Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The candles that lined Gotham preps hallways never seemed to die out nor did they seem to ever be tended to, as a whole Gotham was a city constantly drowned by gloomy clouds and rain. Even for a university, Gotham Prep was considered to be overly proper, uniforms, dorm checks, and manners. Perhaps it was Tim’s own grief that kept him from seeing the aspects of the university that would offer others comfort and warmth, or maybe it was the fact that as he toured the building the hallways were filled with whispers.

The tour guide, a woman in her thirties with red hair and sea green eyes, brings Tim back to the first floor office. She takes a seat behind a desk, shifting through her drawers until she brings out a key. “Your dorm will be on the third floor of the east dormitory, I’ll grab you a map.” She states, passing the rusting key to Tim and once again searching her desk until she pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper and a red pen. He watches as the woman circles where they currently are and draws a line towards the dormitory, insisting the quickest way is cutting through the lower west wing then walking outside. Her fingers, her nails in particular were green, a choice that Tim thought the school would never approve of.

“Your bags will be waiting for you in your dorm, and I’ll have a student come by to help you register for classes later today. Dinner is at five, you have three hours to do as you wish.” She claims, and Tim reaches for the map, looking down at the badly written words and directions. He turns to leave, assuming he should make a bit of haste, but is stopped by her voice. “Oh and Mr. Drake, I do truly hope you will enjoy your time here.” Her voice almost sounds echoed, but Tim turns around offering her a smile. “Thank you.” Is all he can muster before leaving.

The hallways are notably more empty than they had been during his tour, he assumes classes are still running today as it’s a Tuesday. Growing up, there had always been rumors that Gotham Prep was haunted, or possibly hiding some secret. As a child, Tim had become fixated on the idea that Gotham prep was haunted, he recalls reading books upon books about the school and forcing his parents to attend one of their open houses. With age, the fixation died out, and more realistic ideals clouded Tim’s mind. He continues down the hallway, eventually finding himself in the west wing. Following the map was easy, the hard part was figuring out why the map was so old.

As Tim walks, he reads the map over, realizing there are several parts of the school that are entirely missing from the paper. Was the school too lazy to print new maps? This map was clearly dated 1808, the year the school opened. Over a hundred years ago, it now being 1956. It felt almost wrong for Tim to be holding such an old piece of paper, and for the woman to have so easily drawn on it with red ink. Deep in thought, Tim turns a corner. “You’re Timothy Drake, right?” A voice pipes up, and Tim looks up from the page.

In front of him, a man both taller and broader than him stands. He has a deep raven hair colour, his eyes a mix of green and blue. The man’s skin is deeper than Tim’s pale skin, his is more of a tan. A small beauty mark lies on the man’s left cheek just under his eye. He wears the uniform of the school, deep brown pants, a matching brown jacket with a white shirt under it, and a tie. The tie is blue telling Tim this man has attended the university for at least his four years.

“Yes?” Tim responds, his voice almost breaking. The man smiles and offers a handshake to Tim, which he accepts. As their hands shake the man continues. “I’m Dick Grayson, I was sent to help you register for classes. I was just about to go to your dorm, but I guess you got lost.” Dick smiles, his voice soft like feathers and his sentence ends with a small laugh. It wasn’t an insult, rather a lighthearted way to introduce new conversation, Tim appreciated that.

“This map is missing so much, it’s hard to figure out at times.” Tim admits, showing Dick the map from 1808. At first, Tim doesn’t notice the way Dick’s eyes narrow, or how his eyes tell a story of anger while the rest of his face attempts to remain calm. Dick grabs the map from Tim, in a manner that feels less than polite. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to your dorm and then on our way to dinner I’ll help you find a more recent map.” Dick declares proudly, as if he is some sort of hero for offering to do this. This small encounter leaves Tim wondering if isolating himself from the rest of the elites in Gotham had somehow caused him to fall into the mindset of a commoner, seeing just how strange the elites can be.

However, as Dick had promised, he starts leading Tim towards the east building, his steps are so soft that his shoes barely make a noise against the wooden flooring. Tim learns quickly that Dick—for lack of better words—never shuts up. The entire ten minute walk Dick makes conversation, asking about what Tim’s major is, where he transferred from, and how there are tons of clubs for him to join to meet people. When they reach the east building, Tim is ready to make a dash for his dorm, anything to get away from this talkative man. Instead, he calmly walks up the stairs to the third floor of the building.

The third floor of the building is…quiet. Not just students in classes type of quiet, but no one else lives here type of quiet. There is no sign of anyone using the chess boards that are set up in the common area, and the books on the shelf are dusty. Yet, the candles on the walls and lights on the roof all remain in perfect condition. Dick keeps walking until he gets to door E306, and lets Tim open it using the rusty key. The room itself is nice, but small as expected. A single bed is pushed up against the left wall, on it his suitcases, beside the bed an old wooden nightstand. There is a dresser and desk in the room too, but nothing is in or on them. The window in the room is open, and Tim hits the lights only to realize one of the lights is burnt out.

Dick looks up, notices the light is burnt out as well, and then faces Tim. “I’ll show you how to put in a request for room work, I wouldn’t worry though, usually they notice them during morning room checks and are dealt with before the end of the day.” Dick claims, before going over to the desk and wiping off some dust. He pulls out a paper from his jacket pocket, and a pencil. “You start unpacking, I’ll start looking at classes and asking you if things work.” Dick says, sitting at the desk as if he owned it. Tim attempts to pay no mind to the action and goes over to the suitcases, opening one up. This suitcase has his non-uniform clothes, for sleeping, and after bathing. Stuffed into the corner of the bag is a picture frame with a photo of his family. He takes that out first, looking at the black and white photograph, admiring the way his mother’s eyes gleamed ever so slightly from the flash, and his father's ever so firm grip that he held on his shoulder.

He dusts off the golden frame, and places it on the bedside table. Even with one light burnt out, the gold frame still slightly shines, as if it were aware those photographed are long gone. Dick begins to read off classes, and Tim answers questions relating to preference. The distraction of Dick helps Tim to no longer focus on the photo and attend to the rest of the bags. It takes around two hours for both men to be finished arranging classes and setting up the room, when Dick finishes the class registration he rises from his seat and stretches. It’s a small thing, but Tim keeps noticing Dick looking up at the burnt out light bulb, as if it has personally offended him in some manner. Every time he locks eyes with it his eyes narrow and his smile falls for nothing more than a split second, but enough that Tim happens to notice it.

After he finishes stretching, Dick goes over to the window and shuts it, he doesn’t draw the blinds but closes the curtains before turning to Tim. “It gets dark out quickly, and our school has a problem of idiotic commoners attempting to sneak a peek.” Dick explains, a smile still on his face. However, Tim can tell this smile is fake compared to the ones earlier, this one more like a mask.

Masks, something Tim had seen a lot of following the early passing of his parents. He saw it in the faces of the police officers who sat him down, he saw it from the business people who stopped to pay respects, and he knew for a fact most people used a mask when speaking to him.

“I see, thank you, Mr. Grayson” Tim nods, but is met by Dick’s hand in front of his face shaking. “Dick is fine, Mr.Grayson is the name of an old man.” Dick announces, and waits to see if Tim will correct himself. “Ah, you have been of great help, Dick” Tim corrects, and Dick offers a nod of approval.

With that, Dick excuses himself, leaving the room. Tim sits at the wooden desk, staring at some of the books he had placed out. He would major in Philosophy and minor in biology, which left him with several early morning classes. Tim looks beside his books to see two coloured ties, both black. Dick had been kind enough to gather Tim’s needed ties on his behalf, claiming he had extra time before needing to come see Tim. Something about Dick Grayson itched Tim, he couldn’t for the life of him remember which family the name Grayson belonged to. Had his months of mourning decayed his brain? Made it so his mind could no longer recall basic facts of the world around him? He knows he should push down this feeling, leave it for another day, one where he is not overwhelmed by the busy movement of his life.

And suddenly it hits Tim, Dick Grayson did not in fact help him find a new map.

Dick was right, the night comes in quick. Tim had left his dorm around 4:30 to reach the dining hall for five, yet the night sky is already engulfing the once grey clouds. There is a cold breeze in the air, and Tim quickly realizes why the uniform has jackets, as his hands squeeze his arms and press against his torso. He follows the direction he remembered coming with Dick earlier, though a map would’ve been of some use.

While walking, he catches glimpses of other students making their way towards the main buildings, some are smarter than Tim and opt to wear scarfs or gloves. Tim doubts he can see the stars in Gotham, the polluted air would simply never allow them to shine through, and just like that, Tim misses home. He recalls how he and his mother used to sit in the backyard on hot summer nights, how she would point up at the sky telling stories of the stars above. These stories relating to the stars sometimes feel like they might be the only memory Tim will always have of her.

Then, Tim notices smoke. Not a lot, but enough to assume there is at least a group of people smoking beside the school building. He knows he shouldn’t investigate, he should leave it be. However, as luck would have it, the smoke is in the only direction Tim knows will lead him to the dining hall. At this point, if he went all the way to the next door that could possibly lead him to the dining hall, he would easily be late. So, Tim attempts to obtain some of his courage and walks towards the smoke.

The wind blows and the smell of cigarettes becomes apparent, before he can even see who is smoking he smells them. He doesn’t mind, smoking is common, but forbidden on school grounds due to its smell. As he makes his way past the wall which conceals the identities of those smoking, Tim attempts to keep his eyes on the ground. In his mind, he counts his steps, then his heart beats. He can hear a laugh, a deep laugh that clearly belongs to a man. Every part of Tim’s body wants him to look up at the man who laughed, to make eye contact of some sort. Instead, he shifts his eyes so he can attempt to get a look via a side eye.

