Archive of Our Own

—V—

Bernard’s hand gripped the steering wheel as he drove the speed limit through the rich as hell neighborhood, the houses seemingly sending glares of judgment from being at least five times more expensive than the (actually decent and reliable, thank you very much) car he drove.

Okay, technically Tim had gotten him the car, but considering the fact the previous junkyard-contestant who had barely survived Bernard’s teenage years had finally found peace during an Arkham break out, Bernard would happily claim the new one as his own.

He spotted the gate he had been heading towards and stopped right in front of the security camera above and to his left of the ancient hinges. Rolling the window down (this car had a little button you just pressed or tugged to make the window go down or up, and it still felt magical. His old car had a crank that always caused him to hit his hand on the doorframe whenever he was too fast at getting the window back up) and leaned out, giving the camera a big grin. Upon whoever was checking the motion sensor seeing who it was, the gate that sectioned off ‘typical rich bitch neighborhood’ and ‘Wayne Frickin Manor’ from each other slowly opened with a long, deep creeeeaaakkk and Bernard started the five minute drive to the actual front door.

As both the CEO of Wayne Enterprises AND The Cardinal, Timmothy Jackson Drake-Wayne was a very busy man, often only still functioning due to caffeine, some carbs, and pure spite. Said very busy man also had another title not as often used but still very important: Bernard’s Boyfriend.

(Bernard still got butterflies in his stomach when he thought of the night that “title” got officially added to Tim. It had been the very first Gala Bernard had attended since he and Tim had started dating, and a reporter had noticed him with the ‘unusual’ blonde. She had asked if he was Tim’s boyfriend. Tim, not wanting Bernard’s entire media presence to be simplified as ‘The Man Currently Dating Tim Drake’, put on a bright smile, pulled Bernard against him, and laughed “Yes, I am Bernard Dowd’s boyfriend” before giving Bernard a quick kiss on the lips then swiftly departing from the reporter. Bernard had later cut out the picture that had been snapped at that moment and lovingly pinned it to a corner of his Conspiracy Board.)

As Bernard’s boyfriend, he was required to spend time with the man he was dating, which was what Bernard was currently on his way to. Apparently, about a week earlier, Tim had gotten kidnapped by Harley Quinn and the only ransom she excepted was the promise of Tim paying for movie tickets and snacks of her choosing. That ransom promise became a double date to the movies between Gotham’s Favorite Crime Lesbians and Timber. Bernard still wasn’t entirely sure what the movie was, something about a sequel to a movie about anthropomorphic animals doing crime, but considering he would be with his absolutely perfect boyfriend and the two funnest Aunt-like figures he’d ever met, he was certain it would at least be memorable. Harley had innate knowledge of the best sweets, Ivy could stare down anyone who tried to steal their seats, and Tim would pay for it all while letting Bernard sneak his popcorn and grope his thigh.

Truly, it was going to be an amazing afternoon.

The gameplan that had been drilled down during a FaceTime call that morning was as follows: Bernard would drive to Wayne Manor to join Tim for some late lunch before meeting up with Harley and Ivy at the movie theater via a trusted driver. Ten minutes after the movie was set to end, the driver would pick Tim and Bernard up and bring them back to the manor so Bernard could then take his car back to his own apartment.

Bernard would have loved to chauffeur Tim himself in his car, maybe go joyriding a bit and find a secluded place to make out in the car, but alas Gotham’s crime rates made it basically impossible to park at any entertainment place without losing at least one of your windows. And while Tim would buy him a Lamborghini in half a heartbeat, that would still be at least a day with no car. Besides, Bernard really liked his new car so sue him for wanting to make it last.

He would just have to curl up next to His Man in the Trusted Driver’s car and look cute on the way to the theater. At least it made his job a little easier.

He pulled the car a bit off the driveway where Alfred wouldn’t kill him for destroying the grass and turned the car off. Then, he got out to open up the trunk and grab the gift basket before making his way to the front door.

While legally an adult and considered to be Bruce Wayne’s baby, Bernard knew the final word came from Alfred’s mouth and keeping him satiated was the only way to ensure that Tim continued to be his boyfriend. Ergo, gift basket. It wasn’t anything too fancy or expensive (he was a broke medical student, okay? There were unfortunately corners that were being smoothed down to curves) just some cooking sherry (since he had overheard Tim mention they were out), pretty good wine (that Dionysus had picked out for the butler’s downtime. Was it strange to have a literal god occasionally shitpost in your mind despite not being completely sacrificed to them? Yes, but they had amazing knowledge on wine so a win is a win), and a batch of Bernard’s first attempt of Alfred’s recipe for bread rolls. He hoped that they were at least decent compared to the real deal, or that Alfred could tell him how to improve otherwise.

Bernard hadn’t even made it to the door before it opened and out came Tim. He barely had time to set the basket on the ground before Tim’s arms were around him, squeezing him tightly. With the speed at which Bernard started returning the favor, clearly they both had missed each other. It’d been almost two weeks since they’d seen each other face to face, not via a screen. It would have been only a week of separation but apparently the stars aligned for some sort of Bat-related operation Bernard hadn’t been allowed to know all the details of (due to being a civilian). At least it wasn’t two months, like the time that Bernard had finals spread out over three different weeks to study for while Tim had to go undercover for something Young Justice related.

Still, they were clingy freaks who needed to have at least one limb in contact with the other to remain sane, much to the chagrin of Bruce during galas. Apparently they managed to embarrass the man who had fallen into a bowl of punch five separate times by their grabbiness.

(Okay, maybe Bernard shouldn’t have grabbed Tim’s rear while he was working on securing a contract from England, but in his defense Tim’s hands had been wandering around him for the past hour and it had been high time for revenge. Tim hadn’t even minded-)

After a few more moments of squeezing the daylights of each other, Tim pushed him backwards into a dip then pressed their lips together. Bernard was very quick to kiss back. Dear gods (since he had learned after meeting various heroes and the previously mentioned semi-possession that there were canonically multiple gods, not just the huge man upstairs. Bernard was so tempted to tell his parents about how he had sat stiffly in a pew and barely managed to stay awake through some weird man’s rants during most of his childhood for nothing, but had been talked out of it. Apparently they’d had enough of a conniption after he Came Out.), he had missed this.  His arms looped around Tim’s neck to keep himself from falling while his fingers twisted into his hair. They disengaged for a moment, Tim faintly breathing out a “Missed you” before taking advantage of Bernard’s open mouth and bringing his tongue into the kiss.

