#swift creates

fandom: DC Comics (Young Justice, Batfamily)

characters and relationships: Tim Drake, clone baby, Kon haunts the narrative (Timkon isn’t explicit but. it’s a clone baby au)

warnings: almost drowning, infant whump

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 29: Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

Tim tries to clone Kon, but this time it works.

notes: I can write so many Timkon fics with this prompt list :fireElmo: Inspired by this post by @hyperblue which has haunted me from the moment I saw it please come bother me with interest about this AU or any of mine plsplspls on my knees in tears pls

—

Tim woke to the loud beeping of one of the many machines in his lab. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, frowning at his reflection in the powerless computer screen; there were sleep marks on his cheek from the sleeve of his sweater, but aside from that he barely looked like he’d rested at all. The circles under his eyes hadn’t budged, and he sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see them, anyway. He rarely left his lab except to grab more snacks from Titans Tower when he ran out, his work far too important to abandon. 

Tim got up and trudged past the empty cloning chambers to look for whatever had gone wrong, picking at the plaster on his arm where he’d drawn his own blood. His tablet lay on a table across the room, and he needed to recheck the Kryptonian environment values he’d copied off the Batcomputer-

One of the chambers wasn’t empty. 

He stared at it for a second, seeing but not quite understanding. Attempt one hundred and twenty-nine successful, the green letters said cheerfully. He stepped closer slowly, as if it was an animal that would lunge and try to bite him, and gingerly placed a hand against the glass. It was near but not exactly room temperature — 99.2 degrees Fahrenheit, 37.3 degrees Celcius, to be precise, ever so slightly warmer than a regular human temperature. 

“It worked,” he said to the empty lab. The machines keeping 129 alive seemed to sigh in response, then the beeping got louder, and the infant stirred in its glowing pod. No, not just stirred. It flinched. 

Error, the screen read now in bright failure red. The small letters underneath would have told him the reason, but he didn’t read it because 129 was struggling, tiny lungs seeking desperately for air and only receiving fluid. Tim’s heart screamed, and then he realised he was screaming. 

He can’t lose him. Not again and not like this. 

One heartbeat, and he was rushing forward, smashing the glass with his bo staff and pulling the infant out of the pod. 129 coughed up liquid and was still for a terrifyingly long moment, and Tim’s heart froze in his chest. 

Then the baby took a shaky breath and let out a gloriously loud cry. Now he was wet and wailing, but he was breathing. At least he was breathing. Tim went to rub a hand across his face in relief and halted when he realised it was covered in thick fluid. “It’s okay,” he said, and realised his throat was choked with tears. 129 cried louder and kicked his little legs as Tim became painfully aware how austere and clinical his lab was, absolutely no place for a helpless infant. There was no milk ready for him, no swaddling cloths to wrap him up in. And it was so, so cold. He must be so cold. Get it together, Drake. 

There was a shirt hanging on the back of his chair, and Tim reached for it, wrapping 129 in the black fabric and holding him close. “Shhh. It’s okay. Shh, shh.” The baby’s cries lowered slightly in volume, but didn’t stop. Tim bounced him gently, folding the shirt over him to keep him warm better- 

The edge of a familiar red insignia peeked out from underneath the folds of the shirt, and Tim froze. Kon’s shirt had artificial amniotic fluid and a crying baby in it. Kon’s shirt was wet and soiled and ruined and gone and Tim can’t even protect this one last part of him can he-

Then he was sliding down the wall to the floor and realised he was the one crying now. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, to Kon and to 129 and to no one at all. “I’m s- I’m so sorry.” 129 made a soft sound in his arms, but that just made him cry harder. Tim couldn’t take care of a baby. He’d failed Kon and failed Bart and failed Bruce and it’d been barely a day and he was already failing 129. 

