#Fic: to brace upon benign feathers

[crowned-aeris]

Okay so y’all know how canonically there’s a batburger with meals based on the bats and their enemies? Well…. I think it’d be funny and interesting if in every au, the menu’s slightly different.

Sure, they’ll still probably by the batburger, bat fries, robin nuggets, etc etc, but… but in a world where robin doesn’t exist, what would they be called? It’d be funny to see little details where the menu changes to reflect the names of the gotham vigilantes of that au

eg, in my au, To Brace Upon Benign Feathers, there’ll still be Batburgers, Batfries, Two-Face Sandwich, Killer Croque, and Ivy Salad (Not Poison), but I also think there’d be Shadow Shake, (a cookies and creme milkshake type of thing), Seraph Scones (Alfred refuses to eat them because they’re not “real scones”), Anubiscuits (literally just pop-eyes buscuits cos they’re dry enough for you to MEET anubis(the actual god)), and Wraith Wraps

Tl;dr: I think different au’s, especially reverse robins au’s, should have their own little batburger with a different menu

[crowned-aeris]

For my reverse robins wingfic au:

just imagine Kon preening tim's feathers after the identity reveal :3

Tim's still a mess and won't speak with the family, he never learned how to preen himself, and so his wings have just been Fucked Up™️, so Kon helps fix the feathers before they start hurting 🥺

[crowned-aeris]

Once again, I need help on choosing things because I suck at deciding :,]

With some help, i’ve decided on 4 different names that matched the theme i’ve set

tbh he would choose something edgy, and since he’s the first kid that bruce gets, damian gets the freedom to choose for himself

[crowned-aeris]

Imagine, after everything settles down, Jason brings Dick with him to hunt Tim down and force him into a family preening session, like Cass is there, ofc, and she helps wrangle Tim into Bruce’s big ass bed and they just absolutely smother him with love

just imagine the kids kidnapping him like:

Tim: Jason… what are you doing here? …. Cass? Dickie?? Duke????? What is the meaning of this??”

Jason: Come on big bird, we’re kidnapping you 🥰

Dic: For a sleepover :D

Tim: …KON!

Kon: Sorry, man, but they bribed me with Alfred’s cooking 😔

Tim, screaming as Cass tosses him over her shoulder and drags him away: TRAITOR! YOU TRAITOR!!!!!!!

Jason, grinning like a little shit and slipping Kon a cookie: Pleasure doing business with you 😌

And Dick’s just like, “SLEEP OVER TIME!!!!!”

btw, if enough ppl show interest, then i’ll prolly write it out

[crowned-aeris]

Okay, so for my reverse robins wing fic, "To Rest Upon Benign Feathers", we still need names for the batfam vigilantes :,]

I have some thought out already, and i want them to be spirit/ghost themed. Right now, i'm trying (and failing) to decide what to call Damian, and i have two chosen. I also want them to be meaningful, like how Duke's gonna be called Seraph because 1) He's literally a dove, and 2) Seraphs are angels, and angels are creatures of the light, and Duke patrols during the day.

So back to Damian, we have Nightwing and.... literally anything else.

I know nightwing is pretty overused and unoriginal for a reverse robins damian, but like.... Nightwing/Flamebird parallel between Damian and Jon 🥺 i'd like to think that jon pestered damian into becoming the Nightwing to his flamebird, and im.....

but i also dont wanna fall into cliches, so literally anything other than nightwing 😭😭😭😭

and if you choose the second option- literally anything else- then pls comment/lemme know :D

[crowned-aeris]

Tim & Kon’s official meeting | To brace upon benign feathers

Tim huffs, fastening the silver tie around his neck before looking at the box of jewelry he'd salvaged from Drake Manor all those months ago. When he'd seen Tim looking longingly at the manor, Bruce had bought the building to protect it from being demolished. Tim had thought about retreating to the Drake Manor numerous times since Bruce had bought it, but he could never shove past the grief that would swell in his throat.

He combed through his wings again, ensuring no feather was out of place, before clipping on his earrings. Behind him, he could see Duke fidgeting with his cuffs as Damian snapped at him not to ruin the makeup.

"Even Timothy's doing better than you," Damian said in a scathing tone, and Tim forced his shoulders to stay down and his feathers to remain lax.

"I just don't understand why I have to attend too!" Duke protested, pouting as Damian continued to fuss over him. "Ducky's the one the press is after!"

"You're the new "Wayne Stray," Duke," Tim comments, finally satisfied with his appearance, "and the press will always froth at the mouth when it comes to Bruce."

Duke sighed, "What about you?"

"I'm there to take attention off your back," Tim said, draping the gala persona over his features, "you'll only be a footnote, so don't worry. Damian should know how to behave by now, so stick with him, and you'll be fine."

The eldest Wayne son scoffed, "What we need to worry about is your own potential sullying of my Father's name."

Tim took a deep breath as anger pulsed red-hot just under his throat. Snapping at Damian would do him no good, especially when his makeup and jewelry have been perfected.

"I have been in this longer than you have, Damian," Tim sneered, allowing the icy sharpness of Janet Drake's demeanor to drip into his expression, "I was born into the song and dance. If anyone's going to sully the Wayne name, it would be you."