Standing there are two men, a red head, who looks older than Tim. Tim recalls him as being Roy Harper, while they hadn’t ever personally met, Tim remembers a few years ago how this man had been dipped into controversy due to him having a baby out of wedlock. If he is remembering correctly, Roy never did marry the mother, but kept the baby. So, Tim was slightly shocked to see the man here until he realized he lacked the school uniform. A cigarette was between his teeth and he smoke in a firm manner.

Beside him, a tall man with deep brown hair and muddy green eyes leaned up against the brick wall. He wore the school uniform, but incorrectly. Notably he was missing the brown jacket and his tie was very much not done up. He held his cigarette between his fingers, and Tim could see the man bore some scars on his body. Unlike Roy Harper, Tim could not place who the man was, though he believes he may be the ward of an Al Ghul, Tim recalls seeing a man with scars in one of the family paintings not too long back.

“Don’t stare.” The unknown man grunts towards Tim, standing up straight now. “It’s rude.” He adds on, taking a puff of his cigarette. At first Tim just stops, he doesn’t reply, but his eyes now fully focus to stare at the pair. Roy Harper seems to be giving the other man a glance of some sort, a glance which causes him to roll his eyes. “You saw nothing.” Roy claims his voice is best described as a cool dad trying to get away with something his wife wouldn’t enjoy seeing. “Or smell?” Tim attempts to joke, the other man rolls his eyes once more. “Get on your way kid, dinner is soon.” Roy instructs before turning away and starting his conversation with the man beside him once again.

Tim follows the instructions and starts walking away, the smell slowly fading the closer he gets to the doors. Once he reaches the inside of the main building, he notices a significant amount of other students are now in the halls. And as Tim makes his way through the sea of students, he notices Dick speaking to the unknown man who had been smoking. It seems to Tim he must’ve taken a longer way inside than intended, and it also seems neither of the men had mentioned this to him. As he stares at Dick and the unknown man together, a third man joins.

This one looks younger than Tim, maybe closer to eighteen. His skin is the darkest out of the three men, his eyes share a similar muddy green to Jason’s, his hair is coal black. Based on the kid’s face alone, that is Damian Wayne. And suddenly it all clicks. Dick Grayson, he is the first ward of Bruce Wayne, that is how he knows him. Which means the man who had been smoking outside was likely Jason Todd, the second ward of Bruce Wayne and notably a close relative to the Al Ghul family. The three brothers stood in such a way that seemed almost all powerful.

Just as Tim starts to zone out, a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns to see a man, likely twenty as well, beside him. His hair is dark, and clearly not taken care of, his tongue pierced and clear tattoos on his arms, though they attempt to be hidden by clothes. “You’re Timothy Drake?” The man asks and Tim nods, in response the man smiles. “I’m Conner or Kon, I’m Luthor’s son. I believe we met when we were kids.” His hand sticks out and Tim takes it. Tim does recall meeting Kon when they were little, he also recalls Lex Luthor himself.

“You can call me Tim.” Tim explains as he turns to refocus his attention on Kon. Kon nods and before they can speak further the dining hall doors open and kids like up for entrance. “Stick with me, the dining hall can be a bit much for first timers.” Kon admits, grabbing Tim’s hand and dragging him to the line.

It was the next day in Tim’s introduction to Philosophy class where he sees Damian Wayne alone. The boy sits near one of the windows, he is quiet, and already has his book and writing utensils out and ready. It’s unusual for younger students to be in higher classes, mostly due to first years having to take general study related courses. But, Tim is no stranger to the countless rumors that the Waynes are simply that good. Bruce Wayne himself has been revered as a genius at times while also balancing out his sometime himbo playboy habits, it’s a balance that Tim admires.

Before Tim can think any harder about the boy by the window, the professor begins to explain coursework and assignments. The entire class is basically a loner’s dream, everything is solo apart from in class debates. The professor seemed like she was a down to earth individual, though she did have odd rules about absences and attendance in general that made Tim feel a bit out of sorts. Then again, Tim hadn’t thought about university since before the incident, and he dumbs it down to having to get used to how professors are once again. Tim looks towards the window, this time looking past Damian to look outside.

The outside is dark from the clouds covering the blue, there is no rain, but according to weather reports during the fall season rain is only slightly common. Thinking of the weather reminds Tim he needs to invest in some winter gear, with winter inching closer, he can only imagine Gotham Prep is cold and snowy. Alongside the already breezy winds, and chilling air. Winter clothes, he assumes his parents would’ve supported using their money for that, right? They wouldn’t take offence that Tim has only touched their money for school tuition and clothes, everything else from his own bank account. Just as Tim is about to look away, a new feeling of grief overwhelming him once more, Damian looks up from his notebook and locks eyes with Tim.

His green eyes stare at Tim, it’s not a blank stare, far from it. It’s a curious stare, as if the boy is analyzing every aspect of Tim. His eyes don’t move, they just stare into Tim’s blue eyes, and a chill starts to form on his spine. Perhaps Damian was trying to figure out if this was the same Timothy Drake whose parents had died, if he should share condolences or pity him. It was a thought that Tim did not intend to have, but one that stuck nonetheless. Even as class ends and other start to gather their things, both stay staring at each other, as if they are waiting to see who will break first.

Relief comes when Tim sense another pair of eyes on him, this time from behind him. He turns his head and notices Jason Tood, his broad frame standing in the classroom doorway. His attention shifts from Tim to Damian, glaring at his younger brother, a glare that causes Damian to shove his items into his leather bag and stand up. And like that, Tim follows, putting his things away and rising from his seat. Damian has left the class before he can even gather his items, making it so Tim is now leaving the class alone, as well as being left to his own devices in order to find his next class.

The rest of the day, Tim struggles to shake the feeling of Damian’s eyes staring into his. He felt almost like a victim of some crime, thinking about seeing the attacker, attempting to remember every element of the world around him as Damian stared him down.

Chapter Text

The paintings on the walls seem to always be changing, just ever so slightly. It has been a week since Tim arrived at Gotham prep, and he had taken note of these off putting paintings. The paintings that hang particularly near his dorm have a habit of looking slightly different, but never enough that Tim can pinpoint what changed. Instead, all that comes from looking at the paintings is a feeling of deep discomfort. It remindsTim of something his father had once said. It was one of his father’s more psychological related thoughts, about how illusions are our minds' way of filling in holes. Considering this point of view, Tim wonders if this was just a joke. One that Tim’s mind had created to cope with his own inability to accept that he for the time being, he is a student at Gotham Prep.

It’s a cold Tuesday morning, bits of frost eat the schools windows. Currently, Tim sits in the dining hall, his breakfast in front of him, alongside goosebumps on his arms. In front of Tim is a plate with oatmeal and berries, though the actual oatmeal looks bland, the berries add some sort of color. Breakfast's at Gotham prep are always the same, toast, pancakes, eggs, bacon, oatmeal or cereal. Usually Tim sticks with oatmeal, it reminds me of a time before all of this. It occurs to him that his choice of oatmeal is a result of his mother and her belief that oatmeal keeps the womb healthy. A belief that seems silly now especially now that Tim has started taking biology classes, though now he chalks it up to it being tradition. Beside him sits Kon, who had introduced him to Bart and a blonde girl, who happened to be a year older than him named Stephanie. Over the past week, the three had been a great help to Tim, offering to show him classes, letting him hangout with them during freetime, and sit with them during meals.

“You look tired.” Stephanie states, the spoon from her cereal is lifted into the air and points towards him, her voice a weird mixture of knowing but curiosity. At first, all Tim can do is reply with a quiet groan, putting his own spoon down, watching as he lets it sink slightly into the oatmeal. “Just not a morning person.” Tim admits, grabbing at his cup of orange juice that had so far not ben touched. Stephanie nods in agreement and the two fall into conversation about how terrible it is that most classes start so early, and how other universities spare a few kids by letting them not start until the afternoon.

As Stephanie is about to continue on, she stops. Her voice almost cuts off as if she has become mute by force rather than choice. She stares above Tim’s head causing Tim to look up, there he sees Dick’s tanned skin. “You look like you need some coffee.” He claims, placing a white mug of coffee down beside Tim, alongside creamer and packets of sugar. Dick doesn’t sit down, but moves to the side of the table, watching Tim. “Oh, thank you. I thought they were out.” Tim explains, reach to pour some creamer into the coffee. Dick’s eyes watch, he looks as though he is waiting for something. As Tim finishes preparing his coffee, he watches as Dick’s eyes follow the cup up to Tim’s mouth. “Anytime.” Dick finally claims, only leaving once the mug has been placed back onto the table in front of him.

Suddenly, the same feeling Tim had when Damian was staring him down returns. He attempts to push it down by shoving oatmeal into his mouth and taking long gulps of his coffee, in turn he no longer speaks.

The next time Tim ran into a Wayne boy was that afternoon during a spare period. He was roaming the halls in hopes of finding the much spoken of common room, peeking his head into empty rooms every now and then. The hallways are cold, and generally lifeless, though every now and then Tim passes a lecture where he can hear a teacher loudly proclaiming whatever it is they are teaching. It’s in one of these quietly cold hallways that staring at a painting, he sees Jason Todd.

His intent is to walk past the older man, not to make any noises that direct his attention towards Tim. But as he passes, Tim cannot help but look up to see which painting Jason is staring so deeply at. It’s a painting in the traditional style of the Al Ghul’s artists, it depicts a green lava like pit, and what seems like a burnt body being lowered into it. The picture looks just like the other metaphorical paintings in this school. Its simply titled ‘Rebirth, 1743’, no sign of an artists name attached. However, before Tim can create a distance between himself and Jason, the man turns around. “You like it? I’ve met the man who painted it.” Jason starts, his voice tight, but nostalgic as if he was reminiscing on an event rather than thinking of the painting itself.

Tim moves to stand beside Jason, an attempt to be polite to a man who could easily beat the living shit out of him. He tries his best to ignore Jason’s still miswarn uniform, and the scars that line his body. “You did? Is it because your brother Damian is an Al Ghul?” Tim asks, looking at the painting, noticing just how detailed the artist had gotten. He can tell the painting is old, but hs been preserved the best it could. Jason chuckled low, it was less of a funny laugh, more of an insulting one. “No, I met the painter before I met Damian.” Jason claims, his arms now crossed, his eyes still analyzing every bit of the picture.

