusing on his limbs, on the sensation of foreign muscle stretching into his expanded back. He tried to raise them. “Did that do anything?”
“What are you trying for?”
“To raise them.”
“Try… okay, try to stretch ‘em; that takes less willpower. Y’know when you get a stretching fit, like---”
“Yeah yeah yeah, okay, I know what you mean.” Tim rolled his shoulders back, shedding uncertainty like a stuffy coat, and stretched his arms out to simulate. They did ache, the wings. He’d assumed it was from the abuse of being forced to join a different body, but… maybe they were just cramped. Maybe…
“Good,” Jason’s voice pitched, suddenly excited. “Good, keep going, keep going.”
The stretch finally took over his limbs, shaking through Tim’s back and arms and fingers with satisfying umph. And his wings. He could FEEL them. Cool relief swept through the bones as they stretched to full length for the first time since he’d gotten them, and the feathers shook out with a soft rustle.
“Hooooooooooly SHIT,” Jason breathed appreciatively. “Are you seeing this?”
Tim looked aside before the stretch ended, goggling. His left wing stretched all the way to the opposite wall. “Whoa.”
“This wingspan’s gotta be fifteen feet. That’s almost big enough to---”
“To carry me, yeah.” Tim blinked to his right. The feathers glowed as the dim light of the bedside lamp filtered through them. “Damian was right.”
“Hey, blue moons do happen.” Jason poked his head under Tim’s left wing, grinning at him upside down. “Do you wanna try lifting against my hands? For resistance training.”
Tim’s smile didn’t even feel forced this time. “I gotta get those gains.”
“If you wanna fly.”
“Which I do.”
“Because that’s not the coolest ability ever.”
“I’m gonna make Dick so jealous.”
Training with Jason became a daily occurrence, and Tim couldn’t even place why, but something about his company was… easier now… than before. Maybe having equal amounts of anxiety balanced things out. Never once was Jason too rough, and when Tim faltered, Jason was always there to lower his exhausted wings back to the ground.
It wasn’t exactly a secret, but Tim didn’t like talking about it. Like admitting that a good thing could come outta this whole mess would jinx it. So he didn’t. It wasn’t as if this family was pressed to have intimate conversations anyway, so avoiding the topic was easy enough. If Dick snuck by to peek in at them on occasion or Cass watched from the shadows with only a smattering of thumbs-up, well… that was their business, not Tim’s. Tim’s only business was getting stronger; everyone else’s was leaving him alone.
Which was why--- at the start of the fourth week--- he was unpleasantly surprised to catch Damian leaving oil outside of his door. He’d thought the supply was coming from a very emotionally constipated bat. He just hadn’t guessed this one. “What do YOU want?”
Damian shot straight, oil still clutched in his hands. His face was startlingly ashen. “T-Timothy. I…”
“No, I get it.” Tim stormed over, anger bubbling too easily in his gut. “You never could see me as a real person, could you? It helps that I look more animal now, right? You’re SORRY for me.”
Damian, satisfyingly, backpedaled. “You misunderstand; I was merely---”
“Newsflash, baby bat.” Tim snatched the oil from Damian’s hands, feeling his wings bristle behind him. “I am not your PET, and I am not your victim, either. GOT it? If I catch you near my room again, I will vibe check you so hard you might even forget that ANIMALS aren’t PEOPLE. Capiche?!”
Damian ran away, disappearing down the stairs. The silence rang.
“Whoa.” Jason popped his head around a corner, eyebrows vanishing beneath his white hair. “That was harsh.”
Tim reached his right wing around, sighing, and brushed down the ruffled feathers. “This was the last straw. He’ll never understand, Jay. I’m still a PERSON.”
“Whoa, no way? That may have been his point exactly.” Jason approached with audible footsteps, smoothing down the feathers that Tim couldn’t reach. “I know you haven’t been… around much, y’know, down here, and I don’t blame you. It’s been a month, though, and he’s gotten a lot better.”
Tim scoffed nervously. “I doubt it.”
“Believe what you want. I’m just sayin’. Sometimes it does take a huge change for someone to see… I dunno, human value. It’s not called a post-breakup glowup for no reason.”
Tim tried to hold his scowl as guilt bloomed in his gut. “I’m the same human I was before. He just likes me better ‘cause I don’t look like one.”
“Hey.” Jason spun Tim around, making room for his wings, and squished his face in both hands. “I hate to burst your bubble, but you do look like a human. A very pitiful one, too.”
Tim blinked at the green glare, nonplussed. His cheeks were too squished to form proper words. “Fanks?”
