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Tommy has been in Gotham for two months. Before that- well. He doesn't want to think about the before Gotham right now. Not while he's scanning someone's groceries, and they're eying him like he's the weakest link on the chain.
The man is tall, with dark hair, and wearing a suit that Tommy thinks he probably shouldn't be in this part of the city.
But frankly, Tommy doesn't really get paid to care. He only gets paid to be generally nice (for Gotham standards) and scan the items. He doesn't really care whether or not this guy is going to get mugged. Really he'd be asking for it. Wearing a suit.
People do stupid stuff all the time in Gotham. Like five minutes ago a guy walked in with clown makeup.
So Tommy didn't care.
Until the man started to speak to him, other than just the casual, "Hello."
That's when Tommy had an issue.
"So, Jack?"
Tommy doesn't even realizes that the man's speaking to him. Not until he moves to ask cash or card, and notices the guy is looking at him expectantly. Uh. What?
The ache of the wings makes his response a tad more strained that he means for it to be, "What's up, big man? You forget your wallet in the car? You seem to be that type of guy!" As in, the guy looks… forgetful. Like there's no thoughts behind the mans eyes.
(Something tells him that's not quite right.)
The grin that cracks across his face is almost devilish. God, he's so funny.
"I won't hold you if you run to grab it."
The man doesn't take the insult to heart, or, if he does, Tommy doesn't know it.
Instead, he replies, shaking his head, "And what's that type of guy?"
"You can infer." Tommy answers, hoping that's enough, because wow, he's pretty sure that's a genuine leather wallet. Holy shit who carries that many hundreds on them in Gotham?
"Can I?" The man asks. Tommy breathes a breath through his nose, doing his absolute best to keep the whistle out of his vocal cords. Tommy's avian features are… not welcome here.
He learned his lesson night one of being here. He's been chased down the street by these wronguns, and had only escaped by the skin of his teeth. They'd even had a net! Tommy thought nets were only for fish.
"Sure, If you can get it through your head."
Tommy snickered at his own joke, finishing bagging the man's stuff.
"Cash or card, big man?"
"Card." Tommy eyes the guy.
He's… really big. Like, around Technoblade size. Tommy has the urge to shrink back and avoid ticking off the man. Instead, he leans forward and grins. "Sure, I'm sure you know how the machine works."
Tommy gestures to the machine, and grabs his broom. He has a plan. That's not uncommon, really. But he's got a plan.
He moves from behind his counter with the broom, moving as smoothly as he could. "Well. Personally, I wouldn't wander into Crime Alley dressed like you, big man."
The guy makes a noise that is somewhat reminiscent of a piglin chuff and Tommy about has a heart attack, "Oh, really?"
Tommy sweeps behind the guy, keeping a safe distance, but steadily moving closer as he replies. "I mean, I've gotten mugged a couple times already, and I definitely don't dress like I have an entire echelon of butlers at my display."
Tommy almost expects the man to fire something back, but he is unfortunately disappointed. He understands he can be annoying, most people react… badly to him at first. This guy is incredibly hard to read. He's smiling, but it's the type of smile that's obviously practiced. (Tommy can hear his heart skipping, though, as if the man is noticing and focusing on things in rapid succession.)
"Certainly not," The guy says, and Tommy just shrugs.
"But you do you, big guy. I mean I don't see a bodyguard around but you could probably take care of yourself."
"Hn. It doesn't look like you have anyone around either, do they let kids run the store by themself?"
Tommy is insanely offended, but he does get the sense that the man doesn't mean it like that. He does get the feeling that the man is prying. For what? He's not quite sure.
"Hey! I'm no kid! That's real rude, you know that?" He asks, narrowing his eyes at the man dramatically. He can see the guy looking over his shoulder at him, this time the man radiates genuine amusement.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."
"You'd better be sorry!" Tommy spits back, "You can't go around insulting people like that!"
He says as if he hasn't insulted this man three times in the last minute.
The man raises his hands in surrender.
"What are you doing walking around like that, then? Are you trying to get mugged?" Tommy snarks, and he doesn't really care all too much, but conversation is a good distraction.
"Well, I can take care of myself, as you said before."
"Mhm, sure, big guy." The guy certainly did have muscles, although it was hidden underneath the neat suit. Tommy wasn't stupid. But it was funny, "Let's hope that's true, you know Gotham is dangerous, right?"
"I'm well aware."
"Well I just thought I should warn you. I, for one, am well known for my strength and skill, you know. But not everybody is me, I have to remind myself." Tommy nods to himself, "At least I could stand a chance in a fight against Dream-"
Tommy cuts himself out on purpose, and when he notices the guy slightly shifting in intrigue, he knows the man took his bait. He doesn't continue, though, he just shakes his head. "You look like you'd probably shatter to pieces on the Gotham streets after 9 o'clock."