“My favourite part of this painting is how realistic the painter made the green the shade ‘rebirth’.” Jason added, his hand now leaving its position of cross so his finger can point towards the green pit in the painting. This action encouraged Tim to lean forward himself, to see just how detailed the sea of green was. “I thought the Al Ghul’s never revealed who their artists are.” Tim advised, now stepping back. This is met by a moment of silence, before Jason can offer any form of reply. “Usually, but I figured it out on my own.” Jason replies, his reply leaves Tim more confused. Then it hits Tim, the date of the painting, was it a simple red herring? A small detail or reference Tim simply would not understand?

As they both stare at the painting, Tim pushes these questions down when a realization suddenly hits him. All of his generalization of Jason were wrong, every piece of media he had read, even his own encounter had mislead him. Somehow His analysis of the Wayne boy caught smoking before dinner was incorrect, and Tim cannot think of the last time he was incorrect nor surprised by someone. And for a moment, Tim doesn’t want this encounter to end, he doesn’t care about the common room any more. In his mind, he has decided that he'd rather learn more about Jason Todd, than find some old fireplace and couches. There is something alluring about Jason, not the in looks like his brother Dick, perhaps its the mystery that surrounds him. And standing together for the rest of time would’ve been what happen, if it hadn’t been for the bell and the rush of students that flooded the halls.The wave of fellow students clashed between Tim and Jaso, blocking Tim’s sight form both Jason and the painting. Once he initial rush of students dies down Tim deems that he has lost Jason Todd, and must now abandon getting to know the man. At least for now.

The day passes by in what feels like a breeze, Tim ‘s earlier interaction with Dick and Jason find a place deep in Tim’s mind. Though notably neither encounter is able to make the forefront of his thoughts, especially not as school work starts to build up. Tim spends most of his evening in the library, he studies upcoming chapters and finishes an essay before the library closes for the night. The library is old, but massive, it offers an energy Tim cannot quite place. Once the library closes, Tim roams the school hallways until he runs into Stephanie. In response to seeing him out late, she drags him to his dorm, claiming she is saving him from the cold night air.

It’s late at night, and Tim lies awake on his bed. His room is dark, but he left the blinds open, only the light silk curtain drawn, meaning the moon could shine in. For all its flaws, Gotham’s moon was beautiful and bright, a sign of hope in such a dark city. As Tim turns once more, he can’t help but want to get up, to leave the sheets of his bed and slip into slippers. Where would he go? What would he do? All questions he simply doesn’t have an answer too, and yet he is taking off the blanket and sitting up. His heart pounds in his chest, as if he is running on pure adrenaline. He slides down into the slippers by his bedside before rising, when Tim stands up he makes a quick movement to grab his robe from the wooden pillar on his bed and tie it around his waist. Quietly, he goes over to his desk and starts to go through it until he finds a silver flashlight, one that’s batteries were fully charged. He grips it tightly as he grabs his rusty room key and shoves it into his robe pocket.

Leaving the dorm building was easier than expected, no one seemed to patrol and everyone else seemed dead asleep. At night, the dorm building felt less eerie, perhaps due to Tim subconsciously knowing that at night everyone should be asleep. Once outside, Tim shakes and turns on the flashlight, shining it towards the ground of bricks he walks on. The bricks are clean cut with minimal dirt on them, as if recently washed. It’s cold and the air nips at Tim’s cheeks causing them to become a rose red, while his face feels brought back to life by the cold. Tim hadn’t yet explored the ground of the school, all he knew was that it was surrounded by a large stone wall with a gate at the front and back. Most of the outside is greenery or spots to sit and chat, as such, Tim decides to go off path and head towards what looks like a garden.

With the moon shining down, Tim walks at a slow pace, the flashlight's ability to brighten up what is in front of him is slowly dying out. Just as Tim is about to reach the garden, he realizes someone is standing in the center, this causes him to turn his flashlight off and duck into a nearby bush. It takes him a minute to readjust to his surroundings, and then it hits him. The dirt under him is moist, and lining this area are grave stones.

A grave site at a school? It seemed like an unfortunate metaphor, but then again, Tim can’t remember any books or guides making mention of this small graveyard back when he was a kid researching the school. He wonders if this was simply a keepsake, something that the school had to be built around due to some sort of fear of disrupting the dead. What’s more odd is the person standing upright in the middle of it all, they look almost drunk with pleasure and Tim thinks for a moment that he has somehow stumbled across the school's drinking grounds. With his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, Tim sees the person better. Now, it is clear the person in the graveyard is naked, with spots of moist soil on their body, the moon gleaming down on areas of sweat. At first, Tim makes the strange but realistic assumption that the man is masturbating, the look of pleasure and naked body seem to prove this. But upon further inspection, he is doing no such thing.

It’s then that the man’s head jerks towards Tim, his eyes, his eyes are unforgettable, they undoubtedly belong to Dick Grayson. And what’s worse? He has now shifted his body to fully face where Tim is and starts to slowly walking towards him. For a moment, he watches as Dick walks towards him, his naked body seemingly unaware of the cold air around it, Dick’s eyes are an icy blue a far contrast to the ocean like blue-green they were when he last saw him. Just as Dick approaches, Tim’s eyes tightly close shut, he whispers a small prayer, begging that Dick Grayson will opt to forget this night.

“Fuck!” Tim shouts, his body lifting up in his bed, a cold sweat dripping down his body. His hands frantically feel himself up and down, as if to ensure this time life is real. He feels dizzy, groggy, as if he had too much to drink, but Tim is sure he didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. His entire body feels cold, beyond a simple need of a jacket type of cold. He feels as if ice itself has been put into his veins, and flowing through him was cold water instead of blood.

Then, before Tim can fully make sense of the situation he finds himself in, a knock comes from his door. Its only then Tim attempts to refocus on reality. “Hey, it’s Kon. You weren’t at breakfast, you ok?” Kon’s voice echos, and Tim wants to get up from his bed but can already feel the world spinning. “Can I come in?” Kon adds, and Tim offers a quick ‘yes’ in response. His voice is a low and shaky, with a hint of uncertainty. When Kon enters he already has a certain type of rush to him, as if he already knew something was deeply wrong. He rushes up to Tim, and looks at the man. Once done analysing his looks, Kon presses a hand to his forehead then shakes his head softly.

“You got a nasty flu.” Kon claims, a faint hint of southern accent coming out. Tim shakes his head, gently pushing away Kon’s hand. “I was fine yesterday, I just need to get up and shower.” Tim insists, now shifting in his bed to attempt to get up. He continues to push away Kon’s attempts to help or simply re-put Tim back into bed, so much so, he makes it to the door of his dorm. At this point, Tim is freezing, he can’t deny that as a fact, but he also cannot accept that this is a flu. This can’t be a flu, Tim has had the flu, this is not just a flu. As Tim turns the handle to exit his dorm, he feels Kon’s firm grip land on his shoulder, it reminds him of his father’s grip, but Kon’s is more assertive, less comforting. For a moment Tim stops, a sense of fear looming over him.

Kon sighs as he spins Tim around to face him, giving Tim a look before pulling out sunglasses from his pocket and putting them onto his face. “Let’s at least go to the nurse’s office, ensure it isn’t anything long lasting.” Kon declares, and particularly drags Tim out of the dorm. As they go down the hallway and corridor of the dorm building, Tim feels uneasy. And once they reach outside, with Kon dragging him, Tim feels the same cold shiver in his spine he felt when Damian stared at him. Kon never addresses Tim’s horrified look when he had gripped him, and neither does Tim.

The feeling of being watched only intensifies as Kon takes him into the main school building, he can sense someone—or a few people— are watching him. Tim wants to run, to hide, to seek refuge back at his own home, but he can’t do that, instead he lets Kon lead him to the nurse’s office. He attempts to distract himself by looking at the paintings on the walls, the way the faces smudge from Tim’s dizziness is almost entertaining. For Tim, it gives the painting a new perspective he has yet to see, one of imperfection. At some point, Tim can tell Kon is trying to speak with him, he can’t hear the man’s voice, but can see his chest moving up and down with each word, his lips not visible due to him leading. If all felt unreal to Tim, like another nightmare. The entire feeling of today felt like the dreams he had when his parents first passed. The dreams where he would be the one dead, or the ones where things started out happy and ended in tragedy.

At some point, Tim isn’t fully sure when, he ends up on a bed in the nurse’s office. She offers him some water, and instructs Kon to leave while Tim rests. The only thing on Tim’s mind apart from being cold is seeing Dick Grayson naked in the graveyard, seeing his body gleam from the moonlight, his eyes staring at him. With that, Tim can make out that when he wakes up a nursing student will be here to help him come to, and god he hopes whoever it is is real. He shuts his eyes, and a humming that does not belong to him puts him to sleep.

Chapter Text

The nurse’s office never has sick students, apart from today. And as Tim comes to, he can feel the sunset on his face. He isn’t sure if he is ready to wake up or not, or if he even wants to wake up. However, it’s notably not as violent of a wake up as the morning had been, he feels no urgency or fear, only the comfort of a blanket. The blanket feels like a tight and warm hug, reminding him of his mother’s hugging style. Though, Tim knows he cannot sleep forever, and maybe feeling better means he should wake up sooner rather than later. So, Tim lets his eyes open slightly, and starts listening to the world around him. He can hear a male voice not far off humming, and the sound of pills falling into what Tim can only assume is a pill bottle.