“You’re fuckin’ welcome.” Jason released him, grumbling. “Now go apologize. I dunno if you noticed, but he’s actually trying now, an’ you just scared the daylights out of ‘im. Preening session after. I’ll wait.”
Tim slunk down the stairs, a little stunned. He thought he heard “I sound like Dick. Gross.” as he left. What was his LIFE?
Damian, as it turned out, was easy enough to find. He’d taken refuge in the huge tree out back. Tim lifted his wings a little as he walked down the patio, letting the cool breeze drift through his feathers. He hadn’t made it off the ground yet. (He was too scared to try. What if he couldn’t perform the most basic of functions that wings were meant for? If this was all for nothing… what would he do then? Cry?) “Hey.”
Damian turned a bloodshot glare on Tim from the shadows of the worn sitting hollow on the first branch. “Tt--- go away.”
Tim leaned against the trunk, very unsure of himself. He didn’t know what to do with a kid who showed genuine emotion. “I don’t know what happened back there. I guess I just…”
“Panicked.” Damian sniffed quietly. “I scared you. I suppose that is to be expected.”
“I didn’t even… bring out any slurs.” Tim carefully scaled the bark, perching birdlike on the same branch as his brother. “There’s no way I hurt you that bad.”
Damian looked away, stubbornly rubbing his nose. “Tt. Of course not.”
“Of course not.” Tim sat down, draping his agitated wings behind him, and looked out over the gloomy grounds. Winter was coming. “I… I do appreciate the oil. Jay’s… been using it. It’s really helped.”
Damian nodded shortly, still refusing to look Tim in the eye. “The color is much glossier now.”
“They don’t get as dusty.”
“Yes.”
Tim kicked his feet awkwardly. This felt like a forbidden conversation. He sort of understood the need to hide away in an underground cave instead of face his emotions now. “That… was outta line. I mean, it would have been better utilized when you were actually being a brat, not… then. I just wanted to say thanks.”
Damian nodded again. All was quiet for a while. Tim’s feathers poofed up automatically against the chilly breeze, and he fought back a smile, because it tickled.
“Your back is…” Damian finally started, hesitancy lacing every word. “healing well, I trust?”
Tim’s turn to nod. “There’s a lot of scarring.”
“There didn’t have to be.”
“Yeah, I know. The guy was good enough to do a cleaner job if he’d wanted to. I think…” Tim swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “I think he did it that way on purpose.”
“Scars only tell the story that you were stronger than those who tried to harm you.”
Tim considered that. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“Tt.” Damian gave Tim a glance, considering. He appeared even more nervous now than when Tim had chewed him out. “Would you like to see? Would… Would that prove my allegiance?”
Tim had no clue how to even process that question, but his hesitancy must have been answer enough, because Damian was pulling the back of his shirt up, and fuck--- “Wow. I mean…”
“Yes.” Damian reached back, brushing his small fingers over a precise pattern of scars. “My spine is not completely my own. As I grow, I must have surgery to adjust the implants; thus they may grow with me.”
“But… that’s like…” Tim felt sick. “every few months.”
“Tt.” Damian shook his shirt back down, shivering. “I… do not fully understand, but… perhaps some of it.”
Tim looked away. Suffering taught empathy. Sometimes. “You don’t see me as an animal, do you?”
“No.”
“You’re… just… relating to me for the very first time.”
“I… suppose. Yes.”
Tim observed him for a very long moment, torn. It took a while for his instincts to settle. When they did, he knew exactly what to say. “Damian… did you wanna learn to groom my wings?”
“Uh…” Dick popped his head into the living room, a very convoluted expression on his face, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Whoooo invited Hall? He knocked at the second floor window instead of the front door.”
“Ah.” Bruce looked up from the suit design he was reviewing for Tim, suspiciously constipated. “That would be me. I expected him this afternoon, Tim; I would have said something sooner if I knew he’d show up at our… window… this early.”
Tim stood up, primaries brushing at his ankles. Alarm mixed with heady anticipation. He hadn’t even thought of Hawkman. Something about the horror of this experience had made him imagine he was the only human being in the entire world stuck with wings. “Is he here for me?”
“Indeed.” The man himself stepped into the room, majestic armor-tipped wings dragging behind him on the ground. It was really weird to see him in civvies, actually. Even Damian was staring. “I am honored to be invited to your home, Wayne, and for such a humbling purpose.”
“Why is he in our home?” Damian spoke up, all bite. “Do our secret identities mean nothing? Superman’s confidence is one thing, but the entire League is quite another.”
