Chapter Text
“Haven’t you heard ?
About the flightless bird?
With wings that flap, they’ve been supplied
But after that, things went awry.”
- Flightless Bird, Bubble Guppies cast
_____________
December 17th, Monday.
Sometimes, Tim thinks he is in way over his head.
The window slides open with a very low click sound. Tim made sure to slide it up slowly with gloved fingers so as to not to make fingerprints, only an ammature would go ungloved. He took in the scene of the dark apartment, only lit by the half-moon that was fully risen in the polluted sky, not a star in sight.
Why was Tim at a crime scene? Why was he even sneaking into an apartment? He asked himself those questions as he hooked his other leg over the sill, wings lowering slightly to fit through the gap.
He let go of the lift and opened the flat to his messenger bag, digging through the contents before pulling out a small black flashlight. He clicked the orange button at the bottom and watched the colors sift through green, red, then the standard white.
Tim pointed the flashlight at the apartment and watched the scene illuminate in front of him, he fully lowered his body into the room, careful of his steps. Technically, he wasn’t even supposed to be sneaking into a dead person's apartment, but the case nagged at him.
Other than the taped off bedroom where the body of Daisy Adham was found, blood pooling out of her and beautiful dove wings sheared off. At least that’s what the report had said when Tim hacked into the archives earlier, it was still an ongoing investigation, so not much had been revealed to the public.
Tim wasn’t the public. He wasn’t one of the normal citizens who heard someone was dead and got on their hands and knees to pray for the woman's soul, he wasn’t someone who shrugged it off since it was just another dead person in this godforsaken city.
He looked into details, things normal citizens missed. He was Shadow, an informant to the GCPD, a ghost who was never caught. He finished what the police and Bats couldn’t, he got proof and photos and documents.
He was Shadow, the informant who always signed their name with a camera stamp, Shadow who avoided security cameras like bullets.
Tim spent a moment longer looking at the taped-off bedroom before sighing, if he needed documents or any piece of evidence, he would need to directly enter the crime scene. His hand that wasn’t occupied with the flashlight absentmindedly went to the digital camera around his neck.
It was the camera he specifically used to get evidence and photograph proof. He had another one stashed away in his closet he used to get photos of the Bats, which he did on rare occasions when it felt needed.
The bright yellow police tape was in an ‘x’ shape, prominent against the rest of the dark apartment. Tim thinks if it wasn’t an active crime scene, it would make for a good question in his English class about symbolism.
Tim wasn’t stupid, he was actually quite the opposite. Who else was able to figure out the Bats identities at 9 years old and figure out their patrol routes, then somehow keep your identity hidden from them for years.
He made sure to shift his weight deliberately so as to not make any noise, to alert nosy neighbors or to assure himself, he didn’t know. Wings tucked tight to his back so he didn’t accidentally knock over anything or brush against stuff and leave his DNA. The tape screamed ‘illegal!’ at him, but he didn’t care.
Tim had done many more illegal things in his lifetime, so this was just another Sunday. He noiselessly crossed the living room and to the tape, crouching to duck under it and enter the bedroom.
The bedroom looked normal. Way too normal. Tim shone his flashlight down towards the floor, looking for sources of blood. Sure enough, there was a dark, coppery stain near the foot of the bed. He made note of its location and stared at the interior of the bedroom.
A small nest hung from the corners of the bedroom, fluffy white pillows and a stuffed rabbit piled in the rope. It looked comfy, and personal. Tim glanced below the nest and–bingo!
A nightstand. He knew from movies that if people didn’t have a study, they kept important paperwork in the drawers, so he needed to dig through and hopefully find something worthwhile.
He shifted the flashlight to rest in his teeth, too lazy to just find the headlight in his bag he bought specifically for this purpose. Then with gloved hands, he slid the drawer open.
Pride sifted through him at the sight of words and paper! He was right! Tim gave his thanks to pieces of detective media he had watched. Even if the nightstand was a rather…obvious place to put important pieces of information, it worked out in Tim’s favor so he was happy.
Scooping all of the documents in his hands, Tim got up and ducked under the tape again, waddling over with stacks of paper in his hands, he stopped at the kitchenette and dumped the documents down.
He would rather sift through these papers at a more private time, and when he wasn’t crossing over illegal boundaries. Even if he was a known informant for the GCPD, they didn’t know his physical form, so for now, he was genuinely just a shadow. They probably thought he was an adult or a college student with low amounts of money.
Tim dug through his bag and pulled out his gray binder that had multiple pockets and a magnet that secured things. So he pressed his hands and made the stack neater than previously before opening the binder and shoving the documents into the pocket.
He placed the binder back before turning back around the apartment. It was silent except for his muffled breaths in his black hospital mask, he had the documents, and he had overstayed his welcome. Not wanting to alert potential vigilantes or police officers, Tim made sure everything was as it was before advancing back to the slightly cracked open window.