Tim swept out of the room with a straight back and even straighter expression. As expected, the moment he stepped out, he was accosted by a high-standing socialite.

Johnathan Levi Froyd- a man of new money originally from Massachusetts. He won't last long in Gotham. The man has already irritated Black Mask by attempting to buy out one of the man's dummy companies. Tim wouldn't be surprised if Froyd drops dead in the next week or so.

"Well, isn't it Timothy Drake!" the herring gull crowed, and Tim couldn't help it as he internally withered away. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a nice cup of coffee with Wendy the Werewolf Stalker playing in the background as he perused through a few cases...

"Why, welcome!" Tim returned in the same volume and tone, "It's so good to see you here, Mister Froyd!"

"Why, it's marvelous to see you too, Mister Drake!" the man laughed, his voice grating against Tim's ears, "I'm glad to see you in such wonderful health! But enough of these niceties, call me John! If you're anything like that father of yours, I have no doubt we'll be business partners in the future."

Jack Drake was only ever the shadow puppet, the face of Drake Industries. Janet was always the true mastermind behind the company's operations, and those who couldn't see that were always unfit to be the Drakes' business partners.

Tim twisted himself out of the man's reach as he tried to brush a hand through Tim's feathers, "I'm sorry, Mister Froyd, but you must excuse me. My wings are sacred. You know how it is!"

The herring gull laughed, and Tim viciously shoved away the urge to wrap his hand around the man's throat and strangle him, "Of course! You're saving yourself for that special someone, eh? Say, have you met my daughter yet?"

"I'm sorry to say I haven't," Tim could feel his soul wither away and bleed out from his ears, "but I'd love to meet her."

Thankfully, Tim was swept away before he got the chance to rip the man's throat out.

The night continued with high-standing elites crowding the newly orphaned Drake's attention. They saw him as easy prey, someone they could leech the Drake's company from. They saw Tim as lesser, as a hopeless child with no way of stumbling through the intricacies of high Gotham alone.

Little do they know, Tim was bred for this.

The falcon returned every subtle jab with his own. A question against his parents with a veiled accusation. His words were gilded daggers formed from frost and venom, and Tim was trained by his mother, the deadliest businesswoman you would ever see.

Eventually, he found himself at Bruce's side, the harpy eagle firmly entranced within his Brucie persona.

Duke was on Bruce's left, with Damian guarding Duke as well. The dove's darker skin tone left him open to the less-than-subtle jabs sharpened to a point.

A reporter walked up with a pair of similar-looking teens trailing behind him. The man was bulky, someone you wouldn't expect to be a reporter, and he had a distinct lack of wings. The man had claimed that it was from a childhood disease that left his wings brittle and weak, and the limbs had to be removed, or else it would've been fatal. Tim knew better.

Clark Kent, reporter of the Daily Planet.

Superman.

That meant the two teens behind him were Jonathan, a western kingbird, and Conner Kent, a purple martin. Superboy and Supernova, respectively. Jonathan was Clark's biological son he had with Lois Lane, the senior reporter at the Daily Planet and one of Bruce Wayne's many close friends. Conner, Supernova, was a clone made from Superman and Lex Luthor's DNA, rescued from Cadmus Labs by Reaper, Superboy, and their team, The Titans.

"Good evening, Mister Wayne," Clark greeted with an open smile.

"Hello, Clark!" Bruce crowed loud enough that he could be heard over the sounds of the gala, "Who are these young chicks you've brought with you?"

Tim noticed the look Damian and Jon exchanged. Conner was eyeing Tim warily. The purple martin stood out like a sore thumb with his wild hair, piercings, and unpreened feathers. He may have donned a suit and tie, but Conner Kent still looked out of place.

"These are my sons," Clark smiled, "Jonathan and Conner. They were interested in my work, so they tagged along."

"Oh, how wonderful! I've managed to snag a few new chicks myself!" Bruce exclaimed proudly, and Tim had to resist the urge to bristle as Bruce tugged him into his side. "Look! Here's a chick I picked up! Oh, isn't he so precious?"

Tim sighed internally and drew smaller, becoming the antithesis of a sad, feeble, orphaned fledgling, "Hello, Mister Kent! My name is Timothy, but please call me Tim! I'm pleased to meet you!"

The reporter blinked but returned the smile, "I'm happy to meet you, too. How have you been settling in, Tim?"

"Living with Bruce has been an experience. After my parents passed, he took me under his wing and provided me with space to grieve and room to grow. Without his guidance, I would've fallen into the foster system."

Clark's expression turned sympathetic, "I'm sorry for your loss, Tim. What about your other newest? Duke?"

Tim slipped out of Bruce's hold, ignoring how the eagle continued to chatter before heading toward a balcony. He painstakingly hoisted himself up to the roof, careful not to ruin his clothes or wings, before settling down and leaning back.

The singles were rough under his palms, but the chilly night sky helped to chase away the headache that plagued his head. The smell of different perfumes and colognes had twisted together to form a disgusting mass of writhing scents that made Tim's temples throb.

A few stars were visible from where he perched. Sirius, for example, shone bright through the gloom. If he were to fly past the clouds, Tim doesn't doubt he'd be able to spot Polaris or maybe Jupiter's vague light through the dark skies.