Back when he had been a fandom-crazed superhero nerd who tried his best to be the cool, straight male that “caught more chicks than birds caught worms” during school hours, Bernard would read self-insert stories with moments like these and call them “unrealistic”. But he’d still enjoy them and pretend that his “admiration” of Cardinal, Batman’s sidekick after BlueJay, was just the want to either be friends with or be him. And why would someone as cool, smart, and Bad-A as Cardinal want to even hang around some rando like him for a long enough time to consider him a friend, let alone someone worth dating?

Imagine his past “I’m so straight it hurts” self’s surprise if he could see him being dipped like in a movie by the man he’d not only been best friends with during high school but also the vigilante he’d been secretly pinning over.  Bonus points if he could see his current self’s passionate makeout.

Fate could be a bitch sometimes, but she is a sucker for some irony.

It could have been two seconds or it could have been minutes, but either way their magical reunion was cut short by an exaggerated cough from the doorway, courtesy of Alfred. Tim swiftly detached his mouth from Bernard’s before carefully pulling him back to his feet. Tim shot Alfred an apologetic smile with his flushed face while Bernard tried desperately to compose himself in front of the actual head of the Wayne household. “Missed you… too, Babe-“ Bernard gasped, still struggling to catch his breath, “-but could you warn a guy before pushing him into a dip?”

The asshole of a man who attempted to asphyxiate him just giggled, the cute fucker, “I’m sorry! Kill a man for missing the presence of his boyfriend, why don’t you?”

“What if I wasn’t your boyfriend? What if a shapeshifter stole my identity and was attempting to kidnap you?” Bernard asked, fanning his face with his hand to try and reduce the blush burning all over it.

Tim rolled his eyes playfully, “I watched you drive from your apartment to the gate from the tracker in your left shoe, plus you had that look of wonder on your face when you were trying to look at the gate’s camera. A shapeshifter would never know that you are fascinated by not having to punch your car door in order to roll down your window.”

Bernard gave Tim a (light) punch in the arm for that last bit, causing Tim to let out a snort.

“Master Tim, Mister Dowd, while your young love is rather charming, you both have a schedule to adhere to. If you want to have room for popcorn later, it is required to eat lunch now,” Alfred said, shaking his head fondly.

Bernard quickly retrieved the gift basket from where it was in the grass before Tim decided to pick him up bridal-style and bring him to the door. Back before Tim had verbally confirmed with Bernard that he ran around at night in spandex (which Bernard had already figured out, btw. He’d just needed the word from the horse’s mouth), he’d never allowed himself to show off his strength like this, as apparently normal CEO’s are not supposed to effortlessly pick up and carry their boyfriends. But once he did spill the beans (that might as well have been in a clear plastic cup with how well Tim had been hiding them) Tim flexed his vigilante strength much more. It was rather funny to see pictures or videos taken from Tim’s family of Bernard being paraded around by Tim despite him being several inches taller than Tim. Like, Tim’s head pretty much came up to Bernard’s eyebrows unless he was wearing the Cardinal Platforms.

So Bernard was really enjoying his boyfriend holding him off the ground so effortlessly.

He somehow handed Alfred the gift basket despite having half of his body pressed against Tim’s chest and one arm slung around Tim’s shoulder. “Here, it’s not much. Just some cooking sherry, wine that Dio’ recommended, and my attempt at your roll recipe. I was hoping you could give me some pointers or if they were halfway decent it would save you some time on dinner preparations?”

Alfred just smiled at him, “Why thank you, Mister Dowd. This was very thoughtful of you. Do tell Mister Dio that their choice was delectable last time and that I look forward to trying another of their recommendations.” before leading Tim through the hallway to the lounge where they’d be having lunch.

“As a quick reminder, Master Tim, don’t go into Damian’s Art Studio. He currently has his Muse with him,” Alfred said to Tim with an odd tone. Tim just replied with a quick “Got it” without messing up his pace.

“I didn’t know Jon was over today,” Bernard said. Tim slowed for a moment to look him in the eyes with a raised eyebrow, “What’d you mean ‘John being over’? Which one are you talking about? Do you mean Clark’s father or son, Martian Manhunter, Sad Trench-Coat Man, one of the Lanterns, or someone else I’m not thinking of on the top of my head?”

“Son of Superman, ‘cause Alfred said Damian’s Muse was over,” Bernard answered. He felt Tim freeze up against him, kinda reminded him of what would happen when Tim was about to make something up to cover for Cardinal Shenanigans. “Uhh, no- Jon isn’t here, it’s…uh-“ he stuttered, not sounding convincing at all, “he has…a friend over! Yeah, a friend he originally met in school before it let out for summer that he’s determined to befriend so we can stop saying he only has one friend-“ Bernard gave him an unconvinced look, “uh-huh, sure-“

“Look, I promise it won’t affect today, okay? So let’s just focus on us instead of who in Damian’s Art Studio,” he said, pleading eyes burning into Bernard’s face.

“Hmmmm…” Bernard hummed, an exaggerated thinking expression on his face and his free hand stroking his chin. Damian was very protective of his art supplies (he had literally threatened bodily harm just for asking to borrow a red pen) and even more protective of the room itself (if you dared to step on the threshold of the studio, there was a fifty/fifty chance of either a dagger or a hatchet being lobbed at your head), so if there was someone or something in there they either had Damian’s blessing or very thick skin. But he really wanted to enjoy his time with Tim without going full conspiracy theorist. He leaned his head against Tim’s neck and looked up at him, “Okay fine, I’ll let you off the hook this once, but don’t believe for a second I bought the ‘befriending’ story.”

Tim gave him a grateful smile and a peck on the lips then continued carrying him to where they would eat lunch, Bernard being bounced as they went.

—v—

Bernard’s arms held onto Tim’s back as they made out on the lounge couch in front of the tv, sinking into the softness. His back was pressed against the seat cushions while Tim’s torso used his as a mattress, forearms framing Bernard’s head.

Yeah, he was passionately kissing his boyfriend as soon as Alfred was out of sight, sue him. He missed Tim and Tim was also incredibly attractive. If you were in his place you’d probably be doing the same.