The man doesn't react to his taunting, which… Tommy is actually happy about. He doesn't think he has the energy to have a full scale argument, or worse depending on how he reacted.
Many people have escalated his insults into sword fights, where both their lives were on the line and- Tommy's tired.
Tommy notices quickly that a feather (Aw, hell. How did that get loose?) has fallen to the floor and he sweeps it under the counter as fast as he can manage. But not before the man also notices it.
"How old are you anyways, Jack?" Tommy had to force himself to react to the fake name. He's only had the job for about a month, he's not used to it quite yet. His boss had insisted. This isn't a part of town where you share your real name to anybody you meet.
"I don't see how that's any of your business. What are you? A wrongun?" Tommy actually doesn't want to get into personal stuff with a stranger, thanks! He's good. Especially with the way the guy's eyeing him, now. Tommy doesn't want to be seen as interesting he just wants to make it to his paycheck so that he can finally buy groceries.
"Well I was just-" There's a hand on his shoulder that Tommy didn't notice until it was a tad too late, and he's slammed with a wave of tingles echoing through his skin from the contact. It's- warm. And would be nice, but- this man is not his flock. His flock is gone, nobody should touch him. Especially not a complete stranger.
Tommy cuts him off, flinching back hard,"Sir, big man, whatever your name is, I think you've gotten what you need from here, and I'm sure you're busy." Tommy gestures to the man's bags, filled with an assortment of snacks.
"You're right," the man says, grabbing his things. "But, it's Bruce."
And the man walks out of the gas station, leaving Tommy to brush away the tingling feeling and get back to work.
One Bruce Wayne doesn't realize his wallet is missing until he's three blocks away and by then, he doesn't have much of a choice to turn back and get it. Besides, the teen was scrappy and looked like he was at least fifteen pounds underweight. He's request new cards as soon as he gets home.
-
Tommy needed food. He's been procrastinating the grocery store for far too long now, and his shelves are so empty is really pathetic.
He's in the midst of staring at the canned vegetables when he hears it.
"Excuse me," A strong, clear voice says, and Tommy's ducking out of the way before he registers it.
"'Course." He replies, and goes back to deciding what can of beans would be best.
Avians are vegetarian, but that doesn't mean they don't require protein. It just means they have to get it from the plants they eat. It's a lot trickier, and he usually just aims to consume enough beans that it doesn't even matter.
He does take a second just to look at whose standing nearby him. He doesn't ever think he'll kick his habit of watching his surroundings. It's like an itch of his brain he can't turn off.
"Pinto beans?" The guy asks, and Tommy rolls his eyes.
"So what?"
"Nothing! Was just wondering. People your age don't usually stand in the vegetable aisle. Your parent send you with a list?"
Tommy scoffed, "People my age?" How old does this guy think he is? "I'm sixteen, not eight."
People have got to cut it out with the age thing.
"My point stands."
Tommy whips around to get a full look at this guy. He's lean and tall, with long black pants and a blue sweater. He's got black hair and blue eyes, that are wrinkled slightly with the smile on his face.
His smile looks genuine, and Tommy's honestly a little grateful for it.
"All have you know, string bean, i get a perfectly fine amount of vitamins and minerals."
"I'm sure you do, bud." Pause, "String bean?"
The guy sounds incredulous, Tommy cracks a giddy grin.
"You know. Cause you look like a light breeze would knock you over."
"What?" The man downright cackles at Tommy's words.
"I don't know why you're laughing I'm being dead serious." Secretly, Tommy was delighted that he still had the ability to be funny. (God, his back hurts.)
"Gosh, you're a delight! What's your name, then?"
"Tommy, at your service," He does a dramatized dip, as if he's bowing.
"Well, Tommy. Can you help me put some of these cans in my buggy? Al- My butler wants around 32 cans."
Tommy downright blue-screens. Butler? This guy was rich? He didn't look rich. Tommy knows that there are far more poor people in Gotham than wealthy people. Especially since Tommy has taken up residence in the Bowery. So why- Tommy pockets away the information, and focuses back into the present.
Tommy grabs a couple of the cans that the guy gestured to, and places them in the buggy.
"Sure, big man. I'd be happy to help. You know, that's why my many many wives adore me so, as I am so charitable to those of lesser strength." He rambles, trying to keep as much of a barrier between himself and silence in the presence of someone he didn't know.