He could hear the sounds of the outside around him, cars rushing through streets as late night workers wanted to get home to their kids or loved ones waiting for them, or they just wanted to settle down with some pasta and watch some cheesy romance movie.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and the wind wasn’t strong tonight as it had been for the past week. One of the main reasons he had gone out in the first place despite it being a school night was the weather. Tim pocketed his flashlight and placed a hand on the latch.
He was about to slide the window back open when he heard something.
He didn’t whip his head around–not wanting to risk his identity, but his feathers ruffled ever so slightly. Hand still on the window.
“Breaking and entering in a dead person's apartment, a little insensitive, eh?”
Shit.
The voice was familiar, a drawl Tim had heard probably thousands of times during his Batwatching days, someone who had been his main idol.
Cardinal, aka, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne.
He stiffened almost automatically, heart pounding in his chest and wings tucking closer. Shit.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t protest, just stayed silent, breaths quickening. Cardinal was probably the easiest Bat to be caught by, someone who knew what it was like to be poor and to fight for survival, but Tim wasn’t poor. He didn’t have to fight for his survival.
His hand tightened on the window, he could easily stall Cardinal, just until he could shove open the window, vault over the fire escape, and land on the nearby dumpster to easily sprint into the shadows. He wasn’t worth running after, not if he didn’t have anything.
Tim took a deep, leveled breath. He had to respond, his silence was probably worse than an actual response, so he kept his voice flat and didn’t show any fear.
“Hiii, Cardinal. What brings you here? Thought the police finished up here, along with your team.”
In hindsight, he had no idea that anyone was going to be here tonight. He thought—knew nobody was going to spare a moment in their patrol to check on the apartment. So Tim was just as confused as his statement.
“Bats needed to double check something, sent me. So, you haven’t answered my question yet.”
Tim groaned internally, he needed to deflect, deflect, and deflect as much as possible. The mental reminder that Cardinal does not know your identity, nor your physical appearance. Calm the fuck down, Tim!
Tim probably was a few wrong answers from getting knocked unconscious and tied up for the police, so he needed to act, and fast. This wasn’t the time to bring up his blackmail, if anything it would leave Cardinal with even more questions that Tim could not answer. Even if bringing up the smoking photo would work as a shock factor…Tim decided to just participate in a civil conversation.
“No reason. Just checking up on some things.” He responded levelly, not showing any emotion in his tone. Tim’s whole body froze even more as footsteps echoed through the silent apartment, Cardinal was walking closer. Nope, not today!
Okay, time to go!
With the precision of someone who has been doing this for years (which he has), Tim slid open the window in a jerky movement and practically threw himself out of it. He registered a shout from Cardinal, but his pulse thundered in his ears because holy shit he’s running from a vigilante!
One hand gripped the railing of the fire escape as he vaulted himself over and landed with a louder-than-it’s-supposed-to-be:
THUMP!
He didn’t let the loud sound stop him, He leapt off of the dumpster and flopped his wings around unsteadily to propel him forwards to the best of his ability, running blindly through the narrow alleyways.
His camera thumped against his chest to the point where it hurt, but Tim didn’t stop until he was 100% sure there wasn’t a distant sound of wings beating and a vigilante in pursuit of him.
Tim leaned against a brick wall, catching his breath as he heart finally evened out, still high from the adrenaline left over from his daring escape.
He had never been caught before. That was a coincidence.
With one last wheeze, Tim shoved himself upright and started the trek to the bus stop. No one followed him because a vigilante wouldn’t waste time chasing after a simple robber (even if he was only taking paperwork, it’s for a good cause!).
Tim really needed to up his game, getting caught was not something that happened normally.
— 🪽—
Tim can’t fly.
He’s got wings, hell, everybody has wings. Yet he can’t fly.
The genetic mutation that caused humans to grow wings happened a long time ago, and now everybody just…goes with it. Nests made of rope are sold for a natural price, and people fill said nests with pillows and plushies, usually it’s a place where they’ll preen or relax.
Tim doesn’t have a nest. Nor do his parents. They are never home enough to install one, and Tim just has a bed. Beds work. It’s practically the same thing, a place to relax and preen your wings or cuddle your family. It’s literally identical! Why spend extra money?
Classes to fly are not available, since you have to be taught by your flock, which is basically your family. It’s a rite of passage that is traditional in basically every single family, especially the rich socialites of Bristol.
If you don’t learn to fly, you don’t fly. It’s as simple as that.
Plenty of people couldn’t fly, and a rare 3% of the population didn’t even have wings. People paid millions to get mechanical wings to just fit in.