He twitched as he heard wingbeats flap through the air, and Tim looked up to see Conner Kent land next to him. Tim was about to drape on his gala persona when Conner slumped beside him.

"Stop doing that," Conner scoffed, "it's just us out here."

He hesitated before relaxing against the shingles, "I guess."

"It's kinda cold out here, isn't it?" Conner said, trying to make small talk.

Tim shrugged, letting his eyes slip close as the music from the gala wafted through the windows, "Not really... What are you doing out here?"

"What, didn't want to be in a commoner's presence?" Conner sneered, "Fine, then I'll get out of your hair-"

Tim snapped his open and grabbed the krypotian's wrists, "No- just- just stay."

He held eye contact for a little longer than socially acceptable before quickly dropping his hand and resuming his earlier position, albeit a little tenser. Conner sighed before sitting next to him, their wings brushing against each other.

After a beat of silence, Conner began to speak, "I came out because I got tired of all the rich people whispering about Clark. What about you?"

"...I got overwhelmed," Tim admitted softly, keeping his eyes fixed on the moon.

"How so?" Conner pressed. Tim would've snapped and stormed off by now, but the calm air enticed him to stay. Yeah, that was why.

"It's too many smells," the falcon elaborated, "and it was too loud. People keep touching me, and... I can't stand how Damian keeps looking at me. It feels like he's just waiting for me to mess up."

"He looks like he was worried about you," Conner said, and Tim scoffed, feathers fluffing in frustration.

"You don't know him like I do."

"Maybe," Conner trailed off, "Hey."

"Yeah?" Tim opened his eyes to peer at him.

Conner smiled mischievously, "How do you feel about a quick flight?"

Tim blinked before a genuine smile claimed his lips, "Like... a race?"

Conner's lips quirked into a bright grin, "Yup! From here to that tree and then back to the roof. Loser... takes the winner out for lunch!"

His eyes glimmered with glee, and Tim popped to his feet, "Using just our wings, right?"

The purple martin nodded, "On three. One... Two... Three!"

With that, the two shot into the air. While Conner made a beeline for the tree, Tim beat his wings and shot straight into the sky.

"That's not the tree!" Tim heard Conner shout, but the falcon only grinned before pulling in his wings and diving.

The wind whistled around him as he sliced through the air like a racing bullet, the leaves shaking around him as Tim smacked his hand against the bark. Despite the contact, the falcon maintained his momentum.

Tim laughed as he heard Conner shout in surprise behind him. The falcon tilted his wings and shot back into the sky. The air sang around him as he dove again, the wind whipping past his ears as he pulled up at the last moment to avoid breaking his ankles against the shingles. His legs and palms protested as he slammed against the roof. Exhilarated laughter bubbled from his throat as his wings flapped wildly. Andrenaline pumped pleasantly through his veins, and Tim couldn't help as he flapped his hands in tandem.

"HAHA!" Tim laughed, spinning around to point his finger at Conner, who'd just landed beside him, the purple martin's wings drooping with exhaustion, "You owe me lunch!"

Tim continued to laugh breathlessly, his wings pumping as he launched back into the air, energy coursing through his veins like sparks of starlight.

It felt as if he was free. Tim was free, he was free, free, free-

"TIMOTHY!"

The glee that pulsed through his chest vanished like mist under the sun, replaced by a flood of despair and irritation. He swooped down and landed beside Conner, far more graceful than he had moments prior.

Damian erupted through the balcony door, followed by Bruce and Duke, with Jonathan bringing up the end.

Tim stiffened at Damian's cold expression. Bruce looked tired, and Duke worried.

The falcon stepped back, his feathers raised as a defensive anger inundated him. Damian tried to take another step forward, but Duke stopped him with an outstretched wing.

"Kon!" Jonathan shouted, rushing over to examine his younger brother.

Duke walked forward, too, but he was far less aggressive than Damian.

Tim fluttered his wings anxiously and blinked as Conner shifted slightly to place himself between Tim and the Waynes.

The dove's eyes softened at the action, "It's okay, we're not mad."

"You're not going to do anything to him, are you?" Conner insisted, "Because it was my idea. He was sitting there when I challenged him to a race and-"

"It's okay," Duke soothed with raised hands, his wings lowered to seem nonthreatening, "Tim's not in trouble. Everyone was worried when Tim disappeared, so we had Jonathan help us look for him. But when he realized you had also gone missing, he insisted on joining us on the search."

Conner looked back and locked eyes with Tim. Whatever he saw made him relax, "Fine. Hey, Tim, what's your phone number?"

He blinked before snapping out of his momentary stupor to stare blankly at the clone. "My... My phone number?"

Jon narrowed his eyes and watched Conner with an expression Tim couldn't distinguish. Duke grinned and nudged his shoulder against Tim's, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Tim blinked again, watching Damian and Bruce from the corner of his eye before taking and entering his number into Conner's phone.

"Great!" Conner grinned, "It was nice meeting you!"

With a shy smile, Tim muttered an agreement as he watched Conner follow Jon off to where Clark was waiting.

Once the Kryptonians were out of sight, Damian snarled, "Get in the cave. Now."