His hands trailed down Tim’s back to grab a bit of his back thigh as they panted for breath. Tim immediately gave him a nip on the jawline in retaliation.

“Careful,” Bernard breathed, giving an extra squish to that glorious muscle before pushing Tim back a bit, “Don’t want to leave any marks for the press to stew on.”

Tim frowned at him, “The theater is banning any paparazzi from entering the building and we’ll be dropped off in the back. Why are you worrying about that?”

“The journalists and camera crew might not be able to see it,” Bernard deadpanned, “But Harley and Pam will.”

Tim visibly cringed upon realizing that. “Oh yeah. No, I do not want Harley or Ivy teasing us-“

“What did Harley say that one time she caught Bruce and Selina hiding from a party again?”

“I’m not repeating it.”

“Then you see why I don’t want her opinion on a hickey.”

Tim sighed defeatedly before pulling himself off of Bernard. With Tim’s weight off him, Bernard sat up and gave a stretch, his shoulders making a cracking sound as his arms straightened. Tim did the same thing but with his legs. “I’m gonna go freshen up before we leave,” he said, pointing at the doorway. Bernard huffed, “What? You saying I make you unpresentable?” with no heat.

Tim snorted. “Well, yes, but not in this case. I was deciding between two different outfits this morning and I’m just now realizing that the one I chose just doesn’t feel right, the stitching just under my right arm feels tight and is kinda uncomfortable against my side-” he rambled before realizing that was a little more information than necessary, bringing a hand up to mouth to make a cough sound against it while Bernard held back a giggle. “Anyway. The point is I need to go change into the other shirt so I can actually have fun with my boyfriend at the movies and not focus on being pinched to death. That fine with you?”

“ ‘Course it is. Tim, you manage to wear skintight latex every night, i think you’re allowed to wear comfortable clothing when you want,” Bernard shook his head fondly before grabbing his arm and pushing Tim off the couch. “Now get! I’m expecting more quality time before we leave, so hurry up and get comfortable!”

Tim, with Cardinal’s training in him, did not fall into the floor from the push. Stumble off the couch and nearly lose balance? Yes, but any cameras that could’ve seen it would have their memory wiped in about half an hour anyway, so that fact was not important. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back in about fifteen.”

That was definitely Tim-Talk for “ten if he takes his time”. The driver wouldn’t be here for another forty-five minutes, so they’d get about half an hour to fool around. With that mental math done, Bernard shooed his boyfriend off and started to wait.

Five minutes turned to ten, but Bernard wasn’t too worried. Maybe Tim was just being indecisive about reapplying cologne and if yes which to use. But then the ten minutes became fifteen and twenty with no sign of Tim. Had he been asked to look at something for someone? Maybe the Bats needed his eyes for a Bat-Confidential-Case and had lost track of time. Bernard knew that had happened before, so he would go find Tim and remind him they had twenty-five minutes until Movie Time.

Tim couldn’t have headed downstairs. Bernard would have heard his footsteps down the hall. Unless there was some other entrance to the Batcave he wasn’t aware of, which there likely was but he was just focusing on the variables he knew.

So Bernard made his way up to the second floor, where Tim’s bedroom was. Better to get the most obvious place out of the way. Bernard really wished he’d brought the Batman themed detective hat he’d gotten as a gag gift from Tim back in high school, it really would have made the scene complete.

He stopped outside the first door he came to on the family wing, face scrunching in confusion. The family wing of Wayne Manor housed a multitude of bare rooms, aesthetically blank but functionally decorated for when the Adoption Bug bit Bruce. However, this one was noticeably stripped of the bare essentials the other rooms uniformly had. The fluffy, white rug that softened the floor, the plain but expensive bedding on the now exposed mattress, and even the pillows that typically ended up missing during the rumored Bat Pillow Fights were all gone.

Bernard did a double take comparing it to the room across the hall from it. Yep, this was definitely missing those key items. He did a quick check with the room on the same side of the hall next to it. Strangely, that one was missing the rug, comforter, and two of the three pillows this time. Was Alfred doing laundry? He couldn’t be, otherwise all of the guest rooms would be missing their items, and Bernard’s pretty sure Alfred has a thing against washing the rugs with the blankets. Bruce Wayne hadn’t made an announcement of adopting another traumatized orphan, so it couldn’t be that. Could it be-

Bernard actively shook his head to snap out of it. He was not going to go conspiracy-theorist on the day he was supposed to be spending quality time with his boyfriend. Nope, not gonna go down that rabbit hole today. He just needed to go find Tim and remind him that time exists.

So he took his eyes off the weird room and continued down the hall again. He hadn’t noticed it when he first got upstairs, but the family wing was darker than normal. He was aware Wayne Enterprises had made some announcement about saving power and going more eco-friendly, but the manor got its power from solar panels and a few generators so there wasn’t much of a reason for the lights to be off.

However, he was not the owner of the mansion nor the one responsible for the power bills (did Bruce even have to pay power bills if he had his own sources of electricity? The type of questions a broke medical student asks at three am during finals week), so he was just going to keep on walking. One foot in front of the other, Bernard. He’s not thinking of anything, nope-

Damian’s Art studio came up on his right, and he found himself stopping in front of the closed door. Tim’s younger brother (“Only on paper!”), despite knowing 101 ways to torture someone with a pipe cleaner, was rather gifted in the arts and after setting into the manor all but demanded a private space for creating. Bernard remembered two years ago back in high school when Tim would vent to him about the little bastard, and he was happy to say that the Damian Al Gaul of then had changed for the better into the Damian Wayne of now. Even if he was still a bit prickly around the edges and protective of both his spaces and emotions, Bernard couldn’t help but smile when remembering when Tim had officially introduced him as his boyfriend and not just his school friend, and Damian had just excepted it with “You could do so much better than Drake”.

So he decided to drop by and say hi. There was a chance Tim could be in there anyway, might as well check.

“Damian?” Bernard called as he gently knocked on the door. “It’s Bernard Dowd. Drake’s Consort, remember? I just wanted to check on you cause it’s been awhile since we hung out and I’m trying to find your brot-“ one knock was hard enough to cause the seemingly shut door to slowly squeak open. Once the door fell all the way open, Bernard found that the studio was dim just like the hallway. Damian, as previously mentioned, was fiercely protective of his studio so leaning in to see the state of the room better was risky, but Bernard was a curious thing so he carefully stepped in.