As his eyes fully open, he lets out a yawn and footsteps draw closer. It’s only once he has sat up he is met by those muddy green eyes, staring deeply at him. Damian Wayne sits on a chair beside him, on a small table beside Damian is a silver tray with pills and water. “You took awhile to wake up.” Damian claims, grabbing for a medical chart from the wall beside Tim’s bed, and jotting down something. He looks Tim up and down, before putting the chart back and grabbing the water on the sliver tray. “Drink, you are dehydrated.” It isn’t a suggestion, it’s a demand.

Damian’s hand’s help guide the cup to Tim’s lips, and gently tilt the cup up. It’s intimate, the way Damian allowed the cup in Tim’s mouth for only a few seconds, as if Tim was a small child just learning to drink. It almost feels sexual when the water starts pouring into Tim’s mouth, Damian’s eyes not leaving him for even a second. Neither says anything, the only noise is Tim’s gentle sips of the water. At some point, Damian gently pulls the cup away and returns it to the try, wiping away some water that remained running down Tim’s lip and chin. His hands were soft against Tim’s face, the type of hands he didn’t expect would belong to a person his age. Especially one like Damian, someone whose most notable trait is working with his hands to create art.

“You look less pale.” Damian comments, standing from his seat and going behind a curtain towards what Tim assume is the nurse’s station, only to return with an IV. Tim hadn’t thought Damian would be a nursing student, let alone one knowledgeable enough to be left alone to help nurse Tim back to health. But here Damian clearly was. He was carefully holding Tim’s arm as he searched for a place to put the IV. HDamian’s fingers trace Tim’s arms, applying pressure to certain spots, until eventually finding the perfect place for an IV. Unlike other nurses, he makes no promise it won’t hurt as he inserts the IV into his arm, followed by pressing a cotton ball to it. Somehow, it hurt less than regular needles, it felt more like a bite from a mosquito than anything else. No part of Tim was upset, he felt an uncomfortable amount of ease.

Damian softly starts to hum, the same echo of a hum Tim had heard before he passed out. He wants to question Damian, ask the younger one if he had been there when Tim had first been brought in. But based on Damian’s quiet hum, and lack of conversation, Tim stays quiet. He watches as Damian grabs a book from a nearby table and opens it, still humming while he reads. The room is growing dark by the minute, but all Tim can do is pull his knee’s close to his chest and watch as the IV drips. The only lights remaining are the candles that line the walls and a two or three overhead lights. It’s stupid in his mind, but Damian’s humming brings Tim a sense of comfort. As if he has heard this humming well before today, like it's engraved into him, a hum that will bring him warmth. He can feel Damian’s eyes are on him, though notably less than they had been during the psychology class. The shiver that is usually brought to Tim’s spine ceases, though Tim wonders i that is an affect of his illness.

The silence begins to eat Tim, even with Damian’s humming, he hates that he is forced to be quiet. “How long am I stuck here?” Tim finally asks, and Damian looks up from the book he had been reading. “Likely until morning.” Damian replies, a short and bittersweet answer. Perhaps Tim is sick, because something about the way Damian’s eyes roam the pages of the book is causing Tim’s body to cringe. It’s as if he is watching someone be brutally stabbed, yet he is only watching someone read a simple book. It’s an unwelcome feeling that forms in Tim’s gut, it weighs heavy in this womb area.

Tim leans back slightly, hoping the cramping in his gut will subside. He presses hard against the pillow behind him, meanwhile a part of his mind is concentrated on trying to keep his face calm. Suddenly, Damian closes his book and puts it down on the table once more. “You’re experiencing discomfort, where does it hurt?” Damian asks, his voice is monotone, as if he cannot even for a second allow himself to show any type of emotion, still some genuine concern shines through Tim waits to reply, still shifting in his bed trying to find comfort. “Just cramping” Tim explains, and he can see the way Damian’s eyes change, they lock in on Tim before he stands up.

Damian moves gracefully behind the curtain once more, this time he returns with a small bag. Without asking, he presses it firmly against Tim’s lower stomach. The heat spurs through Tim’s skin, and offers a sense of relief. Damian continues to hold it, Tim doesn’t realize it instantly, but Damian’s other hand is gently rubbing circles on Tim’s hand. It’s all so comforting for Tim, it gives a sense of home. Even before all the terribleness that took place a year ago happened, Tim cannot recall a time where anyone had taken care of him so kindly. “Thank you” Tim quietly muttered, and Damian looks up, his eyes now soft. “Anything for you, babybird.” Damian replies, though the word after ‘you’ is more of a whisper. Tim pays it no mind, assuming Damian truly is a dedicated nursing student.

They continue to sit like this in silence for a while, Damian’s free hand still rubs circle’s into Tim’s hand. It’s only when the leathery object loses its warmth that Damian relieves himself from his duty to hold it against Tim’s lower stomach. Tim’s lower stomach is hit by a feeling of coldness, much colder than expected. He watches quietly as Damian starts softly humming again as he rises to return the warm object to the nursing station, even the way Damian walks is full of grace. No amount of words could describe the feelings and questions Tim currently harboured, this was the second Wayne boy that Tim managed to fail at analyzing. In one way, it felt like a punch to the gut, a reminder that he is simply not all that smart. On the other hand, it was fascinating, the way that Damian and Jason had both misled Tim without having to do anything in particular.

After drinking some more water, Tim lies back down on the bed. He is overwhelmingly tired, and can feel himself drifting off. Before Damian can return from the nurses station, Tim has closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

Everything feels strange in the days that follow Tim’s stay in the nurses office. Notably, Damian has not been attending their shared class, leaving the seat by the window empty. Even with the seat empty, people avoid the area like the plague, as if sitting there would personally offend Damian Wayne. When a week passes and there is still no sign of Damian, even in the hallways, Tim starts to wonder if the boy dropped out. Its during dinner, that Damian reappears, seemingly out of thin air. He sits next to Jason who seems to be arguing with Dick, though no one is paying any mind.

Meanwhile, Tim remains in his seat, seated next to his friends. For a moment, he considers standing up and walking over to Damian, thanking him for his kindness when he was nursing Tim back to health. Yet, he is unable to, because when he looks over he can clearly see that Damian is not happy. His lips are in a slight frown as he stares at Jason and Dick, eventually tugging at Jason who shifts his attention to Damian and whispers to him. Tim feels a bit nosey watching the trio of brothers talk and behave, even a bit creepy. He hates how obsessed he is with them, feeling as if he is unable to look away or let his mind drift to something else. Especially, after being nursed back to health by Damian. It simply doesn’t add up in Tim’s mind, why now he is suddenly dreaming of the three, thinking abut the three, and wanting to be around the Wayne boys.

“Keep staring and they might take offence.” Kon blurts out, his eyes looking between Tim an the Waynes. Tim recoils for a moment before diverting his eyes to focus on Kon, who sits in front of him. “Sorry, I just really wanted to Thank Damian. He helped me get over my flu.” Tim admits, and Kon nods, though his eyes narrow slightly. “Damian can be closed off, I suggest writing a letter to him, and then handing it off to Dick.” Kon explains, in his hand he plays with a brown napkin, twisting it between his fingers and then to the palm of his hand where it becomes a ball. “Not a terrible idea.” Tim says, though he initially intended to think that not say it aloud.

A letter felt formal, though Tim thinks formality isn't necessarily a bad thing, especially because its the Waynes. He recalls the numerous times his father has instilled in him that the Waynes are not a new money family, and to treat them with all the respect an old money family could have. As a child, Tim hadn’t understood this, but the older he got the more it made sense. To this day, he can recount all the times the Waynes had a major influence in how Gotham was run. Even the media loved the Waynes, Bruce had such a way of living his life that no one could get enough. Tim is also starting to figure out that the Waynes also have pull in Gotham Prep enough pull that Damian can miss a week of class and face no punishment.

As Tim attempts to take one more look back at the Waynes, he realizes all three have disappeared.

That night, Tim sits at his desk, his lamp on and a paper in front of him. As he hears people going to bed, and watches the hours pass by, he wonders how to write this letter to Damian. A part of Tim knows Damian may never even open the envelope to read the contents of the letter, but he cannot write something so simply. On the off hand chance Damian does open the letter and read it, Tim does not want to be embarrassed or worse, offend a Wayne. His hand is shaky as he picks up his pen and starts to write, attempting to use cursive to the best of his ability. It takes Tim while, and plenty of rewrites to get the perfect letter, one that he feels will bring honor to the Drake family name, and will not embarrass it.

Carefully, Tim seals the letter into the envelope and puts it on his bedside table for the morning. He glances up at the clock in his room to see its the early hours of the morning, he yawns and turns off the lamp, rising from his desk. Tim’s full intention is to go to bed, and not wake up until breakfast. Or it was until he hears whispers of an argument outside his dorm, he wants to sleep, he really does, but something is telling him to listen. Silently, Tim presses his ear up against his oak dorm door, and focuses on whoever is outside arguing quietly. The first thing he notices is a hissy voice, “Jason, Bruce has spoken.” It clearly belongs to Dick Grayson. At least now Tim knows who is arguing outside his door.

“Fuck Bruce, when was the last time we let his ancient ass make a choice like this for us?” Jaso replies, his voice lower, more angered than Dick’s had been. There is a silence after Jason speaks, and for a moment Tim think the argument has come to a close. “I agree with Jason.” Another voice speaks up, it’s Damian’s though this is the first time his voice sounds less eloquent. “I also agree though with the idea of waiting, our fated match is still mortal, why take that away from him?” Damian explains, and his works sink deep into Tim’s mind, who is still mortal, and why are they not mortal?

Before Tim can get anymore answers, Dick speaks up again. “You two should go, I can sense that babybird waking up.” his voice is a whisper, and Tim suddenly feels as if everything in his room is watching hm. There is no more words exchanged and Tim slips into his bed, praying that this is once again all just a sour dream. A dream that will go into the back of his mind, never to bother him again.

