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Tim’s breath appears before his eyes as he slowly exhales, rubbing his hands together.
“It’s freezing out here, O,” He says, voice shaky as his teeth actually chatter. Jesus.
“Maybe Victor will be out tonight,” Babs responds, annoyingly cheerily.
Tim scowls at the thought of her, cozy and warm in the watchtower. Guilt then takes over, because she didn’t ask to be the one to stay inside.
Oracle seems to hear his thoughts, and pulls him out by joking, “I think he would warm it up, though.”
Tim snorts halfheartedly, and counts his blessings. The soft plumage of his wings at least insulates him from the worst of the wind chill.
It would be nice if they were bigger, though.
A familiar chasm yawns open in his gut as he imagines the sensation of his father, or maybe even his mother bundling him up in their wings.
They had seemed so big when Tim was younger. On patrols like these, with not enough to occupy his mind, Tim finds himself yearning for the comfort of another avian.
Of course, the only other one he knows is Red Hood, so that’s not happening anytime soon.
“Robin?”
Tim squeaks in surprise. Speak of the devil.
“Um. Hi?” It comes out like a question. In a way, it is. Jason never talks to them on patrol. He barely talks to them at all.
For all that Red Hood’s mask is featureless, it does a damn good job getting the point across when the man is judging him. Jason’s (absolutely massive, by the way) wings flick, annoyance, maybe, or perhaps nervousness. It confuses Tim. What does Hood have to be nervous about?
“What do you want?” Tim asks, voice a bit steadier as he moves to get up from the ledge. Too exposed, his hindbrain hisses, idiot.
Jason makes an aborted movement and Tim freezes. His instincts scream PREDATOR PREDATOR PREDATOR RUNRUNRUN. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to go.
Another hesitant motion from the man has Tim flinching backwards, and now it’s Jason’s turn to freeze.
“Sorry! Sorry,” Jason’s voice pitches oddly, even with the modulator, and he raises his gloved hands in a failed attempt to seem nonthreatening.
“Uh,” The avian clears his throat, “...’re ya cold?”
Huh?
Tim bluescreens.
What does that mean? Is he trying to find a weakness? No, that’s a stupid one to go for, and Red Hood is a violent killer but he is not stupid.
There’s nothing for him to gain here. What’s his play? What does he want?
…why does he care?
“Uh. Yeah dude, I’m cold. Look around.” It comes out snappier than he thought, and Tim quickly winces back. Oops.
Jason nods like that’s the answer he expected. Obviously. It’s freaking freezing.
It takes everything in him not to jerk back when Hood takes the first tentative step forward. Then another, then the man is sitting— perching next to him on the crumbling stone outcrop.
Tim gapes.
“Close yer mouth, ya gonna catch a fly,” Jason grumbles.
Tim's jaw shuts with an audible click, and the older man sighs.
“I ain’t here to hurt ya or yell a’ ya or anythin’,” He says, and it sounds like he means it.
Petty rage flares in Tim’s gut. “Sure. Like you haven’t before.”
He closes his eyes and braces for the hit, for the yelling or the shove off the building or maybe the clack of a gun with the safety off.
Tim gets a breathy snort and the rustling of feathers. Cracking his eyelid, Jason, actually Jason, the hood set to the side and his bare face in full view, leans back onto an arm and gazes out over the city at night. Neon technicolor from the city lights reflects oddly over his scars.
“Fair enough,” he responds gruffly.
Impossibly, Tim can see regret in Jason’s face. His adams apple bobs. His wings twitch.
It’s unnatural. It’s wrong. Somehow Jason wears it like a second skin.
Tim finally voices the question that’s been eating him alive, whispering it like it’s a secret.
“Why’d you do it?”
A car honks below them, and someone yells angrily in response. The wind picks up, ruffling through the two sets of wings and Tim knows he and Jason share the urge to fly.
Eventually, the man chuckles, low and humorless.
“I ain’t right in the head, baby bird.”
Tim searches his face for more. “Is that all?”