Aside from the unusual lighting, one of Damian’s easels was standing in the middle of the room with a black blanket draped over it. The three-story trolley that contained his paints, brushes, and other painting supplies had been pulled over, the palette he’d been using placed on the top layer. What was odd was the fact that the palette hadn’t been cleaned. From Bernard’s observations, every rogue could be breaking out of Arkham and Damian would roll his eyes then insist on properly cleaning and putting away his materials before heading to the cave. Another weird thing was the stool that was behind the easel, but Alfred had said Damian had someone over so he’d probably forced them to stay there lest they hurt any of his precious art supplies.

After surveying the room, Bernard realized Damian could just be in the bathroom or his bedroom. Damian’s private bath was between his bedroom and art studio for easy access, so Bernard carefully opened the door. The bathroom was empty with the lights off other than a nightlight Damian had painted a year or two back, so he then walked through the other door that lead to the bedroom. Other than the lights being even dimmer than the studio, there was nothing out of place there. Except the traps that typically littered the demon’s room were not activating. Bernard was personally acquainted with them, as he’d nearly lost his head to one if Tim hadn’t pushed him out of the way in time.

So two of the empty guest rooms had been ransacked, the entire family wing was noticeably darker, Damian’s boobytraps were disengaged, and Bernard was starting to get the vibes of an extra in a slasher movie who was about to end up in a “most to least creative death” tier list, but it was fine. He was in Wayne Manor, home of the Bats with better security than ADX Florence! He was in the safest place in the world, next to The Watchtower! There was absolutely no reason to be feeling like he was about to be picked off a grapevine by Sasquatch.

And then he heard a bird call. “Whip-poor-will!”

Bernard immediately bolted out of Damian’s room, completely noped out. Why did he just hear the call of a nocturnal bird that is symbolic of death? He didn’t know, he just kept muttering to himself “Just go find Tim. Just go find Tim-“

The jog to Tim’s room near the end of the hall was a blur. Bernard actively forced himself to stop and calm down before entering. “It’s okay. I’m alright,” he murmured to himself, hands brushing through his own hair and massaging the back of his neck to try and get his heart rate to come down. “The sound is likely something Jason set up to annoy Bruce. Steph probably had a hand in it, too. The fact that everything’s so quiet and dark is just a coincidence. I’m not in a horror or slasher movie, already experienced enough of that between the cult and the Chaos shits. I’m totally fine and safe-“

His shaking hand grabbed the handle and opened the door. “Tim? Tim, are you in here? It’s getting close to when our driver’s supposed to be here-“ He paused, heart skipping a beat in his chest as his eyes widened and face paled at what was in front of him.

There on the floor in the dark lighting of Tim’s bedroom was the shirt Bernard had last seen Tim wearing, now with a big patch of red staining the chest.

His brain scrambled for an explanation that didn’t involve Tim either dying or dead, but the neurons were not firing properly as the double team of adrenaline and cortisol flooded his body. He stood there in the doorway, a step into the room, just staring at the stained shirt on the floor. ‘Tim could have gotten another injury while on patrol, tried hiding it from you again, and accidentally reopened it while changing shirts’ he barely thought, more aware of his heart beating strongly in his ears. ‘Maybe he was fooling around with a blood bag, pretending to be a vampire, and it squirted over himself.’

One moment, he was a statue in the doorway, the next he was crouched on the floor and checking over the shirt with his hands, red smearing on them.

It was a good thing he did move, however, because at that moment a sharp object imbedded itself into the wall where his head had been.

After hearing the sharp thunk of the object and looking up at it, he swiftly turned around to see where it came from. If it was just Damian getting revenge on him for entering his art studio, Bernard could’ve calmed down. But Damian was a mouthy little brat, and there was no “Dowd, you coward! Even if you are the Consort of Drake, you should be aware that attempting to step into my room is met with swift punishment!” to be heard.

The room and the hallway might have been darkened, but the little BatLogo nightlight Bernard had given Bruce when they officially met might as well have been a spotlight against the hallway’s wall with how it illuminated the figure blocking the doorway. Dear gods, that was an imposing silhouette, slightly taller than Bruce but not as tall as Jason. He was probably muscular, but not in the same way as the bulky Batman and Red Hood. He looked more athletic, like the frame of a runner, ballerina, or acrobat. He held what looked to be a knife in Bernard’s direction, posed in a powerful stance.

“Bernard Dowd,” a raspy voice stated from the shadow of a man, like as though the voice hadn’t been used in a long time, “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

Bernard’s stomach already felt like it was trying to shrink from seeing the shirt with the red substance that was now on his fingers, but upon hearing that phrase he felt it drop into his pelvis. He…he remembered that phrase from his childhood, that kids would play and say that phrase to one another and the recipient would fall dramatically onto the ground, very obviously playing dead. In schools, the teachers and students would clap along and sing a silly little rhyme, “Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head”. At sleepovers or Halloweens on the darkest of nights, he remembered an older teen holding a flashlight to his face and speaking in a ghostly voice “No one talks about them. Not a whispered word is said, for if you try to cross them, then, the talon strikes you dead”, resulting in a crying younger sibling and a grounding from his mom. He suddenly remembered the “confidential” operation Tim had been on the previous week, and how the newscaster wore a very shocked and appalled expression as she told the viewers the news of The Court of Owls being real and taken down by Batman. What if…they hadn’t gotten them all?

Bernard had been in a pain cult, almost sacrificed as a vessel for Dionysus only to instead be blessed by them (if a blessing meant controlling vines, ivy, drunk people, and occasionally getting some outdated meme the Madman found that day), and had been kidnapped multiple times, the most notable being the Chaos monsters, but he could not say during any of that had he felt as much fear and dread as he did the millisecond after the Talon in front of him spoke.

He, very unflatteringly but understandably, let out the loudest, most scared and honestly sort of inhuman scream anyone had the unfortunate possibility of hearing.