As if that wasn’t enough, he had the stark realisation that the child in his arms resembled old baby pictures of Tim himself a little too closely, the tiniest package of Kryptonian blue eyes in a round little face. “Everyone will know you’re mine.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. His DNA was supposed to stabilise Kon’s, not influence it. He’d given 129 the curse of being related to him, in addition to being the ghost of a dead man. 

characters and relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne - platonic, random gothamite citizens

warnings/additional tags: like one swear, Jaydeath flashbacks, character caught in explosion, physical hurt/comfort, collapsed lung, field medicine, scalpel and the use of, Jason being good with kids, sort of cuddles, good dad Bruce, somewhat awkward ending line

word count: 1287

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 1: Collapsed lung | Contusion | "Well, that shouldn't have happened." Day 4: Frostbite | Heat | "I can make it all better." Day 10: Blood poisoning | Hypoxia | "What were you thinking?" Day 27 alt 7: Memory trigger

Jason and another explosion.

notes: HAPPY WHUMPTOBERRRRR! True to my me, starting off with some Jason whump because he's my special little guy

----

Jason brushed burning embers off his jacket before it could catch fire and kicked through a smoking door to find the last child stuck in the building. Goddamn cheap and lazy Crime Alley flat construction had made it just that much easier for it to go up in flames in the first place, but at least that also made it easier for him to hack his way through walls in search of the kid.

Panicked cries from the hall to his left made him swerve in that direction instantly, and he barged into the apartment next door to find the little girl wedged in a corner of her bedroom, as far away as possible from the smoking wreckages that cut her off from the door. 

“Hey! I’m gonna get you out, okay? Don’t panic.” Jason scanned the room, then shrugged off his jacket and held it away from the fire as he shouldered past the ruined roof beams. It was uncomfortably warm, but fortunately his suit protected him from the worst of the heat.

He stepped into the bathroom and tested the taps. Still working. At least the Gotham plumbing was functioning, if nothing else in this building. He doused his jacket in water, then returned to the bedroom. Closing the bathroom door, he knelt next to the kid, wrapping the wet jacket around her. “Easy. We’re getting out of here, okay? What’s your name?”

“T- Tenille,” she answered, visibly shaken. “You’re… Red Hood.” 

“That’s right. Your mom’s waiting for you outside with all the firefighters, so we have to go this way, okay?” He picked Tenille up and started to edge past the beams again. She whimpered and tucked her face into his shoulder, and he moved so she was as far from the fire as possible. “We’re okay. Almost past ‘em, I promise.” A few more steps, and they were out of the bedroom. “See, all done. Not so hard, right?” She nodded, sniffled, and clung to him as he strode back to the other side of the building.

He knocked the remaining glass from a stairwell window and leaned out to see the firefighters gathered around a huge air cushion. “Look, there’s your mom.” Tenille peeked and let out another sob at the three-storey height.

“How- How are we gonna get down?” She stared up at Jason in terror, and her grip on him might have bruised if not for his armour. 

“You’re gonna hold onto me real tight, then we’re gonna jump and land safe on that big pillow the firefighters blew up for you, okay? We’ll be perfectly fine, I-” The building shuddered, and Tenille wailed as Jason grabbed the wall to steady himself. “It’s okay, we’re okay.” But there was another loud boom, the gas mains finally rupturing and spraying fuel onto the already raging fire. Oracle had given him a generous estimate of 10 minutes, and he’d already used 7 of them.

In the next few seconds, before the child could protest or Jason could second-guess himself, he threw Tenille out the window. 

He watched her scream as she fell, but it seemed like slow-motion as he tensed his muscles to jump after her. She would land straight into the cushion they’d prepared for her. He knew he’d aimed right, and she’d be safe. His own safety was a different matter. 

The flames reached him first as if in slow motion, licking at every part of him that wasn’t covered by armour, lighting up his cargo pants and gloves and eating into his skin.

Milliseconds later came the concussive blast, hitting him like a train at high speed, slamming him through the flaming wall and dropping him down into thin air. 

As he fell, he recognised the feeling of burning alive, and he thought he could feel his bones shatter and hear a madman’s laughter resounding in his ears. He thought he could feel himself gasp for air but only receive smoke as the ruined warehouse crushed painfully down on top of him. 

As he fell, he thought he could remember hearing Bruce call his name, but the life ebbing slowly from his body left the hollow shape of a boy far too young and weak to call back. He thought he could remember his last breath, the soft light that carried him gently away from his suffering and pulled him up into eternity as it called his name. 