Is that all that drove a knife into my throat?
Something in Jason’s face cracks, and for the second time that night Tim wonders if his older siblings can read his mind.
Hood shakes his head. “Nah, kid. There’s more ‘n that. I got— get… angry. Jesus, I’m angry right now. ‘M mad as hell, just,” he blows out a sigh, “all the fucking time.”
He pauses, reflex, maybe. Taking a drag of an invisible cigarette. “I don’t know if it’s from the… the Pit or from Him,” The Joker, Tim’s mind supplies, “But It’s constant. You hit a point an’ there is no ‘calming down’”
Another breath, another bracing himself. Tim wonders if Jason’s ever told anyone this before. On that note, Tim reaches up and disables his comm.
“I was mad at Bruce. Well, mad at the world, but I said I was mad at Bruce. Convinced myself I was. Convinced myself… It was your fault.”
The frigid air stings Tim’s nose as he sharply inhales. Jason plows ahead. Maybe he can’t stop.
“Guess I though’ the big man would get it if he saw it happen to you.” Jason absently rubs a jagged scar on the side of his neck, nestled among a smattering of feathers. Some were obviously hit, because there’s a gap in the consistent trail down into Jason’s spine.
“It?” Tim breathes.
Jason’s face twists. “I don’ wanna talk about it. Ask B.”
Okay. His curiosity can work with that. Tim nods. Jason looks a little surprised, green eyes widening like he expected Tim to press.
Tim doesn’t, and they both turn back to look at the city. Tim wonders what Jason sees.
It’s profound until he actually does start wondering. Hood’s an Eagle, right? So he probably has telescopic vision. Probably. Avians aren't exactly common, and Eagles are solitary creatures, so the accounts on them are few and far between. He eyes Jason's humongous wings and begins trying to estimate the span.
In the almost companionable almost-silence, the cold creeps back in. He’s shivering before he even knows it.
Suddenly, Gotham is tilting sideways. Wait, no. Tim is falling, or rather being pulled over by a giant… wing. Huh.
Jason gently manhandles Tim into the place where the wing joins with his back, pressed up against Jason’s torso and completely cocconed by fluffed-up feathers. Kevlar and body armor are cold against his cheek but everything else is so warm and soft.
Jason runs an absentminded hand through Tim’s wings, preening. Something rips free from the underside of his sternum and a strangled gasp gets stuck in his throat.
“Shit, kid, ’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I’ve got these stupid instincts-”
Jason’s voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away, but he’s pushing away pushing Tim back into the cold and no no no.
Tim lets out a low keen. It’s animal and desperate and plays on every instinct he knows they share but he- can’t lose this. Jason stills, very aware of what Tim did— is trying to do. For a single, awful moment, he thinks Jason is going to shove him off in annoyed disgust and fly away, faster than Tim could ever hope to move. The moment passes, though, and very, very carefully Jason pulls the boy back to his side.
The downy feathers that pad the wing-joint caress Tim’s face as he turns and buries into them. A soft, content, distinctly parentsafewarm warble escapes before he can think to suppress it. They both stop dead. Jason’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest that Tim had been able to feel- halts.
Embarrassment heats up his entire face. Oh my god what the fuck. He’s talked to Jason maybe twice, not counting the obvious. Oh my god, that was embarrassing. Oh my god. The only other avian in this entire freaking city and he just went and did that.
Tim moves to leave —escape, really, but that’s nobody's business but his— but a plush wall blocks his back from moving another inch. Goddamn overgrown bastard and his stupidly big wings that he uses for stupid things like making Tim face his stupid birdbrained instincts. (Ha. Birdbrained. Not the time.)
“Tim,” Jason’s voice is impossibly soft. It does something funny to Tim’s throat. Choking up, maybe. Oh god he can’t start crying please no.
“Timmers,” Jason tries again, after a moment of silence. He, miraculously, doesn’t sound like he thinks Tim is a pathetic loser.