The blade in his hand was thrown, but Bernard luckily had asked (forced) Tim to teach him some self defense techniques, including how to duck. While the Talon was distracted with retrieving his knives from the wall, he dashed out of Tim’s room into the hall. His sneakers hit the floor with loud slaps as his heart pounded equally loud in his chest, his lungs gasping for breath. There was no way he could hide from the assassin, had he already gotten everyone else in the manor? Where was Bruce with a letter opener? Damian with his Katana? Alfred with his shotgun? He didn’t know and didn’t want to know at that moment, all his cells were focused on running, running, run-

Just as he was almost at the staircase, almost out of the family wing, a large mass collided with him and he was pushed into the weirdly empty room he’d found earlier. He was dragged farther into it, being pulled into the closet (there was a joke he could’ve made about it being an analogy to when he came out to his parents, but he was a tad bit preoccupied atm) and finding it getting harder to see as he went. He, being the boyfriend of The Cardinal, did his best to make the journey difficult for the Talon (maybe he shouldn’t have. He’d never heard of a Talon letting a Target go after the phrase was said, but there’s always a first for everything, right?), kicking and flailing and punching and generally being a nuisance. It changed nothing, like the Talon didn’t even notice. ‘Other victims had probably done more before they were killed’, he realized with startling clarity, ‘I’m no different, and the same will happen to me.’

He was slammed against the wall of a smaller room inside the closet (wtf?), knocking the already limited air out of his heaving lungs. One of the knives that had previously been stuck halfway through drywall was pressed threateningly against his throat. Any moment now, he could move or the Talon could put just a tad more pressure to the blade, and it would slice his neck clean open. He could let Bernard bleed out slowly, gurgling wettly for help from someone that would never arrive, or he could do a quick clean cut through veins, cartilage, muscles, and bone making Bernard’s head go falling to the floor.

He wasn’t sure if he would find out which option would be chosen, if any. He could feel his heartbeat in the base of his skull, where it would often pulse when he had a headache along with somewhere on his temple. If the Talon didn’t kill him soon, he was going to pass out. Maybe that would be a better option, being unconscious when he was finally killed. But if he did pass out, would the Talon tie him up and torture him once he awake? Demanding answers for questions he didn’t know about Batman’s takedown of the Court, his relationship to Cardinal, his search history when he was sixteen. He didn’t know, he just swallowed some saliva as gently as he could, feeling his throat press against the sharp metal slightly as it went down.

His eyes, that trembled and caused him to not focus on one spot in his vision for more than a second or two, had finally adjusted to the low light level in the room. He could now make out the Talon in front of him, who was strangely not wearing the stereotypical Talon get up (was it a harmful stereotype to assume what real Talons of The Court actually wore? Did he have to buy a ukulele and make a public apology for them? Would they even want an apology?).

He was definitely muscular, those arms and torso were able to keep him pinned for a reason, but he was right from the silhouette assumption that it wasn’t in the same way as Bruce or Jason. The Talon was also definitely a bit shorter than Jason, but taller than Bruce. He couldn’t see his legs from the pinning position, but he could barely makeout what looked to be the waistband of sweatpants resting on his hips. On his torso was a form-fitting shortsleeved shirt with the neck cut out into a V. There were sunglasses that had fallen off the bridge of his nose, which revealed eyes that looked golden and if there was a light source in the room, Bernard guessed they would have reflected and lit up more than a construction worker’s vest. His hair was parted slightly to Bernard’s right, the bangs falling just past his eyebrows and the rest of his hair a similar length. Even in the dark, Bernard knew that the Talon’s skin would look paper white against his own Caucasian skin. The black vines that surrounded his face did not help Bernard’s fears.

The adrenaline in his system was starting to make Bernard feel twitchy, and he had to fight to keep still in the Talon’s grasp least he accidentally cause his own demise. His heart pumped almost painfully hard in his chest, like as though it was trying to escape. He almost wished the Talon would hurry up already and finish the job, make it slightly less torturous for him.

Bernard could feel Talon shift, about to put more pressure on the blade against his throat, about to end his life-

And then Bernard heard the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard yelled out at a murderer before they killed somebody:

“Dick!”

The knife was pulled a little ways away from his neck as both he and the Talon snapped their heads to look at the source of the outburst. There, in the doorway of the closet, highlighted by the light that was barely brighter than the pitch blackness of the mystery room, was Timmothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, alive and well, sporting a different shirt.

Bernard was fairly sure his heart did a restart when he saw his boyfriend, whom he thought had tragically perished via the business end of an assassin’s blade. He’s pretty sure he made a happy squeal when he recognized him, but he’s not exactly sure. The headache and dizziness is kinda making it hard to keep track of that, sue him.

It was either the headache that was causing the incoming confusion, or maybe the situation didn’t make since, because the next thing Bernard could compute was Tim telling the dangerous assassin for The Court of Owls (who are real as of last Monday) to back off Bernard like one would tell a dog to get off the couch.

“Oh my god- dick, what are you doing?- you know what, doesn’t matter right now, just let him go,” he sputtered, going through many stages of ‘how the hell do I handle this’, and taking Bernard’s shoulder before leading him out of the room. “Okay, let’s get out of the nest- dick, come on, it’s fine, we’ll talk about this later-“

Before he knew it, he was out of the room and being helped down the staircase by Tim, the Talon tailing a few steps behind with the sunglasses pressed firmly against the bridge of his nose. Damian and Alfred stood at the bottom of the stairs, the butler holding a med kit. As soon as they were down (curse his headache, everything seemed to be happening so fast), he found himself sitting on a couch in one of the spare rooms as Alfred checked his head and Tim talked through it.

“I found him being pressed against the wall by Dick. He probably accidentally slammed Ber’s head against the wall, so check for damage there. Dick had one of Damian’s craft knives to his throat, but I’m not seeing any signs of broken skin-“

Bernard’s hand grabbed his bicep, “You’re alive?” He meant to say that a little firmer, but it came out of his mouth more airily. “Where were you?”

Tim maneuvered himself so he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Bernard and held the hand that was previously on his arm. “Yes, surprisingly I’m alive. I’m not sure what happened up there that caused you to think that-“

“Your shirt was on the floor with a big splotch of blood on it and there was an assassin trying to kill me, what else was I supposed to think?!” Bernard deadpanned at him.

With a laugh, Tim brought Bernard’s own hand to his face, “you touched the shirt, yeah? Maybe you should see what it smells like.” Bernard was suddenly assaulted in the nasal cavity by artificial fruit and salt. Tim grinned feral-like as Bernard tried to move it away from his smeller. “I was just drinking some fruit punch Gatorade when someone,” he nodded toward Damian, who was leaning against the doorframe, “burst into my room saying the Bat-computer got hacked.”