Jason. 

Jason. 

Jason! 

The light hadn’t sounded that scared. 

Jason! 

Jason!

“Jason!!”

He cracked one eye open to see Bruce hunched over him, the feed through his helmet glitchy and barely coherent, but undeniably Bruce. 

“Jason, wake up. Please wake up.”

He tried to say something — anything — but it came out as a thin, wheezing gasp as his battered lungs refused to pull in any more air. Bruce moved to take off his helmet, then started scanning him for injuries. 

“Jason, it’s okay. I’m here.” Practiced fingers prodded experimentally at his ribs, and Jason let out a strangled cry of pain. “I know, Jaylad. I’m sorry.” Bruce continued checking him over, furrowed brow the only sign of concern or fear that made it through his dark cowl, as Jason continued frantically trying and failing to breathe. 

“You have a collapsed lung. I need to let the air compressing it out of your pleural space.” Bruce dug out a small kit from his utility belt and opened it to take out a small scalpel. Jason was still gasping for oxygen as darkness started to cloud his vision and his struggles weakened, consciousness slowly slipping away. 

“It’s okay, Jaylad. I’ve got you.” Bruce sliced deep and steady into Jason’s chest, then pushed a small tube in, and Jason gasped desperately as the shadows receded and air came flooding back into his lungs. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re okay.” Bruce sat back, let out a controlled breath, then gently pulled Jason into his arms. He let out a whine of pain but burrowed into the warm hold instinctively, rapid, panicked breathing beginning to slow and even out. “I know, I’m sorry. You’re going to be okay.” 

“Ten- Tenille. The girl. She-”

Bruce smoothed his hair back from his face, gently shushing him. “She’s safe, with her mother, and probably breathing better than you are. Let’s get you back to the Cave, okay?” Jason let out a faint sound of assent and leaned against Bruce, his head thumping softly onto his father’s shoulder. 

His feet wouldn’t obey when he tried to get up, and Bruce practically lifted him off the ground, steadying Jason against him. Jason let out a strangled cry as his ribs, leg, and chest — and almost every other part of him — seemed to cave in on itself with sharp, stabbing pain. His vision blurred, and he grabbed weakly onto Bruce, breathing laboured and desperate.

“I know, Jaylad, I’m here. I’ve got you.” Bruce adjusted his grip so he half carried, half supported Jason. 

He blinked the spots in his vision away, trying to stabilise his breathing, and caught sight of Tenille clinging to her mother halfway across the bustling lot, a near-perfect mirror. Then the crowd closed around them, and Bruce pulled Jason away. “Come on, sweetheart.” They would have their own family waiting for them at home. 

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd - platonic, some batfamily

warnings: blood and injury, fight scene, mention of gun and knives, minor swearing, a bit of unhealthy thought processes but mostly bc he’s dazed and out of it, present tense

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 31: Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Jason is injured during a battle, but Dick can’t protect him forever.

notes: fucked around and wrote a fic based on this drawing by @ashrayus as one does (I didn’t really know how to end it so just. have this lol) (also sorry if it’s OOC)

—

Dick has always been scared for Jason. That’s his baby brother, his Little Wing, the shadow at his back. Save for the broken time where he’d abruptly become an only child, Jason has always been there, and Dick has come to expect he always will be. Jason is older now — he’s the Red Hood, Gotham’s most feared crime lord, and is capable of single-handedly taking down some of the worst rogues in the gallery — but he will always be Dick’s little brother. Dick rarely has reason to be scared for Jason these days. 

Except for the times when he watches Jason stumble and finally fall to seemingly endless hordes of enemies, bleeding from a bullet to the gut. 

“JASON!” All strategy and codenames get thrown out the window, and he fights his way to his little brother, throwing a smoke bomb for cover and pulling him to safety. “Jay, look at me.”

“Ngh… Don’t need you to save me, Big Bird.” Jason tries to glare at him, but the effect is somewhat dampened by the way he doubles over in pain and leans into Dick’s arms. “Y-You need to get out of here.”

