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Tim is curled up on his pillow, tail curled around himself. His golden feathers gleam in the lighting of his room. The color is brighter as his health improves. The feathers stopped falling off last week, and he can hover a good few feet off the ground with Alfred and Dick's guidance. And when he's human, he can even walk without a limp.
Tim burrows into the wonderfully fluffy and soft pillow. God bless Alfred, who caught Tim squirming on the top of a regular pillowcase and the next day, all of Tim's pillows were replaced with a feathery heaven. The way his bird-body sinks into the square, how his beak is tickled when he brushes against, and how it's warm, how it envelops him, it's all perfect.
He can fully say the manor is perfect. There's plenty of food, people to see around, places to hide and to read, puzzles to solve and book nooks to sleep in under the sun that shines through stained glass windows, and even though Dick moved out, every time he visits there's at least an hour of hugging and hair pets. The physical affection has been an agreeable, adored addition to the boy's life.
He didn't know he could ever receive so many hugs in a lifetime. He didn't know that parents were home so often, and that big houses could feel full, or that a room could be bouncing with overflowing levels of life. Apparently, children go on trips with their parents and talk at the dinner table or engage in conversation. He didn't know that beltings were an unacceptable form of punishment, same with being locked in a closet. He thought crying was a weakness and that crying silently wasn't preferred.
Tim is finding out each day more and more evidence that points mocking fingers at him, telling him how he was such an unloved little boy living in a sheltered bubble of loneliness. At least Jason had a pack, at least Jason didn't need to learn what love was. Dick and Jason both lost their parents, but they're doing fine now. Not Tim. Tim isn't fine, he hasn't been even though he thought he was. He's broken.
His childhood was screwed up, he doesn't have a pack and he's too terrified to ask Bruce to join the man's pack so he's still lonely, he feels so cold and empty and he won't get better and he will always be miserable, cursed and soon Bruce will see that Tim's health's trajectory isn't going anywhere and he'll kick the hawk out, and Tim won't survive on the streets and he can't be alone again and he needs—
Two knocks on Tim's door. Oh. It's Jason.
"It's time for dinner." Tim can feel Jason's eyes, see his crossed arms without having to look up at the older boy. Jason's nice and patient. Whenever Tim runs off and hides, even though Jason finds Tim, he waits for Tim to come out. He often reads, and Jason has a soothing voice. He gets really into the stories, and treats them as the masterpieces they often are.
"Alfred's making Sarmale and for desert, he's letting us order in Big Belly Burger's ice cream sundaes. He says it's for that Arkham breakout we took care of last week, y'know, a delayed reward or something." Alfred's nice like that.
Jason waits a moment, and then he walks up to the edge of the bed. He nods to it, asks, "Can I . . . " Tim nods his head. Jason crawls on top of the bed, travelling until he can rest up against the headboard. A calloused finger trails the pathway between Tim's wings. Tim shivers pleasantly, his muscles relaxing and draining the tenseness from his body considerably quickly. Goosebumps raise under Jason's touch as they normally do; the sensation is breathtaking each and every time.
"I joined book club today. Yeah, yeah, it's lame and all that stuff, but it's actually really nice. It's after school on Wednesdays and Fridays, for like an hour and a half. It's me and four other kids. We just sit in the library or the courtyard and talk about a book we all decide to read. Pretty chill, and today we read this pretty awful book. Man, we laughed so hard because the writing just sucked ass."
Jason laughs, and the soothing sound is like thunder before a pleasant rainstorm, the vibrations shaking Tim. "But y'know," he sobers, "we also couldn't believe it got published. Authors try every day but this lady got popular for writing crap? I don't understand. I mean, I read a lot, and this was a popular book when I feel like the other books I do read should be more popular. It's just — I don't know."
Tim turns his neck so Jason can scratch under his chin. Jason stares off into the room, but he continues to pet Tim. "Maybe I could be an author?" Tim perks up, raising his head from laying down to peer curiously at his older brother. "Nah, it's a dumb thought. I mean, I'm not going to die as Robin or anything, but I just don't really think I have the chops to be a full time author."
Jason yelps and suddenly, he has a lap full of a very human Tim. Tim crawls off, leaning on his knees and looking at Jason. "I think you can do anything, Jay." Tim's eyes shine with admiration. He means it. Jason is Robin, and if that wasn't impressive and awesome enough, Jason is Jason. He's just incredible.
Jason blushes, and looks off to the side for a moment. Then he swings his legs over the side, shrugging. "Now you're making us late for dinner, and the last time I was late and asked Alfie to reheat his food, I think I killed an angel somewhere."
"Heaven isn't real," says Tim, sliding off the bed and speeding to catch up to Jason.
"Eh. Though Hell sounds like a party," Jason says.
"You have a bad idea of parties."
"You have a bad face."
"Jerklad."
"Babyface."
"I am not a baby! You are such—"
"You have baby fat! You're tiny and you cry a lot—"
"And you don't?!"
"You suck."
"Screw you."
"No, you."
And yet they smile the entire time down to dinner.