“I never understood why characters in animation would spit out drinks so violently when startled,” Damian tutted from the wall, “Now I do, because it is quite humorous to witness.”

“Ah-hem, so while Barbra and Alfred were having some tea time in the backyard, Babs decided to snoop around some files that hadn’t been touched on the computer and activated one of them. Turns out it was something I made back in March while low on sleep in preparation for April Fools but completely forgot about. I don’t even remember why or how I did it, but it basically tricked the system into thinking it was being hacked or raided by an outsider and forced it into “Oh shit, get the shotgun” mode,” Tim explained as Alfred examined Bernard’s head.

“So that’s why you weren’t in any of the places you could be and I didn’t hear you go to Bruce’s office,” Bernard voiced, causing Tim to snort.

“You have a slight cut on your neck, Mister Dowd, but it should be fine as long as you don’t try to open it more,” Alfred explained to him, making him look away from Tim. “I would prefer you go to Dr. Tompkins’ to have your head checked, but I suppose it can wait until after the movie if you’re so desperate for it. Tell the driver on the way back to drop you both off at Leslie Tompkins’ clinic and I’ll come pick you both up after she’s seen you.”

“Cool, I finally get to meet Batman’s doctor,” Bernard murmured, trying to sound as excited as he felt at the idea, but the headache and presence just outside the door was making him uncomfortable. “On a side note, can I get a rundown on why a Talon-“ he gestured at the doorway where said Talon was hiding behind, “-is in Wayne Manor?”

“Ah, him,” Tim sighed, “I really wanted to wait a while before you two met each other but-“ he made a come here motion at the door, making the Talon step in and Bernard repress a shudder, “-Bernard, meet Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson”. Dick, meet Bernard Dowd. Please get along with each other.”

“Wait,” Bernard looked directly into Tim’s eyes for this, “his name is ACTUALLY Dick? You weren’t just calling him a dick when you walked in on him attempting to remove my head from my body?”

“He insisted upon it himself, I’ll have you know,” Damian scrawled from the doorframe. “Drake attempted to call him Richard and he corrected him.”

“Jason had a field day with it. I had to do a bunch of research and contacting his old family to ensure it used to be his actual nickname and wasn’t some self deprecating thing,” Tim sighed.

“Now that every crazy event is over, Grayson, time to go back to my studio. My paints are drying,” Damian huffed and exited the room as Dick turned on his heel and followed.

Alfred gave his (begrudging) blessing to let Bernard and Tim wait on the front steps for the driver who would take them to their double date. One of Tim’s arms wrapped around his torso, making his head rest on his shoulder. Now that they were alone, Bernard looked at him, “so, are you gonna tell me how Bruce adopted that one?”

Tim sighed, shaking his head. “So technically speaking, Duke and I were the ones to get him to do it, but it wasn’t for adoption purposes or anything like that. He was just a Talon we found unconscious during our raid and we had the fun idea of seeing if we could break the conditioning and mind-fuckery from the Court. We weren’t even really interested in taking him in, just kinda using him as an experiment that we would dispose of if it went wrong. It wasn’t until he woke up in the cave and…did something he’d been taught to do to himself which caused Bruce to lose his cool that we realized he could become a person. We didn’t see he had everything he needed to regain his personhood until his head was in Bruce’s palm with tears running down his trembling body, Ber. He’s…still struggling with the idea he’s not in the Court anymore, it’s only been about a week after all, but I think he’s doing a bit better.”

Bernard snorted, “I’ll have to take your word on that. He told me that the Owls’ had sentenced me to die-“

“He did what-“ Tim blurted. “Why would he?-“

At that moment, the Trusted Driver’s car could be seen making its way to the Manor, rumbling along the smooth pavement. Someone not involved with the Downstairs was approaching, so all Batcave talk had to stop.

Tim gave him a quick kiss in his hair. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting you stay alone in the Manor for a while. Especially until we know he won’t do things like that to visitors.”

Bernard happily sighed as he received the affection, “I’ll hold you to it.”

There was a pause for a moment, a comfortable silence between the two. Until Bernard broke it with “You know I expect you to take me to the McDonald’s in the Pentagon for our anniversary now, right?”

Tim leaned back, an exasperated groan flying out of his throat. “I thought you finally forgot about that-“

“Between your money and your nighttime activities, I’m sure you can manage it!”

—v—

Talon watched from one of the upstairs windows as the Fledgling pressed the Bernard against a car. They had just arrived back at the premises about ten minutes ago after leaving three hours earlier. It didn’t understand what on earth the Red Fledgling was doing with the Bernard, faces pressed close and slightly moving against each other. Definitely looked intimidating.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t seem happy at the attempted silencing? He wanted to do it himself? If that was the case, he was taking his good sweet time with it. Talon had never taken someone out with its mouth on their mouth or a thigh pressed between someone else’s legs, but it could perhaps be done with a mix of keeping them from breathing and breaking the sensitive parts there.

Its claw-like nails tangled absentmindedly into the yellow and black curls of the doll it held. Her skin was green with stitches printed onto her body and bolts on either side of her neck. She was missing her hat, both boots, and left arm, but still had her dress which was black and blue with swirls on the top and bottom. According to Black Fletching, her hair was supposed to be white, not yellow, but she would help it turn back to white later.

Talon (it wasn’t Dick, it didn’t know why it kept correcting its masters when they called it otherwise. It didn’t deserve to be Dick again-) tried to figure out what could’ve gone wrong earlier in the day to cause Red Fledg- Tim. He preferred to be called Tim- Tim to be mad with it. It had followed the Labyrinth Protocol as best as it could! Its past masters would lead unsuspecting victims into the Labyrinth and lock them in, having the Talons observe the target walking in circles aimlessly until they finally struck them down. The upstairs of the manor might as well have been a comfier labyrinth and its current masters-who-didn’t-like-to-be-called-“masters” had left the Bernard Dowd alone, therefore they must have wanted it to go into Labyrinth Protocol. So why was Tim so angry with it?