“Hall saved my life on my trip through time,” Bruce interjected firmly, resting his hand on Damian’s shoulder. “His… past life… had every opportunity to break my trust. He didn’t.”
Hall nodded shortly before turning expectantly to Tim. His golden eyes seemed to pierce straight through the soul. Tim wasn’t sure he liked being looked at as if he had immeasurable value. “Whenever you’re ready, young one.”
Tim shucked his jacket, the new one that Cass had gifted him with slits in the back, and shoved on his sneakers before hurrying out. “I can’t really do much, I mean… they just finished healing, so I haven’t…”
“We shall start with the basics.” Hall emerged onto the front drive before--- crouching? “Come, climb on.”
Tim hesitated awkwardly. “Like a piggyback?”
“You must taste the freedom of flight before you feel brave enough to face it.” Hall glanced over his shoulder with a softened stare. “You will find it a perfect fit.”
Increasingly embarrassed about this whole thing, and now hoping that the others had the decency not to peek through the front windows, Tim hopped up, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist. “Like… like this?”
“Excellent.” Hall squatted down, beginning to unfurl his wings. Tim’s arms closed tighter around the dude’s neck as he tried not to stare. The feathers just kept going… and going… and going. “What… What’s your wingspan?”
“Thirty on the best of days. Ready?”
“I guess I--- waughhhhAAAAAAAAAA!!!” Tim held on with an iron grip as they lifted straight into the sky. Suddenly zooming straight up on wings was incredibly different than the tug of a grapple. Tim could barely breathe at first around the rush of adrenaline and the blast of wind and the mighty flexing of the wing bases against his ribs, squeezing him with each flap. He buried his face against Hall’s back, hoping to dear God that he wouldn’t fall off.
“Look at it,” Hall called back, finally leveling off.
“I’m good,” Tim returned shortly.
Hall took Tim’s white-knuckled grip in one hand, loosening it as easily as one would manhandle a kitten, and placed Tim’s palms on the tops of his massive wings instead. “Hold here.”
Tim’s fingers tightened around sturdy bone. His hands were hardly big enough to wrap around the entire top edge. Soft feathers tickled his skin, and when he dared to squint his eyes open, he found he was nestled snugly between two massive fields of fluttering safety. The wings held perfectly still, banking only slightly to ride the updrafts. They were high, so high Tim couldn’t draw full breath, but the sunset… “Whoa.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hall flapped exactly once, jostling Tim to a more comfortable position. He’d been right; Tim did fit perfectly. “There is nothing quite like the freedom of flight, young one. I am glad you have chosen to continue on this path. You will not regret it. Now… Open your wings.”
Tim’s wings flexed tighter against his back. “I… I can’t.”
“You will not let go. You will only experience.” Hall flapped once more, gliding a little slower, a little steadier. “Feel the wind in your hair, young one. Feel the chill through your feathers, the lift beneath your bridges. You are powerful up here. You are one with the sky.”
Tim walked himself through a breathing exercise, and slowly… slowly… his wings relaxed against his back. He managed to raise them a few inches out before the wind started catching them, tugging. “I… I can’t.”
“Angle them downwards to avoid the updraft.” Hall glanced back once more, staring straight through Tim’s buzzing thoughts to the fear underneath. “I will not let you fall.”
And… maybe it was the multiple past lives talking, or maybe the thrill of risking his new limbs against the power of the air… but Tim believed him. He angled down, stretching his wings slowly along the length of Hall’s. The wind combed invitingly under each feather, ruffling up his emotion and brushing away the anxiety like so much dust. They were small, much smaller than Hawkman’s, but stretched to their fullest length--- they glided. “Oh my God.”
Hall laughed then, a great booming noise, and tipped down a few degrees to gain speed. Tim’s hands tightened in his feathers as the rush took over, shaking through his hollow bones with excited energy and filling his enlarged lungs with cold air that no one else was around to breathe. It felt… It felt like freedom. Like a promise, exciting and new.
“This,” Hall told him, stretching his arms to mirror their wings. “is the power of the sky.”
“Three weeks of practice is hardly enough for a full flight.”
“I agree. We should hang a mile-long net through Gotham. It’s the least we can do.”
“It is acceptable for him to risk his own life, I suppose, but when I cut his line to offer a little practice in adaptability---”
“Everyone can it,” Dick’s voice snapped over coms. It gentled when speaking directly to Tim, though. “Don’t listen to them; you’re gonna do great. Are you sure you want spotters?”
