re-blog or de-blog

Hannah is sitting on his chest, as Tim gently runs his fingertip over her velvety carapace. They've never fought before. They've never been apart. The longest time they spend not touching, is when Tim is in the shower and she doesn't want to get wet as a spider, so instead she waits at the top of the shower divider, or turns into something that tolerates water.

(Bruce had only ever once decided to 'acclimate them to separation'. Before Tim had even taken a breath to protest, Hannah, a mid size black wasp at the time, had promptly stung him six times across his hands and face. It was apparently excrutiating, there'd been screaming, a lot of it, and Tim has to this day never heard Bruce suggest something similar again. Not even to others, at least not while in Tim's hearing range. Midas never looked at them quite the same, after.)

"Doesn't feel right," Hannah mutters, her pedipalps fiddling with the frayed edge of the pyjama collar, "to just let them keep going like this."

He sighs, "Jason's not going to *thank* us for interfering."

"So we don't start with Jason."

"The vulture? I guess it's out without him often enough we might actually have a chance. But what do we even do, it- he? she? doesn't even speak, I'm not sure if it can *understand* either."

Hannah is quiet, the fiddling continues, then, "Food."

Huh, that might work. Daemons don't need to eat but some enjoy it, and the vulture acts animalistic enough as that there's a half decent chance it might be one of those. Hannah is too.

"Let's try that." Tim prods at her side,"Are you going to help, or are you going to go all shy like with everyone else?"

She whips around and clamps her fangs on his finger, just pressed to it's sides, a mock bite. After a minute she lets go, and mutters, "I will help."

---

Tim pushes open the roof access door of his apartment building with one hand, takeout bag in the other. It's 5am and he can't sleep, and he's hungry, so sunrise dinner it is.

"Hurry up, I want chicken popcorn," Hannah hisses from on top of his head.

"Yes yes, give me a-" Tim freezes mid stride, and Hannah stops tugging at his hair.

There, on the collection of shitty garden furniture that one of his neighbours dragged up, is a bearded vulture. It whips it's head over to him, hunched over and mantling the chair it's been ripping apart like a carcass, shreds of plastic fabric all around it and some still in it's beak too.

There's no doubt it's Jason's daemon, the eyes are a bright flourescent green. They've been trying to catch sight of it for over a month now with no luck.

Tim slowly walks up to the gathering of furniture and drops onto a plastic bench. Hannah impatiently crawls all over his hands while he opens the big paper bag, and as soon as there's a gap, *into* it. Tim isn't fussed, she alway does this, the first time Steph had seen her do that she'd jokingly complained that Hannah has about as much manners as Tim himself. Which, fair.

He pulls her out with her chicken popcorn prize and sets her down on his knee.

Suddeny there's a rustling of feathers and a rush of wind as Jason's vulture lands on their bench too. It's claws click-scriiitch-click on the hard plastic, sidling up to Tim and clacking it's beak at the bag, feathers poofed out and looking tense. The moment he moves it flinches back, but immediately comes even closer, demanding food more steadfast than before.

Tim had never realised how damn big this bird is, it's head is at face height, the beak is huge and sharp, not to mention the claws.

He grabs a chicken wing and carefully holds it out, and the vulture immediately snaps it from his fingers, mantling wings and all, as if he'd try to take it away.

Tim starts eating a drumstick from his KFC bucket, and watches it decimate the meat. Most of it lands in shreds all around them instead of actually getting eaten, but at least it seems entertained?

They really need a name for it, but he's never heard Jason refer to it with any kind of name, not even the name he used for his daemon before he died. But calling it 'it' and 'the vulture' just seems so rude, and there's no way Tim will call it any of the insults Jason has for it. Statistically it's a 'she' but assuming almost feels ruder than staying at a neutral.

The daemon raises it's head, swallowing the bones with gusto, shakes out it's feathers, and turns to Tim expectantly, clacking the beak again to beg for more.

Considering the mess of shredded chicken, and the fact that it ate the bone alone, Tim shrugs, and holds out the bone of his drumstick, and it too is snapped from his fingers as soon as it's in reach. It is still mantling as it plucks at the cartilage, but Tim *thinks* the feathers might be a bit less poofed up.

He's pretty sure that's a good thing.

Hannah climbs into the bag again, and unearths more of her chicken popcorn.

They keep going like this. Tim eats, hands the bones over to the vulture, Hannah insists Tim cleans her tarsal claws from the oil. The vulture shreds the fries Tim can't fit, and the bucket, and the bag, and the receipt too for good measure. And, beyond the edge of the roof they are all treated to a deep pink and orange sunrise crawling across the hazy Gotham horizon, and the incessant early morning screetching of seagulls that you can't escape anywhere in the city.

Apropos seagulls, a few are already circling the roof, no doubt eyeing the scatteres food but intimidated by the vulture, who is posturing and flapping it's wings, *daring* them to try and get any of it.

"*Just* like Jason," Hannah comments unimpressed, and Tim can't stifle the giggle. She's right, Jason would totally antagonise Gothams incredibly pushy wildlife, they're too fearless, some even tame, too used to people feeding them. Tim himself has of course *never* contributed to the problem.

The bench creaks as Tim stands up, and the vulture turns to them from it's perch on the backrest, still big and posturing, but maybe a little less wary, less expecting Tim to just lash out out of nowhere. "We're going to sleep, was nice meeting you though. Have fun with the 'gulls, yeah?"

It opens it's beak, and for a second Tim thinks it'll speak, except the seagulls take that moment of inattentiveness as an *invitation* and dive for the food scattered all around them, and that is naturally entirely unacceptable, and must be rectified immediately by all means possible! Tim laughs at the bird playing, he's pretty sure it's playing, it's plucking some feathers and making threatening noises but doesn't seem to actually injure any of the gulls, or the pigeons joining the fray, lured by the gulls incessant calls.

For a moment it pauses, staring in Tim's direction as he squeeeeeaaaaaks open the rusty hinged roof access door, so Tim waves a quick goodbye, even Hannah raises and wiggles a leg in a rare show of social grace. Then they step into the dim staircase, and Jason's vulture turns back to it's game.