Talon blinked, realizing it had zoned out (one week with new management, and it was already getting rusty. If it kept doing this it would have to go back to reprogramming. It didn’t like reprogramming, it hurt-) as Tim was off of the Bernard and instead now waving as the car drove down the path, the Bernard’s blonde hair barely visible from the driver’s seat. It immediately darted away from the window, gently stuffing the doll into on of the pockets on the back of its pants, and quickly made its way down the stairs. It would be better to get the report out of the way so the responding punishment would be done sooner. Perhaps Tim would tell Talon what it had done wrong this time. Old Owls expected The Gray Son to be smart enough to know why, but it was infuriating not always convenient since it couldn’t always figure it out. But its New Owls, in the week it’d been with them, were suspiciously kind to it, even for the slightest transgressions.

It met Tim right in the entryway just as he was closing the door. There was a faint flush to his face and a breathlessness to him until he saw Talon and immediately straightened up. It stood properly in front of him, legs shoulder-with apart, back straight, hands resting just behind its thighs, and eyes staring directly at Tim’s face as it awaited for him to engage the report.

“Dick,” Tim said, voice becoming firm (why was he calling it Dick even after it messed up?), “I found you pinning Bernard to a wall with one of the wood-carving tools Damian uses to sharpen his pencils. According to him, you told him that ‘The Court of Owls’ had sentenced him to die. Why?”

Talon kept its expression neutral, the expression a good Talon was expected to maintain as its report was filled out and punishments decided. “There was an unknown figure brought into the house and left by themselves, so I engaged with The Bernard in typical Labyrinth Protocol.”

Tim’s stern expression fell into confusion once Talon had finished speaking, so confused that his head tilted to one side like a bird. “A labyrinth what-o-call?”

Talon then had to spend the next five minutes (almost six) to explain in great detail how Labyrinth Protocol worked and its various variants based on how the target reacted. Labyrinth Protocol is triggered when a high ranking Owl led an unfamiliar human, typically one that the Owl had been interested in recruiting for one reason or another and when south, into the labyrinth and locked them in. Once a target was in the maze, the Talons stationed there would lock onto them and give them at minimum five minutes to try and escape, giving the target a false sense of security. Then the Talons would descend upon them, but would normally let them escape for a sense of triumph before catching up and finishing the job. There was some wiggle room with the time frame and when they were finally disposed of, but the Talons would be notified of any changes via their hearing.

As Talon continued to inform Tim, the leftover flush on his face turned to pale terror, skin on his cheeks looking almost like a Talon’s. “But, you just said-“ Tim stuttered, hands fidgeting in the air as he lost more of his composure, “-that those protocols only trigger when someone unknown goes into the labyrinth. Wayne Manor doesn’t have a labyrinth-“

“Upstairs is like labyrinth,” Talon replied, trying to speak in a full sentence but still sounding choppy. Talon’s were only allowed to speak when reporting, otherwise there wasn’t much they needed to say. (Talon sometimes wondered if it used to be more talkative. It sometimes remembered being fondly called a “Chattery Little Robin” by someone.)

“Talon…do-do you understand what you almost did?” Tim said, his heart rate rising and a panic tone creeped into his voice despite trying to remain calm. “You almost killed my boyfriend!”

Talon felt a sense of confusion at the title, enough that its carefully neutral expression slipped enough for an eyebrow to raise slightly. It recognized the word, it had heard Old Owls gossip while throwing the word around with a disdainful tone that showed they didn’t approve. Owlets would play and claim one of the others as one, sometimes causing the one proclaimed as ‘boyfriend’ to stick their tongue out and run away while making gagging noises. It was what an Owl called it when they had it lay on a bed without armor on that one time. But it didn’t know the significance behind the word. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes, my boyfriend! You…know what that is, right?” Tim asked, a hint of hesitance like as though Talon would judge him slipping in. Talons don’t judge their masters, so there was no reason for Tim to be looking like that.

Talon shook its head in a way that signified that ‘no, it didn’t know’ as it didn’t trust its voice at the moment. “Okay, so uhhhh boyfriend is a term used to describe what kind of relationship they have to you. Boyfriend or girlfriend refers to at least two people who are interested in each other romantically or physically-“ Tim explained quickly, trying to get the explanation over with, “like a partner or date… hang on-“ he grabbed his phone out of a pocket and typed something onto it, “Merriam is saying some synonyms for it are lover, suitor, flame, significant other, and… fancy man? The heck’s a ‘fancy man’? …oh, I did not need to see the definition for that one-“

“Like a mate?” Talon said, a bad feeling starting to creep into its stomach. This was starting to sound familiar…

“Uh, yeah I guess? It’s uhhh…more informal than what Bernard and I are, since ‘mates’ typically refer to either married couples or a breeding pair of animals-“ Tim started rambling while sputtering about how he and the Bernard weren’t that far along in the relationship or something about how they hadn’t quite gotten to that base yet.

Talon’s ears started to ring as the realization of what it almost did set in and its insides started to shrink: It had attempted to kill one of Grandmaster’s Children’s Mate. Owls might not have always been attentive to their Owlets, but they were very serious about their mates. Owlets would have a mate matched for them when they were young, then, once a full Owl, they would officially consummate the relationship with matching rings on their fingers and create more Owlets for The Court, starting the cycle over. It was a great honor and always a beautiful celebration, and Talon had seen many due to its high status as The Gray Son.

However, there had been one situation where it nearly had its status revoked and decommissioned. A female Owl desired to be the mate of The Grandmaster of The Court, but there was already a Grandmistress with him, so she came to Talon and ordered it to slay Grandmistress. It had been given the Grandmates’ private address where it was unable to recognize both due to the missing Owl masks and was only able to be stopped once it recognized Grandmaster’s voice. After public humiliation in front of the whole Court, the damned Owl was slowly executed by Talon itself, and then Talon was locked in the freezer for the longest it had ever been at once. The whole five months of cold, frozen electrum standing still in its veins was misery, and it swore as Tim’s words carved its place in its mind that felt like its body was already back in that freezer.

It had to make it right. It had tried its best to be good for its new masters, really it had, to do whatever it took to stave off a punishment, but it had just committed one of the worst crimes against The Court that could possibly be imagined. They had been so stupidly kind to it (kindness it hadn’t deserved) and now look what it had done.