“Flying over the grounds is one thing.” Tim nervously tightened his new tunic. The suit was modified for aerodynamics and light weight, giving plenty of room for his wings to work with the open air. Even the cape was gone, and the cowl, leaving only a birdlike mask to announce his presence as the newest rebranded bird in Gotham. He’d gotten a lot stronger, but… as Damian had so lovingly pointed out… was it enough?
“I will fly beneath you,” Hall spoke up, clapping Tim on the shoulder. “You have nothing to fear, Drake. Trust your instincts.”
Tim took a deep breath, stretching his wings out as he teetered at the edge of the roof. This was the tallest building in Gotham. His goal was the top of the nearest bridge. “Ready.”
The coms fell silent as everyone locked in. Hall dove first, and with a terrifying loss of solid ground, Tim stepped off after him. His wings crept out as he fell headfirst, tensed at the perfect position. Almost… almost… Hall unfurled beneath him… almoooooost…
Tim twisted in the air at the last second, unfurling his wings. The sharp, compact movement, only perfected two days ago, sent him skimming the tops of honking cars. Wobbly, but otherwise successful. Okay. Okay. Focus. Where’s Hall? Wait, doesn’t matter. You know your route. Go.
Tim flapped a few times to gain air, newly strengthened muscles straining at his back, and banked right to enter the designated maze of buildings. These structures were tightly packed, giving him only three, sometimes two seconds of change time between each. He barely had a moment to prepare himself before the next building loomed in his face, forcing him to twist left. Right… left… right… quicker now. Right left right left right. His wings started to burn, but he continued twisting, flight path inching closer to the windows each time.
“You’re pulling in on the obstacles,” Hall’s voice rumbled over coms, calm tone disproportionate to Tim’s racing heartbeat. “Turn faster on the outlying edge; you have three extra feet of room.”
Tim’s feathers skimmed the windows as he turned too close, too tight. He spun around faster this time, holding his breath as the gap between himself and the sides of the buildings widened. This meant a greater strain on his wings, but he could do it. He could do it. “How much farther?”
“Do not think about that. Just think about the wind; the wind is your ally. Dive… now.”
Tim tucked in, giving his wings a few seconds of breathing time as he rocketed toward the ground. He unfurled slowly this time, leveling out, and dove through a dangerous maze of exposed building skeletons. Hall was too big to follow now. It was up to him. Up… right… left… sharp right… dive. Tim’s instincts screamed at him to flap, to slow, but his speed was too deadly to stop. Now wasn’t the time for open air. Now was the time for maneuvering. Right… left… sharp upturn, nose down, tighter on the curve---
His right wing clipped a metal beam. His heart rate doubled as his limbs locked up. His breath froze in his lungs.
“Breathe,” Hall’s voice murmured, and how--- how did he know? “Focus. The wind is your friend. Follow it out.”
Tim barely zeroed back in on time, diving again to avoid another beam. He was going so fast--- “I can’t slow down.”
“Don’t. Follow the wind.”
Tim memorized the remaining beams ahead of him, closed his eyes, and banked left. Right… left… right… left… up… down… down-and-right-and-up-and-left-and-loop… tight dive. Open your eyes, his head screamed at him, and open your wings, his instincts begged, but something else, something much deeper, tugged at him through the dead air of the building. Something… something open, something free. He could sense the obstacles in his way; he could hear the space they took up as he rushed quietly toward them.
Tim locked in. Around… left… right-left-right… and one last sharp bank. Up, down, level. He twisted for an extra burst of speed, then, without opening his eyes, allowed his wings to explode from his back. They unfurled with the joyful sound of rustling feathers, catching huuuge air, and it felt…
Tim opened his eyes to the dazzling sight of sunrise, whooping excitedly. He was out, he was free, and there--- there was the bridge. He flapped a few times, forcing his trembling wings, so strong, stronger than they’d ever been built for, to carry him just a little bit higher. Some fast flaps to slow… a kick for the last few inches of air time… and his feet hit solid brick. He ran a few steps, folding his wings halfway to slow down before his speed sent him over the next ledge. Only once he’d finally stopped did they finally droop with exhaustion.
Hall landed next to him with the biggest grin Tim had ever seen on a Leaguer’s face. “Congratulations, young one. You have honored the sky with your newfound power. Use it well.”
Tim grinned back, panting, and his heartbeat still fluttered with joyful anticipation--- He still wanted to fly. “Wayne Manor isn’t too far from here. What d’you say?”
Hall unfurled his wings with a mighty flap, kicking up the dew still clinging to the brick, and laughed. “That’s the spirit!!! You will be a hazard to your enemies, young one. Come!!!”