“Yes you do, and I’m not leaving you behind, dipshit.” He half-supports, half-carries Jason out of the alley, ignoring the strangled sound of pain he makes (or attempting to, anyway). He leaves the fight behind, and keeps going until the distance is between them is enough for him to feel comfortable setting Jason down against a wall. 

Jason’s black-and-white curls stand in stark contrast to the grimy grey-red as he grimaces, head tipped back against the brick. Dick smooths them back from his face more by habit than anything else. “Shhh. You’ll be okay, Little Wing.”

He knows it’s bad because Jason doesn’t object to the nickname. 

“Jay?” His brother’s eyes are fluttering closed, and he’s slumped against the wall, the hand held over his wound starting to loosen. Dick clamps one of his own in place of it, swearing. “Jay, if you die again without paying back the ten bucks you owe me I’ll resurrect you just to kill you myself.”

“Mmh…” is the only reply, and Dick can feel him slipping away — not again not again not again God please — despite every attempt to rouse him. Making this situation even worse is the slowly increasing volume of the mob catching up to them. He grabs a roll of gauze from his belt and quickly wraps Jason’s torso with it, then stands with both escrima sticks in his hands. 

There’s blood leaking from a cut on his cheek, and he’s pretty sure his nose is broken, but he’ll die before he lets them hurt Jason again. 

They come on in a rush, almost falling over each other in their attempt to reach two weakened vigilantes. He sweeps one aside, slams another into a wall, hits the first one with a stick and lets him fall to the ground, unconscious. The movements become instinct, strategy turning to survival, as they flood the alley, reaching to him, past him, their guns and their knives all hungry for blood. He barely dodges one bullet, feels another graze his thigh when he turns to swipe at a girl with white-blonde hair and a switchblade in her hand. He can’t go on like this forever. He has to. 

He’s reeling from a hit to the side of his head, about to lose his balance, when white smoke rises around them. Dick almost collapses to his knees in relief, but he makes himself stumble back to stand over Jason as familiar figures drop from the shadows and create a circle of safety in the chaos. 

“He’s here,” he whispers to Jason. “You’re safe now.” He curls up next to his brother, exhausted and bleeding, and pulls him close. 

Of course, that’s when a man with a gun decides to level it straight at Dick’s forehead. 

He grips Jason tight and glares at the guy, one stick left in his hand, trying to remember where he’d dropped the other one sometime during the fight. When, not if, the guy shoots, he’ll twist to shield Jason with his body, just in case his aim is wildly off. One bullet each seems to be fair. 

His finger tightens on the trigger, and Dick tenses, ready to move. 

Then a black shape slams into the man, sending the bullet careening into the darkness and the guy careening into the ground. Few have seen the Batman’s fury unleashed, and even fewer experienced it, but this unlucky sap will most likely remember this for the rest of his miserable life. He’s tossed to the side like a rag, and B makes a beeline for his boys. 

“Dick. Jason.” His hands search for injuries even as his eyes flick anxiously up and down them, the only outward sign of his worry. 

Dick melts gratefully into the embrace. “We’re okay. Barely.” All he wants to do is sink to the ground and be cuddled and carried back to the Batcave, but he can’t rest yet. “Jason — he got hurt. Bullet wound. I bandaged it, but…” 

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Jason Todd, the Joker, Sheila Haywood

warnings/additional tags: The Crowbar Times, one swear, joker being joker, tearing out feathers, wingfic, blood and violence, Sheila neutral, hurt no comfort, foreboding

word count: 472

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 26: Defanging/Declawing | pulled feathers | “This should teach you to behave next time.”

notes: WINGFIC!

————

Jason spat blood and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the steel crowbar to slam into his ribs and knock the air out of him again, but no blow came. Instead, there was a soft scuff against the concrete floor, and then… humming. The sadistic bastard was humming.

Jason opened his eyes to give Joker a disbelieving look where he was seated next to Jason’s bloodied wing. “Oh, don’t look so glum, birdie. We can still have so much more fun together. Don’t you think?” He grinned down at Jason, who would have punched him in the teeth for it if he could. He’d give up everything that could even remotely been considered fun if Bruce would just storm through those doors, pull him out of Joker’s clutches, and take him home.