It sank to the floor, knees hitting the wooden ground and head bowed. Its forearms laid beside its bent head and hands grasped together, a position a Talon only took when begging for mercy from the highest Owl. Tim took a step back in shock, snapping out of whatever awkward spiral he’d gone down. Perhaps he would show a little bit of sympathy for Talon by dishing out the punishment himself instead of bringing it to Grandmaster. It really wouldn’t deserve it, but it couldn’t go through five months of ice crystals in its vitreous bodies while unable to heal the cuts from its torso again.

“Talon is immensely sorry,” it said, trying to keep the shakiness out of its voice and failing. Talon’s were supposed to submit, they are not supposed to fear the repercussions of their wrongdoings, they must look with no emotion as their fate is sealed. Talon is really close to losing its title at this rate. “You have the right to punish Talon as you see fit for the high crime of Attempted Murder of Your Mate. Tal…Talon will accept any punishment.” Its eyes squeezed shut as they begin to water.

Many seconds passed before Talon startled, the sudden sensation of a hand petting its head. It snapped up, seeing Tim crouched down with a look of worry. Talon realized its ears were still ringing once it noticed Tim’s mouth was moving without making a sound. It actively tried to focus and hear what he was saying and after a few moments it cleared up.

“-ick? Dick? Are you with me again?” Tim said frantically, like as though he had a reason to panic. “Can you hear me? Tap my hand three times if you can-“ the hand that wasn’t in Talon’s hair was set in front of where its hands were grasped together. It promptly untangled them to tap (gently) on the back of his hand thrice. “Okay, good. You’re not doing well right now, so I’m going to ask you a few things. What are five things you can see right now?”

“R-Red Fledgling…” it stuttered, trying to make its voice work, “Doorway, Painting, Table, Rug-“

“Good, now what are four things you can touch?”

“Red Fledgling, Floor, Red Fledgling’s sweater sleeve, Dollie’s hair-“ its hand that wasn’t in Red Fledgling’s pushed itself off the ground a little bit and reached behind to grab the doll that was now sticking out of its back pocket.

“Great, about halfway done. How about three things you can hear?” Red Fledgling took his hand out of Talon’s hand and placed it over Talon’s.

“Red Fledgling, Talon, and the Air Conditioner.”

“Now two things you can smell.”

“Red Fledgling’s cologne, and Owlet’s paints.” There had been a little bit of its Owlet’s paints left on the palette knife it had grabbed earlier, and it left a chemically smell to its hand.

“Okay, amazing job, last one. One thing you can taste.” The hand atop its own quickly retreated to his pocket and grabbed something out of it and placed it on Talon’s tongue. Artificial fruit burst onto its unused tastebuds as its mouth closed around the small round candy. It could feel a thin stick between its lips.

“Sherry?” It slurred, not used to speaking with something in its mouth.

Red Fledgling smiled gently at it, a cruel expression to wear before assigning a Talon a punishment. “There we go, are you with me now?” Talon nodded slowly in response, so Red Fledgling continued. “Good. So, you said that you ‘will accept any punishment’, right?” The muscles in Talon’s body stiffened immediately in protest, despite trying otherwise. “Dick? Can you confirm what I just said?”

“Yesh…” Talon mumbled around the lollipop.

“Thank you for answering, but you don’t have to worry about your answer; you are notgoing to be punished,” Red- Tim said firmly, like he was stating a well known truth. Talon was going to say something, but Tim put a hand up to stop it. “Hang on, let me explain. You are not going to be punished for this because you are already hurting yourself. You are going to be mentally beating yourself up about this for days, when in the end Bernard is okay. Yeah, you caused him to hit his head against the wall, got a paper cut on his throat, and handed him more trauma to work out with his therapist, but after all that was over he is still alive and breathing. Leslie checked him over and it’s nothing too serious, he’ll just be taking it easy the next few days to keep it that way. You are not going to be hurt for that, Talon.”

“Still attempted murder,” it hummed, not realizing it was voicing its thoughts as it sucked on the slowly dissolving candy. It startled when Tim snorted. “If you were tried for it, the judge would probably rule that you weren’t in your right mind.”

Talon stared at Tim. Talons were always supposed to be in their right minds; if they weren’t, they were defective and to be sent in for reprogramming or, if they’d been reprogrammed and saw no improvements, demolition. If Tim thought it wasn’t in its right mind, then why hadn’t he or Grandm- Bruce sent it back to reprogramming?

“Talon is always in its right mind,” Talon stated, removing the lollipop from its mouth to speak clearly. “If you think Talon is not, then you need to send it back for reprogramming.”

“Dick, listen. I know that we’ve been taking our time with trying to explain your situation to you, and that Bruce really needs to be the one to say this, but you’ve been through a massive traumatic event,” Tim said, his tone sounding as if talking to a child (which Talon didn’t know how to feel about), “-and you are still recovering from said event. You are still acting as though you are in The Court’s clutches even though you are far from them. You’re safe to be a person here, you understand that, Dick?”

“Talons are not people. Talons do not think. Talons do not feel,” Talon frantically repeated from memory, because Tim’s words sounded so weird to it. Despite being its master, and everything a master said was law, Tim was absolutely wrong. Talons could never be people, they don’t go through traumatic events because they can’t be hurt, and Talons would always be in the clutches of The Court of Owls.

“Okay, I need to remind B to hurry up and find a therapist,” Tim shook his head, “I am not going to be able to fix that. Say, do you know if Babs is still in the manor? I wanted to talk to her about something-“

“Barbra Gordon is talking with Owle- Damian in the dining room, eating leftovers from the interrupted tea time,” Talon responded, taking a moment to focus on where their conversation was coming from to double check.

Tim nodded “Good, you wanna come? I’m sure Damian wouldn’t mind splitting a scone or something else with his big brother, Richard-“

“Dick,” Talon found itself correcting without thinking, “not ‘Richard’.”

Immediately, Tim started grinning mischievously, like he’d expected Talon to do that. “and The Court says Talons can’t think for themselves.”

Talon didn’t understand what Tim meant, but it felt its face warm in humiliation. In retaliation, Talon grabbed Tim and threw him over its shoulder before making its way through the manor to the dining room. Tim somehow maintained the smuggest expression even as Talon chucked him into one of the dining room chairs.

If, when The Bernard stopped by the manor two days later, Talon scooped both him and Tim- Red Fledgling up, along with the laptop Red Fledgling had grabbed, and brought them to its Nest for some cozy quiet time, that was between it, Red Fledgling, Red Fledgling’s Partner, and any high power that watched.

—V—