Tim was supposed to learn how to fly, his parents had made a big deal about the Drake heir finally using his wings and going up in the world, five-year-old Tim had been so excited. He had even made a scribbley crayon drawing of him and his parents in the sky, topped with a sun in the corner, sunglasses on and smiling.
Ever since the incident at Haly’s circus, all Tim had wanted to do was soar, he wanted to do tricks in the air, maybe learn some gymnastics moves to do, feel the wind whistling past him as he flew, and his own hair tickling his ear,
When he had woken up bright and early at 6am, his parents weren’t there. They were gone. Off on a last minute dig to London.
So while he ate ice cream for breakfast with his new nanny, Claire, tears spilling down his eyes as she tried to make excuses for them, he was silent.
That was the first of many disappointments for Timothy Drake. Soon he learned promises couldn’t be kept.
“I promise we’ll be home for Christmas, champ!”
“I promise we’ll make sure to go out for your birthday, Timothy. A nice dinner will do, how about seafood?”
Tim was allergic to shrimp.
After their trip, they had told him to learn by himself, watch a few videos, study flight patterns and learn for himself. He was never able to, only able to float and slow his falls.
The bullying had been bad when he first started boarding school. He was constantly left out while kids flapped on unsteady wings and played catch in the air. He would just sit on a tree branch and imagine what it would be like if he could fly.
He was singled out, picked last during their gym class, and never talked to anyone during yard time. He was always alone.
Then the incident happened.
Yes, that’s a cliche thing Tim has read in books, but it fits his situation and he doesn’t care whether it’s cliche or not.
After it happened, his mother and father were very disappointed. They didn’t want anyone to know the Drake heir got bullied out of boarding school, so they put him in public school against their wishes.
He liked public school. Tim never got bullied and he had Bernard (hehe!!) and Ives, two of his best friends. The damage had already been done, Tim was emotionally scarred and no amount of time without being bullied would fix that.
Timothy Drake was never able to soar.
— 🪽—
Daisy Adham.
25 years old, worked as a receptionist for Hilltop Elementary school and was probably very well liked there, since Tim saw multiple selfies of her and her coworkers making silly faces and decorating each other's desks. One photo showed Daisy’s desk decorated for her birthday, green balloons and streamers in front of the monitor, caption wishing her a happy birthday.
Tim’s room was dimly lit, only illuminated by the screen of his laptop. His messenger bag sat next to him on the bed, untouched since he had dumped it there and taken a shower and changed.
His hair was still damp in the inner layers, and he was wearing a pajama shirt and sweatpants now (that he had bought with his own money), his macbook sat in his lap as he sat in the middle of his huge king-sized bed, criss-cross.
His laptop wasn’t the best thing in the world, sure it was one of the best models since the device was a pity gift for missing his 13th birthday. Tim didn’t care, his laptop was encrypted and all of his research was done with a protected browser.
Sometimes he wished he had top tier tech like Batman, he probably had a million monitors and heavily guarded browsers. Tim had his laptop…with Bat team stickers on the top.
Tim scrolled through more of her social media page, when he got far enough down–two years ago–he stopped abruptly when someone caught his eye.
A man. Brown hair with dimples and a smile that seemed warm. The caption read:
“With the love of my life today! Love you, Alex. Hugs and kisses”
Tim’s eyes narrowed, appearances can be deceiving. Maybe this Alex guy was actually horrible despite his warm appearance.
Or maybe Tim was reading into this too much.
He scrolled through photo through photo of dinner dates, shopping sprees, vacations, and lovey dovey captions with two hopeless romantics, a girl with dove wings and a guy with hummingbird wings. Two of them against the world.
Then the posts stopped abruptly. All traces of Alex disappeared from her social media and he never reappeared on the once bright page.
Daisy stopped posting for five months, then she refocused and started posting about her job as a receptionist for elementary school.
Nothing…seemed wrong, just a couple enjoying their life together despite being in the most crime-filled city in the US. Most Gothamites did that, ignored the air pollution and rogues, and just lived their lives.
Tim knows they broke up. Yet the idea of a crazy ex-boyfriend breaking into his girlfriend’s apartment and killing her just to shear her wings seems a bit unlikely, but who knows?
Closing his laptop, Tim didn’t even bother finding Alex’s socials. It didn’t seem like the man even had any, so Tim didn’t bother. Not every person documented their lives on a platform for others to see.
Tim straightened his back and breathed out a sigh, the bones cracking as he did so.
He checked the clock. 3am. He had gotten back a little over an hour and half ago, and he still had documents to sort through.
Doing this stuff was exhausting, in TV shows there was always this massive clue the detectives got and it led them through what happened, but Tim was flying by the seat of his pants. Hopefully these documents could tell him something, anything.
Already giving respects to his fallen sleep schedule, Tim reached over to grab his ruby red binder filled to the brim with papers.