He bristled, "You can't tell me what to do!"

Damian glowered, looming over him with lambent eyes, "I said, get. In. The. Cave."

"Damian," Bruce admonished with an edge to his voice, "that's enough."

"What were you doing with that clone?" Damian snapped as they followed Tim into the manor.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tim huffed, anger screaming under his skin.

"I won't be repeating myself," Damian growled, and Tim whipped around with spread wings. The two snarled at each other, the tension thick enough to be cut.

Luckily for Alfred's vases, Duke stepped in with a low croon, "Guys, relax. Tim, Damian's just worried."

"There's nothing to worry about!" Tim shouted, fists clenching at his sides, "Conner and I raced. That's it."

"Then why are you so- so- unseemly!"

Tim scoffed, "I don't even know why I try."

"Tim-" Duke tried, but Tim jerked himself away.

"Leave me alone. I'm tired."

Tim ignored how the dove faltered and pulled his wings tighter against his back. Behind him, he could hear Damian hissing angrily at Bruce.

Duke grabbed his shoulder, and Tim snapped out a wing to knock him away, a snarl drawn across his lips, "I said, LEAVE. ME. ALONE!"

Without another word, Tim stormed away, ducked into his room, and slammed the door. The flacon flinched as the walls surrounding the door rattled, and his feathers bristled in alarm. In the distance, if Tim listened carefully, he'd hear Damian's enraged screams.

"He cares about you," Duke says.

A bitter, curling emotion writhed in his chest, sinking its wicked claws into the base of Tim’s throat.

Damian? Cares about Tim? Yeah right. Compared to the notion of Damian expressing any sort of positive emotion toward Tim of all people, hell freezing solid would be the likelier outcome.

[crowned-aeris]

It is done.

I’ve finished the WIP Timkon sickfic, it’s on ao3 👍🏼

[crowned-aeris]

Damian’s first meeting with Bruce | To Brace Upon Benign Feathers

Damian picked himself up from the dusty ground, his tail lashing through the blood-stained sand as he wiped away the crimson clinging to the corner of his mouth. The fledgling could feel bruises blossoming along his torso, legs, and face, but he at least made it out with his life.

Damian's opponent didn't have the same luxury.

"Better," a voice commented in the League dialect.

The harpy eagle straightened, folding his wings tighter against his back as he peered at his mother. The imperial eagle looked him over critically before nodding in approval, "After careful discussion with your Grandfather, we have designed you prepared for training beneath your father. We have forged you into a blade, Damian, and your father will sharpen you."

His mother turns away, beckoning Damian with a sweep of her elegant tail. The fledgling trailed after, carefully keeping his distance from his mother's blade-laced tail. Damian struggled slightly to keep up with the imperial eagle's strides, but he managed. Eventually, they reached Talia's private office- one of the few areas within the facility that was hidden from Grandfather's near-omnipresent eyes.

Talia waited until Damian fully entered the room before shutting the door with a flick of her heavy wing. She beckoned him closer, and Damian obeyed- eagerly tilting his face into her clawed hands. His mother's palms always smelled like blood, which should've been disconcerting to some, but Damian knew she would never use her claws on him.

The fledgling felt his mother gently brush her tail against his, and Damian returned the action.

"Will you tell me Father's identity?" Damian asked, suppressing his purrs as careful claws combed through Damian's feathers.

His mother hums in consideration, "No, I will not. Think of this as... a trial. All I will say is he lives in Gotham..."

-----

Bruce swept between the buildings, his dark wings skimming past the apartments' walls. With a flick of his tail, Bruce made a narrow turn and latched onto the side of the building. With narrowed eyes, Batman waited a few seconds before diving.

The harpy eagle slammed into his target, avoiding his spine as he pinned the man's wings against the ground.

"Where is he hiding?" Batman snarled, grunting as the man tried to stab a hidden knife into Bruce's side. Thankfully, the kevlar was enough to impede the knife, but it was enough to distract him.

The man screeched, scrabbling in panic and somehow hitting a solid hit against Bruce's chest. His suit's flexible yet sturdy material absorbed and distributed the impact, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Bruce rattled out a low hiss, looming over the man with flared wings that seemed to suck the light from around them. The man froze in fear, and Bruce took the chance to knock him out, tying up the man for Gordan's men to collect and subsequently interrogate.

With a weary sigh, Bruce spread his wings and took into the sky. The harpy eagle glided over Park Row when a sudden weight slammed into his side.

The eagle hissed, flicking his tail to reorient himself as the weight continued clinging to Bruce's side. A sharp pain stabbed into his side, slicing through the kevlar as Bruce twisted and slammed himself against the side of a building. Still, the assailant continued to cling to Bruce's side.

He hissed, feeling claws sink into the flesh of his wings, dislodging the two from the side of the apartment. Bruce twisted, flaring his wings to slow their descent before allowing his assailant to crash into the ground. Bruce lurched away, carefully watching the other's movements before realizing that his assailant was a fledgling-

Narrowed emerald eyes glared at him through wild hair, lips pulled back to reveal sharpened fangs. Taking advantage of Bruce's shock, the fledgling lunged.