Hesitantly, Tim meets Jason’s luminescent green eyes. There’s something sad about them. Something yearning, too.
The man steels himself. Tim sees it, and braces for impact. “Kid… did your parents never…”
It’s not what he was expecting, but it cuts deeper than Tim had expected. Jason did his homework, apparently.
“Fuck you,” Tim snarls. What is he doing? What is he doing?
Something hardens in Jason’s frame, but loosens a second later. The man lets out a sigh, “I wasn’ tryin’ to be an asshole, Tim. It's important.”
The way he says it makes the gaping canyon in Tim’s chest real. It makes it okay. A heaving sob wracks his body, and Tim pitches forward into Jason’s chest.
Rough, scarred hands hover over his back, unsure for a second before slowly closing him into a hug. Jason’s wings follow a second later, enveloping Tim’s entire body in pillowy comfort.
“...They’re never ‘round,” Tim mumbles into the red bat.
“‘M sorry,” Jason says immediately, but it sounds genuine instead of automatic.
“It sucks,” Tim admits, “It makes it easy to be Robin, though.”
Hood chuckles, and it reverberates through Tim’s whole body. It’s amazing being so close to someone like him. Tim can hear the soft clicks and chirps that lie under an avian’s everyday speech. It’s a level of understanding Tim’s never been privy to before.
“I bet,” Jason agrees wholeheartedly.
“...Thanks for being nice about this,” Tim says softly.
The older man slows for a second, “Baby Bird, I’m not bein’ nice ‘bout anythin’. Yer a goddamn kid who's goin’ through some shit. Ya shouldn’t have to jump through hoops ta be worth payin’ attention to. I’ll give ya my number, ya ever need me, jus’ call. And you’re not my fuckin’ replacement. Jesus, I’m an asshole.”
Tears are well and truly streaming down Tim’s face now, accompanied by uninhibited sobs that wrack his whole body.
Jason stays steady, thumbing through the boy’s wings and slowly freeing the pin feathers Tim hadn’t been able to reach.
He doesn’t know how long he cries, but he does know that Jason has moved on to realigning his flight feathers by the time he stops.
“Feelin’ better?”
“Mhm.” Tim nods against the hard breastplate.
“Robin!” Nightwing’s voice calls, rapidly approaching.
His first thought is; Fuck. His second thought is that he really doesn’t want to let go of Jason.
“Robin!” The voice calls again, significantly closer.
Jason’s wings begin to retract. Tim mourns the loss when the wind chill hits him.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Jason groans, standing and stretching.
His wings displace a ton of air as they extend, trembling a bit as Jason works the stiffness out. Tim suddenly feels a bit guilty.
Jason seems to notice, because he fishes out a scrap of paper —a Batburger receipt, actually— and scribbles something down. Hope flutters in Tim’s chest as Jason holds it out to him.
“Your number?”
Jason smirks, “Read it and weep.”
Tim resists the urge to throw his arms around his older brother, instead carefully tucking the scrap into his front pocket. Nightwing lands on the far end of the rooftop just as Jason is picking up his helmet.
“Hood,” Nightwing spits venomously.
Jason looks Dick up and down. “Have we met?”
The scene is cased in two seconds flat. Tim clocks how Nightwing’s expression darkens as his eyes rove over Tim's presumably bedraggled state.
“What did you do?” Nightwing advances.
Jason meets Tim’s eyes as he slides his helmet on.
“Tell nobody ‘bout this. It’ll ruin my street cred.”
Tim laughs, actually laughs, and it throws Dick just enough to give Jason enough time to send a lazy two-fingered salute at the Batboys before he turns and leaps off the building.
Nightwing skids to a stop just before the edge, frustratedly watching the man disappear into the rising sun.
“Damn it!”
Dick turns and appraises Tim. “Are you okay?”
Loaded question. “I guess,” Tim sighs, making his way towards the elevator. Sue him. The fire escape is rickety. He’s tired.
“What did he say to you?”
Tim thinks for a second. “He admitted to being an asshole."