Chapter Text

The library books have a mind of their own, and keep getting placed onto the wrong spots on the shelves. Tim had been wrong, deeply wrong, he is unable to forget what he heard the Wayne boys whispering about two nights ago. Mortality, fated matches, all of it felt so fantasy no ounce of realism seemed to be present. Yet, Tim had decidedly confined himself to the school’s library, searching for any usage of these words. A part of him hopes for maybe proof that he is perhaps just dreaming or hearing nonsense. Of course, after the dream he had about Dick Grayson, anything Tim thinks happened involving the Wayne boys could easily be another dream. That just so happens to be where his concerns lie.

Tim sits quietly at a table in the library, the table is set far back in the right corner, hidden by a few bookshelves. In front of him is a book that focuses on mythology, and how mythology forms in society. If immortals do exist, the first place to fact check is mythology, they usually contain the oldest accounts of odd happenings. This just so happened to be something younger Tim had found out, and now current Tim must put to use. While flipping the pages Tim is gentle, he knows these pages are old and the knowledge valuable. Then again, he he also doesn’t want to rush himself when he reads, savoring every word with delight. He knows he has been in the library since breakfast, but skipping class seemed to be less of an issue today. A part of Tim is still exhausted from whatever illness had affected him, he forces himself awake at times. Every now and then he has a hot or cold flash, but Tim pushes forward.

Just as Tim feels himself losing it; words blurring on the page, a loud noise behind him catches his attention. His head snaps back, and his mind wakes up. Tim’s eyes dart towards whatever could’ve caused the noise, eventually they land on a book. Cautiously, he rises from his seat and walks to the book. Before picking up, he takes note of the old leather binding, and layer of dust and dirt. He lets it sit there for a moment, as if to see if anyone else will come running over due to the noise. To his surprise, no one does. Tim knows that old books are bound to be found in this library, if anything Tim wonders how this book could’ve ended up in abandoned in the school library. When he grabs the book into his hands and flips it over, he sees it is clearly a history book titled ‘Before To Now, Gotham City’s unofficial history, 1795’. There is no author listed.

Before Tim can open the book, Kon–who appears from behind a bookshelf- catches his attention, inviting himself to take a seat at Tim’s table. “Hey dude, Steph says you’ve locked yourself in this library.” Kon jokes, placing his own book, which seemed to be significantly newer compared to the one Tim had just found, and flips it open. “Any news on how the letter to Damian went?” Kon asks, grabbing out a note pad from his pocket and jotting a few things down from the textbook. Tim freezes, the letter. He had completely forgotten all about it, and knew for a fact it was still on his bedside table. “I totally forgot to pass it on to Dick.” Tim explained, putting his head on his hands, and groaning, causing Kon to laugh at him.

“I wouldn’t worry, I doubt Damian would care” Kon claims, still scribbling down notes from his textbook. There is silence as Tim attempts to figure out if giving Damian the letter is still worth it, if the boy will even care. But then he thinks to how softly Damian had held the heated object to Tim’s gut, and how personal Damian was when helping Tim drink water. All actions that made him feel deeply safe. Before Tim can tell Kon his plan to give Damian the letter, Kon grabs at the book Tim was about to read and stares at it. “What you using this for?” Kon asks, now flipping over the book and through the pages. Tim leaps up from his seat to grab it back. “It’s for a class project.” Tim quickly claims, snatching it from Kon’s hands and putting it under his arm. “Speaking of, I need to sign out this book and go ask my teacher a question about this.” Tim announces, now starting to move away from Kon.

Kon lets Tim leave the corner, though as Tim checks out the book he can feel that Kon is sneaking glances at him. It doesn’t cause a weird chill in Tim, but it does cause a lot of discomfort. With the book checked out, Tim rushes off into the hallways.

Tim quickly comes to the realization that going back to his dorm to read this book could cause a problem, that being if anyone else decides they want to chat with him. Instead, Tim walks around the campus grounds, he retraces his steps from the dream he had a week ago, the one with Dick in the grave yard. Without fail, just off the main pathway is the same dirt path leading to a forestry area. Tim follows it, much more aware of where he might be going. Eventually the pathway ends, however there is no grave site, just a big oak tree with three rocks stacked, more like a makeshift grave for someone. While it isn't perfect, and opens more questions than answers for Tim, he takes a seat leaning up against the giant oak.

The introduction page of the book is an author’s note, it seems most of it is to ensure legality is all good. However, what catches Tim’s attention is the author making mention of why this book was constructed. According to the writer, ‘Gotham has always been home to the world’s darkest, most brutal, secrets.’, and that is what drove this author to write. As Tim flips through the pages, he realizes that everything is made in this man’s own handwriting, no use of a printing press. While this revelation is interesting, he recognizes that an old school like Gotham Prep is bound to have one off books like this, usually made by students. Still, Tim continues to read and decode the author’s hand writing, sometimes needing to skip a word due to an ink smudge or simply hard to read handwriting.

Eventually, Tim lands on the chapter titled, ‘Gotham’s eternal safe haven’, the first page is a quick description as to what the chapter intended to explore. In this case, the author made it clear this is where his own theories about Gotham were coming into play, and this chapter itself would be where years of research could finally be stored. Just as Tim begins to read the first subsection, as shadow comes over him and the page.

Upon looking up, Tim sees a familiar redhead, still not dressed in the school’s uniform, and a cigarette still hanging from his mouth. He looks down at Tim and smiles, as if he somehow has caught a glimpse of a rare gem. “You know, classes are in session.” Roy Harper claims, and Tim closes the book, slowly coming to his feet. “I am doing research for one of my history classes.” Tim explains, showing off the book to Roy, who nods and blow out smoke. “You don’t even go here, why would you care where I go and what I do?” Tim speaks up, and before he can respond Roy has snatched the book from his hands. “Consider it a favor for a close friend.” Roy snickered.

Tim watches as Roy flips through the pages of the book, eventually stopping and flipping the book around to face Tim. “I bet this author spent a lot of time locked up in Arkham.” Roy laughs and the page being shown is one about the possible secret society of ungodly beings who have beat death residing in Gotham. “I’d usually toss books like this aside if I planned to credit it for a paper or project, but to each their own.” Roy shrugs before tossing the book lightly back to Tim, who catches it and presses the book back against his chest. “Is you’re job to scare away students while also dealing to the ones who ask?” Tim spurs back, now stepping slightly back from Roy, who laughs at the comment before tossing his own lit cigarette onto the ground and stopping it out. “Never, smoking is a terrible habit, never do it kid.” Roy declares before turning and beginning to walk on the dirt path.

“Hey! Wait!” Tim shouts out, rushing after him as he watches Roy slowly disappear into the forestry. Perhaps it was simply Tim being cautious, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was somehow part of whatever the Wayne boys were referring to. For now, Tim’s gut was screaming at him to head back to his dorm, and pray that whatever Roy Harper’s ‘favor’ was, wouldn’t affect him.

When Tim arrives back at his dorm, the first thing he notices is that his door is unlocked. Not simply flung open as if someone had been there, but placed shut and attempted to be locked by a faulty key. Upon entering the room, he looks around for any items he knew could be sold for money, and none had been touched. Actually nothing had been. Whoever had come into Tim’s dorm either did it by mistake, or stole something so small Tim would never notice. That is when another idea hits him, what if whoever came in here left the door unlocked on purpose to scare him? It sounds like such a crazy situation and reason, but Tim doesn't doubt that he could’ve easily pissed someone off recently, especially considering if others had seen him looking at the Waynes.

Carefully, Tim sets down the book on his bedside table before falling onto his bed. He wants to close his eyes, it helps him think, helps his mind slow down his sometimes overwhelming thoughts. Just as Tim feels as if the solution is as simple as someone somehow entering the wrong room, he jolts his eyes open and quickly sits back up. His hands roam the beside table, looking on top, under the book, in the single drawer. It’s missing the letter is missing. Who the hell would steal a letter? Could it had been someone during the room checks, mistakenly thinking it was garbage, or worse sending it to Damian on his behalf? The room check staff had never delivered any other letters left in easily placed spots, why now? Every bone in Tim’s body feels cold and numb, as if he has somehow found out a dark secret.

Tim isn’t sure how to fully respond to a situation like this, nor has he ever been in one. There is no way to check if the letter was sent or tossed. It’s then it hits Tim, he is more worried about a letter than he is about someone breaking into his dorm and stealing it. Had the Waynes put some sort of curse onto him? Making it so all Tim could do is silently stress over them and how they’d respond to him? He felt fucking crazy.

A loud knock comes from the door, and Tim tries to reconnect with reality. After the last two instances of someone attempting to grab at his leather book, he decided shoves it under his bed before walking to the door. When Tim opens the door, he sees Dick standing there. His dark hair still styled perfectly, his blue eyes staring down at him. “Hi” Tim quickly says, his body cringing at the almost informal ‘hello’. “Hello, my apologizes about bothering you, but one of your friends–Kon I think—Gave me a letter on your behalf.” Dick informs him, before pulling out the letter from his jacket pocket. The letter is thankfully still in its envelope and the seal is unbroken. “I saw it is addressed to my brother, but I wanted to ask if you intended for Kon to pass it off to me so I could give it to Damian?” Dick asked, his eyes never leaving Tim, his voice soft.

A loud groan escapes Tim’s lips, but he cannot deny the fact that he is thankful the letter was never handed off to Damian. “I see, Kon must’ve mistaken something I said. The letter wasn’t suppose to be sent.” Tim admits, rubbing the bridge of his nose and holding his hand out for Dick to pass the letter back to him. Dick laughs, before putting the letter into Tim’s hand. “No harm, no foul.” Dick insists, and offers a small ‘goodbye’ before Tim closes his door.

Without fail, before Tim goes to bed that night he can feel himself heating up. He doubts its illness this time, perhaps its delayed embarrassment about the situation earlier. As darkness starts to consume Tim’s dorm, he feels…complexed. Or as most people would call it, horny, really horny. He can feel himself getting wet over seemingly nothing, yet at first isn’t sure what to fully do. After awhile of tossing and turning, Tim gives in gently parting his legs. He slips a hand down his pants until his finger trace his wet pussy, and he feels small ounces of pleasure come over him. Before Tim can even get to the longer moments of pleasure his mind wanders slightly, and the Wayne boys come to his head. Perhaps its because he is horny, and hasn’t been fucked ever, but Tim finds pleasure in the idea of losing his virginity to one of them. He thinks about each one of their cocks in detail how wide and long each one would be and him being stuffed by each would feel.