Hazard, Tim thought distantly, taking off with another breathless drop. He liked the sound of that.
Reality jumped at Tim like a freefall as he jerked awake. Fortunately, he’d grown to love falling. His wings flared only briefly before relaxing again. Small, gentle fingers combing through his feathers. A quiet baritone reading a Narnia book aloud. The gentle hand pressing to his hair, reminding him that, though twisted beyond repair, reality had grown into something familiar, something safe.
The voice paused. “Tim?”
Tim sighed heavily, lungs deflating. Dick placed a hand on his lower back as it grew smaller, subtle protection meant for the hollow bones now scattered through his chest after Zatanna’s visit. Damian paused his ministrations as Tim’s extended wing shuffled before settling once more in the younger boy’s lap. Quietly, without comment, he continued combing a lavender oil through Tim’s smallest feathers.
“I’m okay,” Tim finally murmured.
Jason watched him for a minute. He was around a lot more these days, all gruff bark with no bite, and Tim realized for the first time that this… this might have brought them back together. Then a smile too gentle for death, for a second life, spread across Jason’s face. He pushed his reading glasses up as he returned to the book. “Yeah you are.”
Tim huffed at Dick, turning his head, which he assumed was now pillowed in said brother’s lap, until he found the merry sparkle of blue eyes. “He’s a sap.”
“Yeah,” Dick agreed in a hum, clearly trying not to interrupt the narration. He rubbed Tim’s back where the wings met skin, soothing the scar tissue there. “We all are.”
“Mph.” Tim buried his face against Dick’s thigh, flushed. “I miss the emotionally constipated days.”
“Tragedy is as tragedy does.” Dick picked a stray stick from Tim’s feathers--- He might have crashed into a tree during today’s early morning flight when underestimating how much sleep was required to operate six limbs at once--- and returned to the gentle massage. “They’re not the most open people in the world. I know it’s an empty platitude, knowing everyone else’s benefited from this.”
“I have, too.” Tim couldn’t help melting under his brother’s care. He was getting used to letting the others, especially the kids in tune with nature, like Damian or Cass, touch his feathers, but Dick--- Dick was the only one in the entire world allowed to touch his scars. “Benefited, I mean. It’s been a long four months.”
“Happy New Year.”
“Seriously, though, I don’t…” Tim lowered his voice below Jason’s dramatic storytelling. “I don’t think I… would have survived. Otherwise. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with life… before.”
Dick’s eyes filled with too much understanding. “You were fading.”
“I mean… What do you do after the end of the world? You save it, you fix it, then you… you go back to normal? What is normal?”
“A setting on the washing machine.”
Tim snorted quietly. A long, comfortable silence filled the space between them, which wasn’t really very much space at all. It was nice. The lack of expectation, of a show, a facade.
“We never did talk,” Dick whispered carefully, switching his massage to Tim’s scalp like he wasn’t even thinking about it, like loving through touch came as naturally to him as breathing. “About… everything, I mean.”
Tim exhaled his agreement. “Did we need to?”
“Maybe. Once.”
“We still could.”
“Just to get it out of the way.”
“Confirm that we’re all on the same page.”
“It’s not like we need it, though.”
“Some things are too deep for words.”
“Right. The rules change when something like this…”
“When your brother suddenly acquires wings.”
Dick laughed softly, ruffling Tim’s hair in a burst of aggressive affection. “I love you, y’know.”
Tim smiled sleepily, fully relaxed now, and let the ambience wash over him. He wouldn’t have believed it, once. It had never been for him, this this version of family, this unfolding of events that made him want to keep drawing breath. In a weird way… the Surgeon had given him new life. Bummer he’d never know it, though. His body had been found three days after Tim’s rescue, horrible wounds carved into his back. Reports said he’d died of blood loss after the crude pattern of wings was etched into his skin. Ironic, the reports didn’t say, because they didn’t know. They never would.
Tim had never felt safer, though, at Jason’s side.
“Drake-Wayne has been absent from the public eye for too long,” he mused, half asleep by now.
“What’re you gonna do about that?”
“G’nna ask Hall how he hides his wings. Magic, maybe, ‘r pocket universe.”
“You’d need to move pretty carefully if all you can manage is making them invisible.”
“I never liked the office anyway.”
“Everyone works on their laptop these days.”
“It’s not like I’ll be missing anything.”
“Just so you can still get coffee in public, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
The sleepy conversation was interrupted by Duke’s voice, too octaves too high, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “What did I miss?!”