Jason coughed, abandoning the notion of sitting up when his side complained in agony, and didn’t bother to reply, closing his eyes again. Then he felt cold fingers stroke through his feathers and jerked away on reflex. “Don’t- Don’t touch me.”

“Ah ah ah. Hold still now, my little fledgling, or this is going to feel so much worse than it already is!” He grabbed the edge of Jason’s wing and yanked it back into his lap, then started going through his feathers again. “Very pretty. Just like Mama’s, aren’t they?”

Sheila said nothing from next to her stack of crates, only blew another cloud of cigarette smoke. She didn’t even look at him. In that moment, Jason hated the colour of his wings, the vivid crimson just a step away from her orange. He hated the fact that he’d had to take after his biological mother instead of his father, that he’d found his birth certificate at all, that it had led him here. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate her.

“Very pretty indeed. But it looks like you could use a little mani-pedi!”  Joker suddenly seized a handful of feathers tight, then yanked them out by the roots, and Jason screamed.

The madman laughed at his cry, scattering the loose feathers over his bloodied Robin suit. “Aw, don’t throw a tantrum, sonny. Don’t you appreciate my help?” He ripped out another handful, and Jason writhed on the ground, tears dripping into his blood-and-sweat-soaked hair. Pleasepleasepleaseican’tpleasehelpmeBRUCEhelphelphelpplease-

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Tim Drake, the Professor (whumper oc)

warnings/additional tags: unethical experimentation, animal cruelty, mentions of human trafficking, wingfic, implied needle jab of mysterious substance, non-consensual sedation, anaesthesia mask

word count: 855

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 14: Self-surgery | Unconsciousness | "Look who's awake."

Day 21: Stranded | Search and rescue | "You really think they're gonna look for you?"

Day 25: Magical bind | Pinned down | "And what do we have here?"

Ever since he was kidnapped by traders and bought by an austere mad scientist, Tim has learned that being summoned to the Professor's lab is something you never return from. Unfortunately, that's exactly where he is today.

notes: I don't know what to call this AU but Tim has wings lol (he's probably about 14 here). vibes somewhat inspired by that one scene from Arcane where Singed and Silco are doing dubiously ethical testing on a rat.

----------

He barely dared to breathe as the Professor went on.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? At the peak of what they can be.” He let the mouse scurry over his hand, leaving dents where its metal claws dug in for purchase on his skin. “Anything’s capable of killing, really. If you have the right equipment.”

He looked up at Tim, who was still silent. “Well, speak up, feathers. I didn’t bring you here to stare.”

Tim swallowed. “Wh- Why did you? Bring me here.”

The Professor set the mouse down and walked over to him. “To show you the beauty of the underworld. Those of you up there, you think that beauty is golden rings, jewels that shine in the right light. We know – I know – that you are all madly deluded, softened by your easy lives Uptown. Tsk. It’s a true shame, that your kind have evolved into what you are.” He trailed his fingers through Tim’s feathers, then sharply plucked one out, ignoring his yelp. “Pretty, yes, but almost useless.”

“I’m not useless,” Tim said almost automatically, not knowing whether to be more disgusted or flattered. 

“For now, for me, you are. Remember what I told you when I bought you.” You will speak only when spoken to. You will move when I tell you to move. You will be what I tell you to be. 

“That was illegal. Really illegal. My- my parents will find me, and they won’t be happy you’ve kept me down here. But if you- maybe if you give them a call and tell them where to find me… Maybe they’ll even reward you.” Tim edged away from him as much as he dared.

The Professor only laughed, head tipping back. “My, you are naïve, aren’t you?”

Tim gave a tiny shrug. “I’ve been told.”

He laughed again. “You really think they’ll look for you? Oh, birdie, you are amusing. It’s almost worth keeping you here as a companion.” That was a horrible thought, being forced to stay in this lab to amuse a madman. “But not quite.” At first, that was a relief. Before he realised there must be something worse to do to him.