As Tim reaches his climax, his mind wanders to the idea of being passed around my all three men at once. How Damian’s gently movements would translate over to how he would fuck him, how Damian’s hands would squeeze his body. While, the idea of Jason playing dirty fills his mind, that in this perfect scene Jason would never stop even as Tim begs and cries out in pain. Then there was Dick, who in Tim’s fantasy would keep a steady pace, fucking into him while praising every inch of Tim’s body, worshipping it like a god. It’s only once he has assigned each man a role that Tim moans out and finishes.

Tim’s mind becomes foggy with pleasure. Unable to do anything else, he lets his eyes close and falls into another deep sleep.

Chapter Text

The professors speak as if they are sworn to secrecy, never giving complete answers. Trust Tim, he has tried so very hard to break them from their clearly programmed answers, but by God it was not working. Currently as he sits in his Philosophy class waiting for the class to begin, he watches the teacher closely, as if hoping she will break. Yet she follows the same routine she always does before class begins, and it drives Tim crazy. So much so, he doesn’t initially sense nor realize someone new has chosen to sit beside him today. It’s only when class starts and Tim turns to grab something from his bag he realizes Damian Wayne has declared the spot beside Tim his. For a moment, he stops in his tracks, his hands in his bag no longer moving to reach for anything. How deep in thought had Tim been that he hadn’t detected Damian?

Damian pays Tim no mind, his attention focused on the professor who has already begun the lesson. The two sit in silence as the class continues on, neither making eye contact nor attempting such an action. A part of Tim wonders if Dick had mentioned the letter to Damian, and if this was simply the boy’s way of confronting him. Though, Tim also feels as if he has somehow invaded Damian’s space, breaking some generational rule by sitting next to the Wayne. Class continues on and Tim starts scribbling down notes, slowly paying less attention to Damian, however Damian still lingers in the back of his mind.

When class ends, students start to pile out. The professor sighs and gathers some papers on her desk, before taking a seat. Tim starts to pack up, placing his notes into his bag. It’s only when he looks up that a voice catches his attention. “Timothy, I’d like to invite you for tea this afternoon.” Damian announces, grabbing a small card from his pocket and passing it to Tim. “Oh, of course.” Tim responds, playing with the small business card in his hands. With that Damian leaves and Tim waits a minute before following and going to his next class. A sense of odd optimism filling him.

Instead of going to the dining hall for lunch, Tim sits in his dorm. The book he had gotten from the library is in front of him, and as he drinks water he reads the inky writing. This author has theories that went far beyond simply odd happenings, theories that place Gotham as some place filled with immortal beings. As he keeps flipping through pages, he stumbles upon the author’s own remarks that he is unable to pinpoint much about immortals, other than the fact that it seems some have magical abilities. This causes Tim to stop for a moment, he takes a long sip of his drink. Either the author is onto something or Tim has been wasting his time. He groans and shuts the book, perhaps there are better ways for him to be researching this case.

After the defeat that is the book, Tim decides it’s time he goes for a walk. Something to waste time doing before his afternoon tea with Damian. He grabs his coat and heads out of his dorm, down the stairs and out the door. There is a soft breeze in the air, October is setting in and the trees around the school are showing the changing of colours. Tim breathes in softly as he walks, taking in the smells of the almost syrupy air, and letting the air linger in his throat before exhaling. Though his father wouldn’t never admit it, Tim knew his favourite season was Autumn. He remembers how happy his father always was whenever the trees changed colours and the air held a bit more cool than usual. Even the tradition of craving pumpkins, a task Tim hated as a child, now felt so sentimental, an activity related to a now dead man.

“Have you not invested in warmer clothes?” Someone asks, Tim looks to his side to see Jason Todd jogging to catch up to him. Jason has on a dark brown leather jacket, under it the school uniform shirts and pants. Notably, around his neck is a deep red scarf. “It’s not cold yet.” Tim insists, slowing down slightly to allow Jason to catch up to him. Tim can hear a leaf be crushed under Jason’s foot as he steps closer to him, coming up beside Tim.

They walk in silence for a minute, neither speaking as if neither knows how to proceed. “You have an accent.” Tim suddenly blurts out, his body cringes. It’s true, Jason has a hint of a Gotham accent, one usually found in the inner city. “Bruce adopted me, I spent a decent part of my life in inner Gotham, not the elite area.” Jason explains with a shrug, his hands now resting in his pockets. “You have an accent too, you know. Posh, reminds me of Damian’s formal accent when speaking to people outside the family.” Jason jokes, now lowering himself slightly to get a look at Tim’s face. Tim can feel his face slowly blushing, his cheeks turning hot and pink.

With a groan, Jason takes his hands out his pockets and grabs the red scarf from around his neck. Before Tim can deny the scarf, Jason has already tied it around him. “I think Dami would kill me if I let you get sick again.” Jason explains the two continuing to walk through the autumn weather. “Thank you, but I would’ve been ok.” Tim claims, but Jason holds a hand up to him. “Maybe, but I’d say red suits you.” Jason smirks his eyes now not leaving Tim, both men stopping. For a moment, it feels like the world around them has stopped moving, as if everything is supposed to be in a perfect place. A feeling of warmth floods Tim’s body as his eyes meet Jason’s muddy green ones.

“I’ve got to run, but remember, reading is key.” Jason suddenly claims before jogging off. He leaves Tim standing alone, the red scarf still tied around his neck. Just like the last time the two spoke, their conversation is cut short by forces out of his control. Jason’s words stick slightly to Tim’s mind, reading is key. Was Jason somehow aware of Tim currently reading the mysterious book? Perhaps Jason was the person Roy has owed a favor to. That seemed logical.

What didn’t seem logical was the fact that Tim was now going to have to run to make it to the Wayne’s private room.

It wasn’t uncommon for rich families to buy wings of the buildings for their kids and friends to share, nor was it uncommon for them to buy rooms in the school. The school honestly had sometimes too many rooms, most untouched. The Wayne’s private room was located in the east wing of the school on the second floor. Tim isn’t sure why, but this area of the school seems older, yet somehow more taken care of. And as his hand hits against the oak door of the room, the door opens to reveal Dick Grayson.

Dick is notably not wearing the school uniform, instead he has on a deep blue suit and white under shirt. A dark blue hat in his head covering some of his darker hair. His eyes glance down at Tim, who suddenly feels slightly embarrassed for having the school uniform still on. Any look of curious annoyance on Dick’s face is replaced by a welcoming smile. “Little Bat mentioned inviting you!” Dick says, his tone pleased and happy as he grabs Tim’s hand and brings him instead.

The private room is interesting. It has big windows that face the outside forest area, with curtains neatly placed aside. In one corner are three book shelves pushed against the wall, and a lovers seat with pillows and blankets nearby, a book left open. On the walls are detailed paintings, though Tim doesn’t get a good look at those. The room isn’t massive, it looks like it was intended to be a professor's office space. As such, in the middle is a small round table with tea and pastries set up. As Dick guides Tim to the table, he recognizes Damian. Damian is slightly hidden behind a painting easel, the easel pointed towards the table. To his side is a wooden stool with painting supplies, and around his torso an apron with paint splatters.

“Please take a seat, the tea is brewing.” Dick explains, pulling out Tim’s chair and letting him sit down. Damian notably doesn’t join them, instead beginning to put paint colours onto a tray and preparing his brushes. “Little bat, your guest is here.” Dick basically sings to Damian who rolls his eyes but smiles at the words spoken. “I’m aware; Greetings, Timothy.” Damian responds, poking his head slightly more out so Tim can see him. “Hello, thank you for inviting me.” Tim nods, and Damian goes back behind the easel. “The pleasure is mine.” Damian mutters, now softly humming as Dick starts to pour tea into Tim’s tea cup.

A silence comes over the three as Dick places honey and milk into his tea, before Tim can reach for any Dick has already put sugar and milk into Tim’s. Throughout the silence is Damian’s humming and the noise of his brushes hitting the canvas, the strokes of the painting merging with the canvas to create life. Though, Tim couldn’t shake how strange it was that Dick knew what he took in his tea, and how much more strange it was that Dick was currently putting pastries onto a small plate for him. Dick gently passes the tiny plate to Tim, on it are several strawberry flavoured deserts and a piece of vanilla bread from a loaf. For a moment, he expects for Dick to grab some for himself, instead, Dick makes a plate for Damian and rises from his seat. He walks over and gently grabs Damian’s face.

Tim watches as Dick seemingly grabs his younger brother’s face, turning it to him. Damian’s eyes lock on Dick who carefully grabs the small finger sandwich and brings it to Damian’s mouth. The humming stops and he takes a bite, Dick offering a satisfied smile as Damian accepts the plate and Dick turns to return to his seat at the table. The entire affair feels…romantic. Tim knows it is a wrong thing to think about, how horrible it would be if it held any truth, but he cannot deny the way Dick’s hands brought Damian’s face close to his own. Once seated again, Dick grabs his cup of tea and sips it quietly.

“On my way here I lost track of time.” Tim speaks up, his voice seemingly breaking the peaceful environment, not that either of the others seemed to mind. “Did something keep you?” Dick asked, placing his cup down, a genuine curiosity in his voice. Tim nods slightly, and from the corner of his eye sees that Damian is peaking out slightly from behind the canvas. “Actually, your brother Jason kept me. He offered me his scarf.” He explained, Tim’s hands directly their eyes to the red scarf around his neck. For a moment, Dick breaks. He looks semi-annoyed by the mention of Jason.

