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crowned-aeris · 2 months

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A Reverse-Robin Wingfic / To Brace Upon Benign Feathers

It starts kinda crack-ish, but then gets kinda emotional-y towards the end ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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"TIM!"

He jerked awake, blinking at the ceiling in confusion as his brain slowly registered where he was.

"Tim!" the voice came again, followed by a body slamming into his chest.

"Oomf!" Tim grunted as the air was violently knocked out of his chest. With a tight expression, he reached up and carded a hand through his brother's hair, "Morning, Dick."

"Hi!" the newest addition to the family chirped brightly, his sapphire eyes glowing as bright as a 200,000 lumens flashlight. Brighter than the sun, even. The blue reminds him of Kon and the alien's blue eyes that looked like a wolf-rayet star.

"What time is it?" Tim mumbled, wincing as the five-year-old crawled over him, digging his knee into Tim's kidney and accidentally stepping on his wing.

"It's time for you to get your a- butt in gear and move," Jason called from the door. “Damian’s making breakfast, so Duke asked us to come and wake you.”

Tim groaned, dropping his head back until it banged loudly against the headboard. Maybe if he hit his head hard enough, he could go back to sleep.

Dick cheered when he spotted Jason, the Ficher's Lovebird's bright red-yellow-green wings flaring out as he launched himself at the teen.

Jason grunted as Dick slammed into him but managed to keep his grip steady.

"Hurry up and get ready," Jason said. The cardinal shifted, folding his bright crimson wings against his back as Dick tucked his face into Jason's neck, "B said he's gonna take up to the zoo."

"Zoo! I wanna go to the zoo!" Dick's head shot up as he clutched Jason's shirt.

"I know, Dickie," Jason rolled his eyes fondly, "that's why we're going."

"Okay!" the fledgling chirped, "Tim!"

"Yes?" He lifted his head from the pillow with a slow and tired blink. What he'd give to have Kon here right now.

"Get! Up!" Dick demanded. Jason, the traitor, just laughed. "Or else I'll tell Dami to come get you!"

The falcon hummed, waiting until his brothers disappeared from the doorframe before flipping over and shoving his face back into the pillow.

Everything ached, his back especially, and it wasn't because of Kon, okay, Jason? Tim had been fighting Killer Croc last night, and that bastard got lucky and slammed Tim against a brick wall. His right arm was a huge-ass bruise, and he was not excited to get up.

Maybe if he pretended to be dead, Damian would leave him be...

Who is he kidding? If the harpy eagle was willing to drag a pit-crazed Tim from the brink of suicide, then he was more than willing to dunk Tim in the pits.

Just as he was about to doze off, there was a knock on the doorframe.

"What?" Tim -whined- groaned, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow.

"Hey, Ducky," an amused voice called.

He pouted, turning his head to glare balefully at Duke. The mourning dove smiles, lifting a brow in amusement. Traitor.

"Leave me alone, Duke," Tim grumbled, thankful that Alfred had all the pillows and sheets in Tim's room reinforced since the last time he had a Pit-episode... It had been a whole thing...

Duke raised another eyebrow, mimicking Alfred's patented Disappointed Stare™ quite successfully. Tim doesn't doubt that, at this point, Duke could get even Damian to bend to his will.

And just like Alfred's own stares, Tim, frustratingly, folded under pressure.

For fuck's sake- he was supposed to Wraith, the dead spirit of the Bat's second Shadow revived and out to hunt ne'er do wells as well as the Bats themselves- his goddamn reputation!

"What reputation, Tim?" Duke laughed before strolling over and yanking the covers off of him.

God, Tim hates it when he says things out loud. A side effect of being locked away by Ra's in an attempt to break his spirit or whatever.

He grumbled as Duke hauled him up and out of bed. Annoyingly, the Lazarus pits healed his shitty eyes, that one scar he got from following Shadow around, and the gash in his throat, but not his fucking height. Instead, Tim has to be stuck in this measly five-foot-seven-inch body, while Duke, Bruce, and Damian all got to be fucking six-foot-plus behemoths.

A shake snapped Tim out of his misery.

"Did you even hear what I said?" Duke asked incredulously.

"No," Tim huffed, "I was distracted and decided not to listen to your stupid voice saying stupid stuff."