The black-clad vigilante flared his wings, barely dodging the child's blow before allowing a low, threatening rattle to escape his throat, his voice modulator struggling to keep up with the eagle's snarls, "Who are you?"

The fledgling narrowed his eyes, and faster than Bruce could react, there was a blur, and Bruce's back slammed against the concrete. He could only struggle upright when the fledgling unsheathed a katana and pointed it at Bruce's throat.

The wicked blade gleamed in the pale light, a mere centimeter away from the eagle's jugular.

"Hello, Father," the fledgling sneered, emerald eyes gleaming as the clouds momentarily parted to illuminate the young child with a threatening halo, "I expected more from you."

[crowned-aeris]

This isn't mentioned anywhere, but for my fic, To Brace Upon Benign Feathers, Thomas was a Hapry Eagle, and Martha was a Kingfisher.

Their third date was him taking her out fishing, and Thomas caught this huge fish, but it slipped out of his grip and escaped back into the lake. Thomas tried to chase after it, but accidentally flipped their boat, and Martha decided THEN was when she'll marry the idiot eagle.

I think that's pretty sweet, and Thomas would tell baby Bruce this story all the time.

[crowned-aeris]

4.5k word Timkon reverse robins wingfic where tim is sick, ft. worried batfam, and big brother damian

there’s a little kiss at the very end too, as a treat 🥰

some of y’all might’ve already read it, but hey, what’s one more read?

[crowned-aeris]

WIP | Timkon sicfic ft. damian

This takes place in the Benign feathers verse, bcs i’m absolutely normal about my own au 👍🏼

===

He gasped, clenching his teeth as his dislocated wing was jostled. Tim limped along, forcing open the window to his safehouse before slipping inside.

A low whimper of pain stuttered through his throat as sweat beaded along his skin. His claws dug into the thick material of his pants, and he pressed his forehead against the cool, wooden floor. A feverish haze flitted through his mind, and Tim cursed himself for going while sick. Duke had said he'd take over for Tim, but past-Tim had been an idiot and insisted on going out as Wraith.

The falcon whimpered again, the pain throbbing uncomfortably in time with his heartbeat.

"Wraith!" someone's voice filtered through Tim's ears. Did he forget to disconnect his comm? "Wraith, what's wrong? What happened? Where are you?"

He quivered weakly. Pained chirps and calls for help escaped his lips as his trembling fingers refused to detach from his pants. Tim could hear the voice continue to call for him, but none of the words seemed to register.

There was a whooshing sound followed by something opening and closing. Tim twitched, but he couldn't lift his head from the floor. His chest felt tight, but the falcon couldn't breathe. Where did all the oxygen go?

"What happened, Birdie?" a familiar voice sighed. Dry hands gently lifted Tim's face from the floor and brushed back the sweat-slick hair that clung to his face. The cool skin pressed against his forehead, draining away the heat and peeling off the damp and uncomfortable mask.

Tim chirped weakly, his eyes still closed as he leaned into the person's touch. His claws remain fisted in his pants, and Tim doesn't think he'll be able to let go soon.

"Yeah, his right wing is dislocated, and he's running a pretty high fever," the person said. Tim whimpered at their disapproving tone, tears springing to his eyes as his grip tightened. "No, sweetheart, I'm not mad at you."

Careful fingers tugged through Tim's hair, brushing the strands, untangling the knots, and lightly scratching his scalp.

"Yeah, he's really out of it. I don't think I'll be able to pop his wing back in while he's like this. Can you send Seraph? Yeah, he'll be fine- I need whoever's closest... Okay, thank you," the hands shifted, and Tim was pulled closer into the person's embrace. The movement jostled his wing, and Tim couldn't help the pained gasp.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts, Tim, I know. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be alright. Your brother's coming over to help pop your wing in, and you'll be all better. I know you hate it when he finds your safehouses, but I can't fix you up like this. Honestly, this is your fault. Why did you have to go out?" the person sighed, their tone incredibly fond yet equally exasperated. Tim burrowed his face into the crook of their neck, the words passing through his ears like salt through a net.

"You just had to go out patrolling today, didn't you? You know, when we first met, I thought you were gonna be an asshole like all of those other rich Gotham people. You already knew who I was back then, didn't you?

If someone had told little me that I would fall for you of all people, then I would've called them crazy! But... when you died, when I heard your heart stop... God, I think a part of me died with you. Bart just... stopped, and Cassie didn't speak at all afterward. I'm so glad you're back, Tim, and I know I don't tell you this enough, but-"

"Clone."

"... Reaper," the person's tone shifted, and Tim whined and pressed his cheek against the person's.

"Hand him over."

"I… don't think he'd like that very much."

"...Fine. Hold Timothy steady, I don't want him to jerk around and make things worse."

"Will do," they said, and Tim felt a familiar sensation spread across him. It felt similar to a comforting blanket.

Hands grabbed onto his wing, sending a shock of pain through his entire body. But before Tim could react, his wing was popped back into his socket, and he screamed.

"It's okay," the person breathed, their voice close to Tim's ear lips against the strands of his hair as the falcon sobbed, "You're okay, Tim, you're okay."

"Kon," he sobbed, "Conner, Kon- Kon."