“Good, I cannot be nursing you back to health so soon again.” Damian speaks up, as if to make Tim divert his eyes and attention away from the clearly tensed up Dick. “Yes, he mentioned you’d be upset if he’d let me get sick again.” Tim says in a charming manner, now grabbing at his tea.

Before Tim can continue to speak, someone barges into the room. Tim turns to see Jason, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and still wearing the school uniform under a jacket. Dick stands up quickly, as if Jason arriving had triggered a fight or flight. “A word, Jason?” Dick asks, his voice lower than usual. Jason rolls his eyes but lets Dick drag him out of the room, leaving Damian and Tim alone.

As Tim sits quietly Damian emerges from the canvas. “I’m sure the two won’t be back for a while, you can leave when you’d like, but feel free to look around before you go. And I apologize this tea didn’t go as planned.” Damian explained, Tim could sense a certain amount of tense in his voice. Yet, a part of Tim was charmed by Damian, the way even as he is tense that he speaks so formally.

Once up from his seat, Tim walks around the room. He looks at some of the paintings, taking note of how beautiful a few are. The level of detail reminding him of the detail found in the painting of the green water pit himself and Jason had stared at. He stays looking at these paintings for what seems like hours, unbothered by Damian’s humming once again coming back. The more time he spent in the room, the more he felt at ease. If given the choice, Tim would happily get a pillow and blanket and sleep in this room.

After a while, Tim deems his time is up. He turns to leave but a voice stops him. As he looks back, footsteps approach and behind him is Damian, a book in his hand. “I saw you enjoyed the art work.” Damian says, handing the book to Tim. “This is a collection of the Wayne family art works over the many years. It features plenty of artists and different styles, I believe you’d enjoy it.” Maybe it’s the way Damian speaks, notably less formal and more personal, or his hands pressing into Tim’s but he accepts the book. “Thank you.” Is all Tim can utter.

Chapter Text

The paintings in the book are too real, they hold so much humanity they could be mistaken as human. It freaks Tim out, the skillful strokes of the brush, the blending of colours, use of different strategies. It’s as if he is looking at photographs more so than paintings. At first, he pushed the feeling off. But then, Tim looked into the paintings in the collection. A few new facts about the Wayne family became clear. One, the genetics in the family are strong. Two, the family has an undeniable relation to sex. How did the book tell Tim this? While, he flipped to the second page to see a nude painting of Bruce Wayne. His body was positioned to show his strength rather than weakness, the type of painting that would cause scandal. That wasn’t all. It seemed these paintings existed for almost all of the Waynes, a part from Damian.

Dick’s had clearly been painting when he was slightly younger, his hair longer, his body thinner. The painting was bird eye’s view, with Dick on a dark blanket bed and white silk covering his body. To his side is Jason, who also is notably younger, closer to a new teenager. He looks small and grips onto Dick, kissing his neck. It was an odd painting, one that clearly proved something more scandalous was happening between the Wayne siblings. Perhaps Damian had accidentally given Tim the wrong collection, this one felt personal, too personal.

It is possible that this could also be the fact that Tim is sexually frustrated by Damian Wayne. His own romantic and sexual desires pouring into the reality of artist value, unable to separate the two as if under a spell. There was no denying the way Damian’s hair states in perfect placement constantly, or how his green eyes glanced at Tim leaving him in a constant state of blush. Every bit of Damian was alluring, like a siren’s call. Somehow he was perfect, untouched by the hormones of puberty that usually cause acne or other imperfections.

During this all, he thinks about what he saw yesterday. The way Dick’s hand moved to feed Damian, the pet name of ‘little bat’. Questioning if his own feelings had truly gone as far as to make him jealous. Then again, who does that with their sibling?

He slams the book shut, and swears off it. A bit of guilt growing within Tim’s stomach, as if he himself was apart of whatever fucked up dynampics the Wayne brothers had. He sits back in his chair, attempting to catch his breath, to calm down his racing heart. Looking up from the desk, Tim glances at a clock on his wall taking in the late hour. The darkness of his room did not hit him until now. With a mix of frustration, desire, and confusion, Tim stands up from his desk and goes to his bed. He slips under his blankets before turning the lamp off next to him, letting the blankets keep him warm.

For a moment, he fears closing his eyes. Fears that when he closes them he will have another dream. Even when his parents had died, Tim had not given up sleep. He recalls how he spent most of his time in his room sleeping, letting himself sleep as to deny the reality of death. Why now is he fearful of sleep? Of creating a false reality for himself? He hated not knowing the answer, not being sure as to where this fear comes from.

Just as Tim starts to overthink, a soft humming comes into his mind. He feels at ease, as if someone is cooing at him and rubbing circles on his back, making promises of a better tomorrow. It’s a strong sensation. Overwhelmingly strong. Strong enough Tim cannot fight against it and his eyes flutter shut, leaving him defensiveness against dreams.

“Are you cold?” Jason asks, the fire barely glowing now as snow falls around it. Tim shakes his head, a blanket wrapped around his body. He is frozen, his body feels as if his blood is ice. He is unable to feel his body fully anymore, the cold air numbing every aspect of him. However unlike Tim, it’s clear that Jason is unaffected by the cold. One more day. One more day of being alone in the mountains with Jason, one more day until the others will come to retrieve them. That’s all assuming they are still alive, that Bruce was able to successfully negotiate the terms of an immortal bride with the Society of Undead. That the Society would believe the claims made, that they wouldn’t just kill them all to keep their secret. Bruce hadn’t hidden from Tim the cruelness of the society, instead he recounted stories of his past encounters with them. All encounters had the undertone of death.

Death lingers in the air, colder than the air around Tim. What worried him more was the fact that none of them wanted to make Tim immortal, they didn’t want to make their lover fall into an eternal life that would make it nearly impossible for him to escape them if he wished. Which came with its own problems, mainly that of lying to the society.

“Baby Bird, come here. I’ll heat my body up.” Jason insists, holding his arms open for Tim. Having the ability to regulate his body temperature from extreme hot to cold is both a curse and blessing, Tim knows that heating up to keep him warm will cause Jason harm. Jason’s ability could easily leave him burnt, something Tim did not desire to see. “You need to be in your best condition.” Tim mutters, his teeth shaking. Jason doesn’t listen and pulls Tim close to him, his body temperature rising significantly.

The warmth of Jason’s body spreads comfort across Tim, flowing through him like blood. He thinks about Dick, how he is probably trying his best to play into a mindset he does not hold. Or Damian, who knows he is being unestimated because he looks fifteen. Tim longs to hear Damian’s humming, his soft hums that comfort him even during bad times. To have Dick here, he and Jason being attached at the hip, while Tim drifts to sleep in their laps. He thinks of the painting Damian painted of himself and Dick, the tea party turned disastrous by Jason. How the painting now hangs in Wayne Manor like a prize.

He looks up, and Jason looks down. His green eyes staring down at him. “This isn’t real.” Tim claims his hands are still cold. “Aspects of it will be.” The fake Jason responds, his voice lower now. He squeezes Tim’s body, pressing him up against his own heated one. “You’re so smart, Baby Bird.” Jason coos, kissing the top of Tim’s head. It’s a gesture that to Tim in this moment feels oddly familiar, as if it has happened hundreds of times before this.

They sit like this for a while, even knowing it isn’t real, Tim still feels trapped in. In a way, he knows he doesn’t want to leave this behind, that when he returns he will be alone in his dorm. He has questions he wants answered, questions he may be able to ask the illusion of Jason. Yet, he doesn’t. Instead, he quietly stays in his arms, deeming that next time he has a dream he can ask. For a moment in his life, he feels at peace. The usual grief that linger his mind has subsided, any stress from daily life long gone in his mind.

“I love you”

A cold sweat runs over Tim’s body as he comes too, his mind mush. He can feel the morning sun through the curtains, it’s light is warm and offers a continuous amount of comfort as he comes too. As he sits up, Tim feels his heart hurt. Not medically, but emotionally, as if it was missing a piece. His body is tense, even as he leans against his bed frame, his hand clutching the blanket over him still. Another vivid dream, but this time with Jason. Its an odd thing to wake up from a vivid dream, yet instantly know everything around you is real.

This time, the dream felt different, he had more control. More importantly, it seemed dream Jason— similar to real life Jason— was throwing Tim for a loop. His words felt real, as if there was actual truth behind them. Tim’s guts start to twist and turn, his hand landing on his stomach. He pulls his knees close to his chest. He wants this to end, to sleep again without fearing what he will see. Why him? Why not anyone else?

A knock breaks Tim from his thoughts, he doesn’t react at first. Leaving his bed feels like a death sentence, leaving behind all his thoughts, putting on a mask. Before he can slump back into bed, cover himself with blankets, a voice breaks through the door. “Tim, are you in there? I want to speak with you.” It’s Dick, because of course it’s Dick. He can hear Dick’s knock on the door, Tim can hear his foot gently tapping on the wooden floor outside. His heart nearly skips a beat at the noise of Dick’s voice. He doesn’t know why, but he gets up from his bed, uncurling himself.

He strides towards the door, and opens it. There stands Dick, he stands with a woven basket in his hands. In the basket, a blue plaid cloth covers the treasures it holds. “Hi.” Is all Tim can muster to say, he is suddenly very much breathless, as if Dick has stolen it. “I brought an apology gift, for yesterday.” Dick clarifies, handing Tim the basket. Carefully, Tim removes the cloth slightly to see a variety of muffins. “Jason helped to make them.” Dick explains, a hand falling onto the back of his neck, rubbing his neck as if Tim was somehow deeply disrespected from yesterday.

“They look edible.” Tim teases, grabbing one out of the basket and taking a bite. Its blueberry, and cooked to perfection. He can feel Dick’s eyes on him while he chews, as if he has more to stay but doesn’t want to interrupt. After shallowing, Tim turns and places the bitten muffin back into the basket before leaving the basket onto his desk. When he turns back around, Dick is gone.