Tim wrapped his wings tighter around himself, the chill of the lab and cold dread sending shivers over his skin as the Professor pressed a button and the window shades started to rise. Outside they could see the Downtown skyline, slightly blurred with smoke that swirled around the wings of a flock of giant condors. Each one had a metal collar built into its neck instead of attached around it, chaining them to the Professor’s building, and occasionally they let out loud shrieks into the night.

“Magnificent. This, little one, is true beauty.” He turned to Tim and smiled – smiled, as another piercing cry rang out.

“They’re in pain.” Tim winced, taking a step back from the window. “That’s not beautiful. That’s not how nature made them.”

The Professor pressed a button, and the shades came down again. “No, it’s not natural, but this is the apex of their species. Nature birthed them, and I simply brought them to completion.”

“You’re sick,” Tim breathed in horror, feeling like he could still hear the mutilated birds screaming in agony at their empty, uncaring inventor. 

“I am a visionary, feathers. I chase an idea and bend reality to my will. How many others can say that?” He came up to Tim and put a hand on his shoulder, and Tim shuddered at the cold touch. The Professor leaned in until Tim could see him out of the corner of his eye. “My work is very important to me. I hope you understand the significance of something like that.” He put a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, and there was the cold press of metal, then a sharp stab of pain. 

Heart pounding, Tim jerked away, instinctively batting at the Professor with a wing. “What- What was-” He whirled around to look at the Professor and restrained a gasp as he saw him on the floor. “I’m- Sorry. I didn’t-” 

He got to his feet slowly, fixing Tim with that disdainful, almost disgusted look. “Don’t worry, birdie. You’ll learn soon enough.” He nodded, and Tim was starting to back away before the guards lunged at him, knocking him to the ground where the Professor had been moments ago. 

He struggled as hard as he could, but he was small and weak, and they were clearly well-trained, pinning him down as he thrashed. 

“Stop- Let- Let me go- Please-” One of them shoved something at his face, and he gasped on reflex before realising it was an anaesthetic mask. Fear spiked in his chest, but no matter how hard he shook his head, the things were stronger and held it firmly against his face. The world started to dim, and his struggles grew weaker as the Professor stepped into his view. 

“Goodnight, birdie. I’ll see you on the other side.”

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Tim Drake, Doc (Whumper OC)

warnings/additional tags: graphic descriptions, restraints, non-consensual body modification surgery, partial animal transformation, experimentation, body horror, gore, non-con drugging, paralytic drug, surgery while awake, most certainly medical malpractice, mild dehumanisation, intubation, one swear, forced to watch (self get whumped), amputation, implicit brain alteration, blood thirst/kill drive, my penchant for naming whumpers after their occupation

word count: 1330

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 20: Irredeemable | Before it starts/After it's over | "I didn't react the way I should have, I'm sorry." Day 28 Alt 5: No-win scenario Day 31: Body horror | Enucleation | "I am the monster you made me!"

notes: good golly that's a lot of CWs- if you were wondering how Tim got his claws, this is how >) this got really graphic, so if you're bothered by blood and gore at all this is probably not the best fic for you 😅

————

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, and Cassandra Cain (mentioned Jason Todd)

warnings/additional tags: non-consensual body modification, partial animal transformation, experimentation, good dad Bruce, violence against Jason's books

word count: 906

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 15: Came back wrong | Cannibalism | "You weren't supposed to die first."

Day 22: Estranged | Changed dynamic | “Who did this to you?!”

After being seemingly killed, Tim returns home to the Manor. Bruce is desperate to see his son, but the rest of his children need him to understand that things are not as they were.

notes: the Came Back Wrong is really subtle in this mostly bc this was originally combined with another fic (day 20) where it's shown ksdjbgsk. and Cass's role is kinda awkward because my initial draft forgot she was in the scene 😭

————

Bruce headed toward Jason’s room, Cass falling into step behind him somewhere along the way. He didn’t hear her, which was normal – her steps were always as silent as an owl’s wings – or see her; he was too distracted by his thoughts and fears about Tim, longing to see his son alive and safe and unhurt.