The name tasted like a plea and a prayer on Tim's tongue as the tactile telekinesis faded from his skin.

"I'm here," The Kryptonian held him close, and Tim's talons reached up to cling to Kon's back. Tears ran rivers and trails down his face, dampening Kon's shoulders as Tim sobbed and blubbered, "I'm here- I'm here."

"He's running a fever," the other voice commented with disdain, "and delirious."

"You're just jealous that he's clinging onto me instead of you," Kon huffed, his voice bordering on smug under the worry.

"Silence yourself; you are the most inferior Kryptonian I have ever met."

"And you are the most jealous Bat I have ever met," Conner returned as he braced Tim against his hip; the alien was strong enough to carry the vigilante anyway.

Tim leaned back and rubbed his cheek against Kon's face, sighing as his feverish skin cooled slightly. A happy chirp fell from his lip as Kon pressed back, his instincts crowing in glee at the physical contact.

"You are so fortunate that I am susucceptible to diseases."

The vague cotton that stuffed his brain quickly cleared to reveal a bright recognition. Tim blinked open his eyes, wincing at the bright light before peering past Kon's shoulder to see Damian rummaging around the kitchen.

"Tt. Timothy's kitchen is so... bare."

"This isn't his main safe house," Kon said, "I'll try and get him to change into something else. Can you go and grab some medicine or something? Anything to lower his fever before it gets worse."

There was a vague hum before they were moving. Tim's eyes had slipped shut again, and he returned to his boneless state within Kon's arms.

"You're really out of it, aren't you?" Kon mused as he tried to peel a clingy Tim off of him.

He whined, pouting up at Kon when he finally managed to detangle Tim's limbs from his own, a fond smile on his face. "Come back."

"Wow, so demanding," Kon rolled his eyes, "not even a please?"

Tim pouted, "Please?"

"... Okay, that's not fair in the slightest........ Alright fine. C'mon, you shady bird, arms up!"

He grumbled but complied, sighing as Kon carefully tugged the suit off him, and the cool air graced his too-warm skin.

[crowned-aeris]

The preqel to my Reverse Robins Wingfic; aka "To Brace Upon Benign Feathers"

Its from tim’s POV, because he’s my pookie and I love him very much. it also briefly switches to bruce’s POV toward the end, so i hope it’s not too jarring

Also: Warning for self harm, ig. Y’know how some species of birds pluck their feathers when they’re stressed? that’s what Tim does

===

Tim watched; his eyes glimmered with an awe-struck light as Batman and his Shadow soared through the sky. The pair weaved through the air, their dark-clothed forms momentarily blotting out the streetlight as they descended upon the cluster of criminals.

The edge of Shadow's blade flashed as a criminal's scarlet blood spilled across the ground. The wounds were shallow and non-lethal, but Tim still captured Batman's disapproving look.

"Tt," Shadow scoffed before flaring out his dyed wings, the criminals shrieking before scrambling away from the teen, only to end up in the grasp of the looming Batman.

Tim raised his camera and snapped a photo, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to silence his excited hums.

Click.

Batman tied the criminals together before leaving them on the side of the road and contacting the GCPD. Shadow glared at the criminals, "Tt. In the League, dissenters would have their wings sawed off as a warning to other potential traitors."

The criminals stared at the Bat with wide, fearful, and pleading eyes. Tim winced, ruffling his still-fresh flight feathers.

"But we aren't in the League," Batman sighed. It sounded like the pair had had this conversation multiple times, and Tim wouldn't doubt it.

Shadow narrowed his eyes behind the domino mask, pivoting before launching himself onto the roof Tim was on. The falcon stifled an undignified squeak before ducking behind the HVAC unit. The sound of heavy wingbeats filled the air as Batman chased after his son.

"Everything would be easier if you adopted the League's teachings as Mother suggested," Shadow growled, unconsciously ruffling his wings in a manner glaringly similar to Batman's.

"We've been over this," Batman sighed, sounding more frustrated than ever, "Talia left you with me. You're not in the League anymore, D- Shadow. You need to follow my rules, which means no killing. No Maiming. And no lethal use whatsoever."

Shadow hissed in irritation, but he didn't bother to argue.

Tim hummed. What was Batman about to say?

As the fledgling watched the pair leap off the roof to continue their patrol, he prepared to procure a list of names that began with "D."

-----

How likely were Batman and Shadow to be Bruce and Damian Wayne?

It would make sense...

Oh god, his neighbors were the Batman and the Shadow! Wow, that... actually made sense.

Huh… that’s so cool.

-----

This... was decidedly less cool...

Tim stared at the social worker, his expression lax with shock. In his chest, Tim's heart jack-rabbited against his ribcage, beating out an incredulous tone that filled him with disbelief as dread pooled in his gut.

His parents had died in a plane accident while on a plane back from Taiwan. Tim had talked to them last night, and his mom had even said he'd bring back a souvenir and some snacks for Tim to try out and- and-

"Sorry, son," the man said, but he didn't look too sorry. In fact, he looked guilty.

It took everything in him to force his disposition to remain calm and collected. He was a Drake, and Tim would be hard-pressed before he demolished the castle his mother and father had built brick-by-brick that was their reputation. He will not allow the Drake Name to fall into ruin just because he was careless.