"Says that one in air jail," Duke replied smugly. Shit, he's right. That fucker. "Tim, I can practically hear you cussing me out. Keep doing this, and I'll have Bruce and Damian hide your coffees and Red Bulls."

"W-"

"And your monsters."

Tim gasped, "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me. Now go get ready. We leave in an hour, and you don't even have a shirt on, Tim."

"It's a fashion choice," he hissed, "you wouldn't understand because you're stupid!"

Duke sighed, plopping Tim onto the floor. He wasn't even surprised when the falcon went boneless, turning into a limp pile of loose limbs and angry hissing, "You're such a child, Ducky."

"This is because I'm gay, isn't it!" Tim demanded, snapping to his feet and flaring out his wings, "This is homophobia!"

"Of course, it is," Duke drily responded before he turned and made for the door, "I'll send Damian up in ten minutes. If you haven't gotten ready by then, I'm allowing him to dress you however he likes."

Duke closed the door gently, but he might as well have slammed it from how ruffled it left him.

Honestly, the gall! How has he, Wraith, Ra's desired heir to the fucking Damon's Fang, fallen so far from his formidable glory?

Nevertheless, Tim forced himself to get ready. He brushed his teeth and washed his face- even "Serial Killers" need clear skin, but was killing fifteen of Black Mask's and the Joker's most trusted really considered killing? Bruce was just overreacting!- and then threw on a short-sleeved shirt, hoodie over that, washed-out ripped jeans, and called it a day.

Tim groaned, desperately craving coffee, caffeine, or something to stave off the complete and utter exhaustion pooling in his head. This was terrible, horrible, and a vile thing to do.

"Timothy," Damian said from where he stood at the table, a plate held in the eagle's hands. He was wearing a bright pink apron covered with flour, and Jason was behind him, wearing a matching pink apron and holding a plate, too. "You finally decided to show your face and detach yourself from that hovel."

"If you want, I could always go back to my so-called Hovel," Tim tilted his head in a challenge.

"Tt," Damian scoffed before sliding a plate to Tim's spot, "Seeing as you have already decided to show your face, and Richard somehow tolerates you, it would be more efficient if you remain here."

Dick was already seated with a glass of strawberry milk, and his pancakes were half-finished and absolutely drowning in maple syrup. Bruce was directly across from Dick, and his pancakes were far more respectable with butter, syrup, bacon, and a cup of coffee. Duke was beside Dick, and he had a plate with fresh fruit, powdered sugar, and a glass of orange juice. Alfred sat at the head of the table with his English breakfast, tea, and a proud smile. Cass was next to Bruce with a bowl of fruit, orange juice, toast, and multiple slices of stolen bacon.

Hesitantly, Tim sat down at the end of the table as Jason rushed over to fill the empty chair between Tim and Duke. Damian, the bull-headed son of a bitch -that bitch being Bruce, because Tim would never call Talia a bitch- decided the best seat wasn't going to be next to Cass, but instead the seat directly in front of Tim. Not in front of Jason, but in front of Tim.

Instead of confronting his feelings like a well-adjusted member of society should, Tim decided the best course of action was to examine his plate of pancakes.

It had fudge drizzled over the top, dusted lightly with powdered sugar, and freshly diced strawberries were placed like a crown with their leaves carefully removed and tossed in a barely noticeable syrup. There was a small bowl of strawberry-lemon zest jam on the edge of Tim's plate, and he could tell that whoever positioned it was diligent. Not a single speck of powdered sugar got onto the outside of the tiny bowl...

Every part of this plate looked like it had been prepared in a five-star restaurant. What more was that this was exactly the same kind of pancakes Damian would make for him as an apology back when Tim was Shadow...

Suddenly, his eyes were beginning to sting, and Tim could feel Damian's stare carve holes into the top of his head. And then, Damian slid over a cup of steaming coffee, and just by looking at it, he knew Damian had made it the way Tim loved.

It was a declaration, an apology, and a promise all wrapped in a simple breakfast…

He took a deep breath and cut into his pancakes, forcing himself to hold back tears as his family chattered around him.

Even after everything that has happened, his flock still accepted him.

Even after everything, Tim was still loved.

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