“B, hang on.” Dick stepped in front of him as they reached the doorway.

“Why won’t you let me see him?” Bruce tried to push past him, but Dick put his hand on Bruce’s shoulders and gently but firmly resisted, and Bruce gave him a helpless look. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“We will, I promise, but you need to slow down.” His son lightly pushed back, and Bruce reluctantly took a few steps back so they both stood in the middle of the hallway. Cass hovered, put a hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face and forcing his racing pulse to calm. “Tell me. Please,” he said softly.

Dick glanced at Cass, then back at the door. “Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out. It’s-” There was a loud thump, and they all stared at it, then at each other. Then Dick reached for the knob, hesitated, opened it the smallest crack. “Tim?”

Bruce couldn’t help it and peeked in. He couldn’t see Tim, just Jason’s room in its regular neat condition, a sweatshirt or two draped over the chair and a few knives scattered around his dresser. And a lump on the bed, under the blanket that hid Tim from view.

A hardcover book lay on the floor, where it had presumably fallen after Tim had thrown it at the door. For his sake, Bruce hoped it wasn’t *Anna Karenina*.

“Tim?” he asked cautiously. The blanket shifted and seemed to shrink away from him. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Cass exchanged silent looks with Dick, then squeezed Bruce’s shoulder one last time and stepped away. “I’ll go get Jason.” Bruce gave her a grateful look as Dick opened the door to let Bruce in.

“Tim, I’m letting him in. Thump once for no, two for yes.”

*Thump. Thump.* The sound of Tim knocking on the headboard.

Dick looked at Bruce, silently asking him to understand, and Bruce gently squeezed his hand. Whatever it was, Tim was his son. And he was determined not to make any of his hundreds of mistakes again.

Bruce slowly approached, making sure his footsteps could be heard. “I’m coming over, kiddo.”

Tim made no response, just huddled under the blanket.

Bruce stepped closer cautiously until he was right beside the bed. “Tim?” The blanket shifted again, then a tiny section of it lifted.

“It’s okay, baby bird,” Dick said soothingly. “It’s just me and Dad.”

The blanket hesitated, then lifted away so Tim could peek out from under it, and Bruce felt his breath hitch.

Metal claws were built into the hand holding it up, tapering from the once-delicate bones to razor points. Through his hair poked two huge, batlike ears that twitched uncertainly as terrified blue eyes stared out of a familiar face, more than half of his jaw plated with the same silver steel.

Bruce forced his breathing steady, reaching for Tim’s hand, but he whimpered and withdrew until Bruce could barely see him, as if afraid to touch him. “It’s alright. I’m here, baby bird.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you,” Dick said quietly. “Last night he wouldn’t let anyone near except Jay.”

He felt a stab of anguish at that, laying his hand on the bed near Tim, but not touching. “You won’t hurt me, kid.” Tim hesitantly moved his head back out from under the blankets, avoiding eye contact. “It’s alright.” This time, he didn’t flinch away when Bruce reached for his hand, taking it gently. It weighed heavy in his, and now he could see all the finger and wrist mechanisms were made of the same metal as his claws. He gently turned it over in his hand, Tim staring up at him with that constant fear in his eyes. He stayed still, studying the cybernetics, until Tim’s breathing eased and his eyes went from wide and scared to almost normal.

“There we go. Can I sit with you?” Tim took a breath, then slowly nodded, and Bruce carefully moved to sit on the bed next to him, smoothing his hair out of the way and cradling his face. “There we go. It’s okay, kid.” Tim let out a strangled whimper, then crawled out from under the blanket and into Bruce’s lap, head nestled below his chin. Bruce wrapped his arms around his son, all too aware of the cold metal he could feel beneath the oversized sweatshirt and see replacing one whole foot poking out from the just as loose pajama pants. His mind was a whirlwind of pained questions, needing to know how extensive the modifications were, but unable to ask while Tim was huddled in his arms. Taking a deep breath, he forced the frantic thoughts to still. Not now. There would be time to find out and run tests later, but for now, he needed to be less the Batman and more the boy’s father. He closed his eyes, pulled Tim closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.