"Will I be going into the system?" Tim asked, feeling his claws pick against the skin of his palms. His parents hadn't even seen his first flight... and now they never will.

The man pressed his wings tighter against his body; he was uncomfortable, unsure, and way out of his depth. That was... suspicious... shouldn't social workers try to calm children rather than agitate them further? This one didn't seem trained, either.

"What will happen to me, Mister?" Tim asked, hitching his wings up and drawing in his shoulders to appear smaller. The falcon tilted his head down and forced his eyes to water before gazing up at the man through lashes that glimmered with tears. Tim was smaller than most other kids his age; he would use that to his advantage.

The man's feathers bristled, and he took a half-step back. Tim pushed out a pathetic-sounding chirp. He remembers his mother's lessons on the intricacies of body language, and Tim will not allow himself to forget.

Tim chirped again. From how he reacted, the man seemed familiar with the chicklet calls, so he could've been a father, teacher, or just someone around kids enough to be swayed by a random kid's chirps.

To really sell the "hapless, pathetic, hopeless chick act," Tim sniffed and allowed the beginnings of pitiful sobs to fall from his lips.

"You know what, fuck this!" the man shouted before turning tail and striding down the stairs. Once he was out of sight, Tim sobered and wiped the tears from his cheeks, uncertainty brewing in his chest.

The falcon relaxed his wings and draped them over his shoulder like a cape. He struggled to open the door, but Tim eventually struggled his way in. With a deep breath, Tim steeled himself, grabbed his mother's conditioner, and shuffled into his parents' bathroom.

As the days blinked past, Tim noticed his appetite waning. Mrs. Mac, the heron house-keeper, had stopped coming over after Tim had told her about his parents' death. She'd said something about not working if she wasn't paid, and then she'd hung up.

He was sitting at the base of his parent's Alaskan king bed, the one they've barely used, his hands gently running through his plumage before plucking out some feathers. Tim sees the blood rush from where the sensitive, newly-grown feather was yanked. The blood joined the other trails and pooled onto the floor. He released the feather in his hand and watched it gently drift to join the other gray-black fluff on the hardwood floor.

Tim reached for another clump of feathers, only to have the action interrupted by a hand that eclipsed his own. The hand gently pushed Tim's bloodied hands away from his wings, and he couldn't find the energy to resist. A soothing croon and low churring rumbled through Tim's chest and settled a roiling feeling he didn't know he had. The fledgling answered with a weak chirp, and Tim was swept into someone's arms. The low vibration continued to rumble through his chest, and Tim allowed his eyes to slip shut and his body to fall boneless.

("-long has been there? He's practically skin and bones!"

"They've been dead for at least a week now... He's seven."

"Can't we just hand him to the social services?"

"Damian..."

"Fine!")

When Tim wakes up, he is somewhere different. His wings felt stiff like they were covered or wrapped with something. He opened his eyes, and his theory was confirmed. White bandages made specifically for wings were applied to the patches of missing feathers, and a glance around the room confirmed that he was somewhere completely foreign.

With a twist of his lip, Tim forced his wings shut, ignoring the protesting pain of the bandages tugging against his feathers before shoving himself against the corner. The wall was cool against his skin, and Tim twisted onto his stomach and wedged himself farther into the corner.

A few minutes later, the door to the room creaked open, washing the box with warm light.

"Master Timothy, are you awake?" a British voice asked.

Tim didn't respond.

The door closed, and the light vanished.

Not even fifteen seconds later, the door opened again, and someone entered. Their footsteps were solid against the wooden floor. Tim didn't bother with looking up.

"Hey," Bruce Wayne said in a low yet gentle voice. The bed shifted under the man's weight, "I know you're awake."

No response.

"Damian used to do the same thing, you know," Bruce said, his tone light and careful, "he'd pretend that he was asleep so he wouldn't have to get up for school. He was close to his mother, and when he moved in with me, Damian had a rough time being away from her."

The silence was filled only by their soft breaths.

"When was the last time you've eaten?" Bruce Wayne asked.

Tim did not respond.

"...Is it alright if I touch you?"

The fledgling did not respond. Timothy was small, especially for a fledgling, and Bruce found it difficult not to sweep him under his wing.

The harpy eagle carefully kept his claws tucked against his palms before gently lifting Tim from the corner he'd wedged into. After a few seconds of deliberate maneuvering, Bruce has Tim slumped against his chest, the fledgling limp and his wings drooping. If it wasn't for his lethargic blinks and barely-there breaths, Bruce would've thought that he'd died.

When he entered the dining room, Damian was sitting at the dinner table with a furious expression as he addressed a blank-faced Alfred.

"Why hasn't Father arrived yet?" Damian demanded, his voice just shy of a growl.

"Master Bruce had something he needed to see to," Alfred responded, "he will join you shortly, Master Damian; patience is a virtue."

Damian seethed, but he'd learned better than to disobey the barn owl. Bruce grunted a greeting as he sat beside Alfred's spot and directly in front of Damian. But as he sat Tim on the chair to his left, Damian caught Bruce's eye with a furious expression.

"Why is he here? Damian hissed, eyes narrowed as Alfred returned with plates of food.