Out of instinct alone, Tim sticks his head out the door looking both ways. There is no sign of Dick anywhere, and yet, Tim had merely looked away for barely minute. Come to think of it, he also hadn’t heard footsteps running off. Tim sighs and shuts the door, going back to his bed and sitting on it. He is going crazy, its official. He has let that book rule his life, and the way he is looking into the paintings from the Wayne prove that.

“Hello, my love.” Jason says, kissing Dick as he walks into the small private room. Dick crosses his arms, with a look of displeasure on his face. “Don’t interfere with the dreams again.” Dick states, his voice stern. He walks past Jason over to the table in the center of the room, taking a seat. Jason rolls his eyes, and walks over, choosing not to sit. The two stare at each other, neither speaking. For them, this isn't horrible, for Damian however, it is annoying.

Damian lets out a noise from behind his canvas, causing both lovers to turn back and look at him. “I believe my opinion should matter, I am the oldest.” Damian claims, poking his out from behind the canvas. In response, Jason rolls his eyes, hating the reminder that while Damian is forever fifteen, he has technically been alive the longest. Meanwhile, Dick smiles at Damian, the type of smile that says ‘please be on my side.’ With a sigh, Damian walks out from behind the canvas fully.

Before he can reach to untie the apron, Jason has already come up behind him and began to undo it, kissing the back of his neck. Once off, Damian takes the apron, placing it on one of the wooden steps of the stool. It’s only then, once he is ready, that he turns back to his lovers with his opinion ready to be stated. He looks between the two before he speaks, knowing both are hopeful he will agree with one of them.

“It was wrong for Jason to interfere with your dreams, Dick.” Damian starts, his eyes narrowing at Jason, who crosses his arms and turns his head slightly away. “However, a part of me does worry that Timothy is reaching the stage where he could possible start going through withdraws if we don’t accept the fated pairing.” Damian adds, now looking at Dick, who now seems deep in thought.

“That is all” Damian claims, before heading for the door and leaving.

Chapter Text

A shiver never leaves his spine, even when near a fireplace. The second year common area holds a fireplace, and soft cushioned couches. In all honesty, Tim had only ever been in the common area a few times. It wasn’t a great place to study, nor did it offer much privacy from the staff. The staff who continuously gave out merits to students they thought disrespected the university with certain behaviors. It wasn’t a comforting environment, but it allowed for Tim to maintain some form of reputation within society.

It’s no surprise that students talk to their families, some of the best business deals in Gotham have taken place in this common room. It’s not uncommon to hear people speak about arranged marriages or desperate attempts at rekindling beneficial relationships. Everything about the room felt artificial, a set up to lure people into making deals with each other.

Quietly, Tim sits on one of the many chairs. He reads more of the Gotham history book, while stuffing a muffin that Dick had brought to him early that day. It was undeniable, the muffin Jason and Dick had baked was delicious, mouthwatering. Perhaps Tim simply missed freshly cooked food, and unfrozen muffins, but it was arguably the best thing he has had since coming to the university. Even as he eats it, it makes his mouth water, savouring each individual bite as if it is his last meal. Still, he tries his best to not let the muffin cloud his judgement of the Wayne family.

The more he reads, and thought about it, the more Tim realized something was deeply wrong with the Wayne family. These dreams he had been having, they felt more like cautionary tales, warnings for what is to come. Somehow, it felt like these dreams were the future in some way, as if they would eventually happen, and Tim could do nothing to prevent it.

And then, it hits him. His body feels on fire, his heart weighing heavy in his chest. This was however new, and something Tim has been fighting off since Dick left yesterday. Remaining calm during these situations was becoming harder and harder, as if the episodes were intensifying. It isn’t the same illness Tim felt when he ended up in the Nurse’s office, this is more of an overpowering feeling. The air in his lungs feels under pressure.

Every part of his body felt like it wanted to peel off, as if acid had been poured over him. He can’t panic, he can’t risk people asking what he is doing. Instead, he slowly sits up from his seat with the book in hand. Each step towards the door of the common area is more and more agonizing, the feeling of stabbing flowing through his body. Tim’s mind is a mess, no thought able to be formed, just the words ‘one, two’ to remind him to keep moving.

“Tim?” The voice calls, it's familiar, but he can’t look back. He is so close, the door handle squeezed into the palm of his hand. “You ok?” The voice asks again, closer this time. Then, a hand lands on his shoulder, it causes a spiking pain to go through his body and he lets out a groan. With as much force as possible, Tim pushes the common room door open.

He can't breathe as he rushes out of the room and down the hallways, he feels disoriented. He’s unable to locate where his body is taking him, but it feels better than stopping. His heart continues to race, his fever slowly rising as sweat forms on his neck.

“What the fuck are you doing to him?!” Kon shouts, he entered the hidden common room, which was filled with a few dozen immortal students. He approaches Damian in particular, his eyes narrow. Kon looms over Damian, as if he is ready to attack.

Damian doesn’t respond back with anger, instead he places the book he had been reading down. He looks up at Kon, the sub-category of immortal Kon is—Kytroians— are prone to anger. Especially when they haven’t reached prime age, nor have mated. Kon’s eyes had a tint of fire red to them, a tell tale sign that his species was angry. This isn’t the first time Damian had seen a Kytroian angry, but the others–espcially the Kents– were able to keep it in check.

With a sigh, Damian rises up from his seat. Though shorter than Kon, he knew was infinitely wiser. “To who?” Damian asked, looking up. “Tim fucking Drake!” Kon bites back, his voice raspy. What can only be described as a cold shiver runs down Damian’s spine.

“Where is he?” Damian asks, his eyes growing larger as adrenaline sets in. “He ran off!” Kon replies, pushing Damian’s chest slightly. This action results in a tall, dark haired girl stepping between them. “Enough, if you need to fight, step outside.” She claims, and Damian instantly clocks her as Cass, Bruce’s only other actual child. Kon takes a step back in response to Cass, but continues to glare daggers at Damian.

Before Kon can attempt anything else, Damian has already bolted for the exit. His mind set on finding Tim, and more importantly, seeing if it is already happening. His mind is a blur as he runs through the halls of the university, he can’t help but feel his heart pounding and his worries growing. Lucky for Damian, he has mastered the ability of running fast and avoiding bumping into things or people, an ability that had only taken him a couple years to learn.

Damian rounds the stairs, and hears people gathering before he sees them. He decides the best course of action is to hide within the shadows, unseen. First he will analyse then act, something his father had installed into his mind from a young age. He steadys his breathing and feels his body tingle, after a minute, he knows for certain that no one else can see him. He has become one with the shadows.

Travelling within shadows is like flowing down a river, soothing. It’s all about moving with the shadows, using the way people angle to your advantage, not trying to manipulate a shadow. As such, Damian finds himself in a shadow of another student, who is not part of the group. The shadow points directly to Tim Drake, who attempts to hold himself up against a nearby wall. While a group of people gather, it seems none are gathering to help him, instead they are busy checking test results.

Usually, Damian wouldn’t ever do this, but he has no choice. He merges with the shadow and grabs Tim’s arm, pull him close to his chest. It takes a moment, but Tim passes out in Damian’s arms, also becoming one with the shadow realm. With an unconscious Tim in his arms, Damian dashes through the shadows determined to reach a spot where Tim could come too safely. He wasn’t going to let his Babybird be left in unsafe conditions. As much as Damian wants Tim to have a fulfilling immortal life, not accepting the fated match had taken its toll on the mortal.

The issue with mortals being fated matches for immortals was just how rare of an occurrence it was. It mostly meant they were in the dark about how much was too much for Tim. Don’t get Damian wrong, since he sensed the boy for the first time he had done extensive research into the topic. Quietly working with his father and Grandfather about what little information they had, so far, most of it was daunting. Every piece of information painted an ever growing bleak picture. A picture that not even Damian would like to paint.

Tim doesn’t recall falling asleep, but waking up in the Wayne’s private room was definitely not explaining much. At first, Tim assumed this was simply another dream, the way his body stretched out on the couch, a soft blanket over him. However, the more he came too, the more he realized it was in fact all real. His mind was a mess still, but he as he sat up, he finally was able to accept one thing. The Waynes in no way, could be humans. Too many inconsistencies had been arising, ones that only the book was able to offer solutions for. Yet, it felt odd to him, why wouldn't they do a better job at hiding their less than human status?

As he comes too, he feels a weight beside him. Dick sits down, a cup of tea in his hands. “Here, I thought you’d like some.” Dick claims, and Tim cautiously accepts. As he looks at Dick’s blue eyes, he is reminded of the graveyard dream, the way his eyes had been an icy blue, his body naked. For a moment, he feels hot again, but Dick places a hand on his arm, and starts gently rubbing it.

It felt weirdly loving, a gesture that Dick would only offer to his lovers, not to a person like Tim. As Tim sips his tea, Dick watches him. His eyes watch his throat, as if to ensure he doesn’t choke on anything. It all felt surreal, yet held more reality than a dream ever could. Maybe that is why this encounter is uncomfortable, the dreams had shifted Tim’s mind into thinking any moment shared with the Waynes was a dream.

“I can have the kitchen make you something if you’re hungry.” Dick comments, still softly rubbing Tim’s arm. Once again, he is reminded how much influence and control the Waynes have not only at the university but also Gotham as a whole. Tim shakes his head, and Dick nods, his hands move to his own pocket grabbing out a hair tie. Without asking, Dick puts some of Tim’s hair into a small and fluffy ponytail.

Dick’s fingers go through Tim’s hair like butter, carefully taking in his black hair. “Forgive me, I miss my long hair.” Dick explained, now removing his hand from Tim’s hair and going to his empty hand, holding it. It was an uncomfortable gesture, however Tim had accepted it, perhaps because he still felt disoriented.

A part of Tim wants to pull back, to demand answers, to run away to safety. But he doesn’t, or better yet can’t.

“Dick Grayson, you are not human.”