Bruce gave a weary exhale. The noise wasn't quite a sigh, but it was just about. "Damian..."

"I do not wish to be replaced by a catatonic- rat!" his son spat, pushing back the chair with the harsh sound of wood scraping against wood as he leaped to his feet. The fledgling flared open his wings and slammed his palms on the table, causing the dishes to rattle and shake dangerously.

"Son-"

"You obviously don't view me as your son," Damian sneered, eyeing Tim with a positively venomous expression.

Bruce held back a frustrated hiss. Damian's mule-headedness was undoubtedly Talia's fault. No way in hell was Bruce this stubborn when he was a teenager. "Damian, you are not being replaced."

"Then what in the world do you call this?" Damian jabbed a finger in Tim's direction.

Alfred, unbothered, made a crooning noise at Tim, and the fledgling began to mechanically start gently sipping at the soup the butler had made.

""This,"" Bruce returned, "is a fledgling who'd lost his parents and was almost kidnapped. Damian, you are being unreasonable-"

His son snapped his wings shut, his feathers bristling in an offended fashion, "Then why haven't you snatched up the other children who have lost their parents? Answer that, Father. There are other younger chicks on the streets of Gotham, yet I don't see them bounding around right now!"

"Timothy doesn't have a next-of-kin, and he was plucking," Bruce was fighting desperately not to raise his voice at Damian. From experience, it was only going to make him fight harder. Talia was the exact same...

"And that hardly narrows down the other children on the streets of Gotham! What makes him so different that you resorted to bringing an outsider into OUR HOME!" Damian borderline screamed before his voice dropped to a whispered hiss, "Mother would disapprove."

Bruce bit back the retort that clung to the tip of his tongue. He decidedly didn't say, "Then good thing she's not here"; "She's never not disapproving something or another"; "What's one more tick against my record"; "This manor is owned by Bruce Wayne, not Talia Al Ghul"; and the countless other responses that would be inappropriate for this situation.

But what he does say, in retrospect, probably should've stayed unsaid as well.

"Don't bring Talia into this."

The two harpy eagles stared off in a silent battle of wills that ended in a draw when Tim slowly blinked himself into reality. His breathing shifted slightly, and his gauze-covered wings tucked closer to his back.

"Of course, you'd say that," Damian's voice dropped to a low growl, "you never did care for Mother, did you?"

"Damian!" Bruce snapped, his hands clenching on the table.

"You never wanted me- don't you dare deny it! You are seeking to replace me!" Damian spat, his claws digging into the wood of the vintage table. Alfred made a disapproving trill, and the fledgling instantly released his grip.

"If you'd just listen to me," Bruce grounded out, but Damian steamrolled over him.

"There is nothing to listen to, Father. You've made your stance clear as-"

"You're acting like a child," Tim huffed, staring into Damian's eyes with no shortage of defiance. The fledgling's wings were eerily still and unexpressive. Although it was relieving to see Timothy out of his depressive state, Bruce only wished it had happened while Damian wasn’t in one of his, to put it lightly, moods.

"Excuse me?" Damian growled, his tone dangerously still. Unlike many other people, Damian had zero reservations about harming a younger person.

Tim's hands clenched slightly before relaxing, but his expression remained bored and lax. Where did their son know how to mask so well? It was... concerning.

"You complain about Bruce not caring for you, but he still took you in even though Talia left you at his doorstep. If he didn't want you or didn't care for you, he would've placed you somewhere else, or he could've also handed you back to Talia."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Damian hissed. Bruce stood up to try and defuse the situation.

"You don't either!" Tim hissed, but it lacked the threatening rattle that someone truly enraged would possess, "You're entitled, conceited, and you can't see beyond your over-inflated ego!"

Damian flared his wings and pounced across the table. Bruce cursed under his breath as he lunged forward, crashing into his son in a whirlwind of wings and thrashing feathers. Damian bit into Bruce's forearm, and he frowned as his son's needle-like fangs ripped into his skin and his atavistic claw slashed inches away from Bruce's neck.

Alfred had grabbed Tim and swept the fledgling away to someplace more secure, and Bruce wrestled Damian off the table and onto the floor.

"DAMIAN!" Bruce shouted, frustration dripping off every word, "We do not. Hurt. Chicks."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME?!" Damian screamed, and Bruce instinctively lightened his grasp on Damian's limbs.

His son took that chance and twisted in Bruce's grasp, thrashing his wings to loosen Bruce's grip before lunging for his throat. Bruce ducked before pinning Damian against the ground, a firm grip on the back of the fledgling's neck and his wings forced against the ground.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, waiting for Damian to stop thrashing before speaking, "Tonight, Batman will be going out alone."

Damian froze.

"You can't do that!" he protested. Anger blazed brightly in his eyes as his thrashing continued. "You- You can't bench me! You need me- Father! Father, please! Batman needs- he needs Shadow! You need-"

"You need to go to your room," Bruce interrupted. "Batman did fine in his years before Shadow arrived, so I don't see why Batman can't go back out on his own."

Damian opened his mouth, probably to argue some more, but Bruce cut him off with a growl, "I will allow you back out when you learn how to behave yourself. I am disappointed, Damian. You should know better."