He misses having people he could be quiet with, but they're gone. Tommy's hindbrain starts a new call for his flock and he shakes his head lightly to clear it. He almost misses the guy's words.
"Your many wives?"
"Of course! You know, the women love me just as much as I love them."
"Whatever you say, buddy."
Tommy narrows his eyes up at the man, and his eyes are caught into contact with the guy's. The man has blue eyes, a deepish blue, much darker than Tommy's own eyes. There is a gleam of amusement in them and Tommy gets a nasty feeling in his gut. He shakes it off.
"Believe what you wanna believe, but from where I come, my name is spread far and wide for my triumphs."
"And where is that?" Tommy doesn't want answer. In fact, he realizes he doesn't want to continue the conversation at all, if the man is going to push for more personal information.
"A man doesn't just share his hometown." Tommy replies,
"Britain?" The man asks, and the word is incredibly foreign. He believes he's heard it a couple times since moving to Gotham.
"What's that?" He questions, and the man seemingly freezes. The look in his eyes is no longer amused, it's questioning. Investigating. As if Tommy is a puzzle that he needs to solve, and that's Tommy's sign to get out.
"Anyways!" Tommy pushes forward, "You know, it's rude to ask where people come from? What if it was a touchy subject, mister- uh?" Tommy doesn't actually care for the man's name, but it would make it simpler if he somehow someway runs into him again.
"It's Dick."
"What?" Tommy's yelp is perhaps a little bit too loud, as a couple of older ladies turn to look at him. 'Sorry' he mouths to them, before turning back to Dick, "Who names a baby Dick?"
"My parents? I guess?" The man looks a little shocked at the shout, but Tommy is sure he's heard reactions similar, "But it's actually short for Richard. Richard Grayson."
The man is phrasing it as if Tommy should already know that, which is stupid because how is he supposed to know a guy he's never met before? Is this guy famous? Tommy doesn't have a phone, and hasn't had a chance to make it to the library quite yet. No. What are the chances of meeting somebody famous.
"I am so sorry for you." He tells Dick.
"Thank you," Dick replies, "Hey! Are you hungry? I know this-"
Tommy spares a glance up at Dick, puts the last can into the man's buggy, and turns away. "Sorry, Phil's expecting me back soon." He lies, like a lying liar. He grabs the handle of his own cart and grins back at Dick.
"Nice to meet you, though." Well, it kind of wasn't. But it was nice to add another wallet into his collection. Oh, he wished that Phil was expecting him back. Or anybody at all. But he's… alone.
-
Tommy's walk back to his shabby apartment from his job isn't very long. About a 20 minute walk, but Tommy doesn't really trust public transportation. That many people in a small bus, with little personal space- there is only so close one can get to an avian before they bump into wings. And no matter how tight Tommy binds them, it's incredibly obvious something is wrong when there is a large lump on his back.
It's times like these he's almost glad he wasn't an elytrian. They have wingspans double the sides of avians, and it's twice as hard to hide them. Tommy's pretty sure there is an enchantment to hide features such as these, but… he's never been the best at enchanting, and even if he was, he's not been able to find any magical items in Gotham.
At least not in the traditional cense. No golden apples, no potions. He thinks he could make them if he got his hands on the ingredients, but he's… poor. Tommy grimaces at the memory of it. God he misses mooching off his friends. In Gotham there is no chests to steal stuff from, nobody to rely on.
He glances around himself once again to be sure he's still safe. The habit has doubled in the last couple days, he keeps getting the feeling of something prickling up his neck. Like somebody's watching him.
He checks the streets around him, but nobody is sparing a second glance at him. He doesn't check the rooftops. There are no avians or elytrians in Gotham. This world is utterly different. He thinks he heard something about birds and bats but- he would know if there were any hybrids around. It's a bone deep instinct.
Back home, if he even crept an inch into somebody elses den or territory, he instantly knew it. But here, in Gotham, he couldn't really sense any territory lines.
That's not entirely true, actually. He thinks he felt something a little strange around one of the taller abandoned buildings. But it was different, so different. It wasn't a hybrid. It was something else entirely. So he doesn't think it counts.
He avoids that part of Crime Alley. Just to be safe.
Tommy cuts into the alley where his window is. He jumps up, which isn't nearly as effective with his wings bound, but he still makes the leap, vaulting into the window.
His house isn't really a house. He wishes there was enough space in Gotham for him to build something of his own, but- alas. It would work. He turns to his makeshift kitchen, focusing on cleaning it up after he didn't last time he 'cooked.'
-
Tommy tosses in his raggedy nest of blankets, can't seem to stay asleep. He turns over and throws his arm over his eyes. There's an itch along his spine.
He can't shake the feeling of being watched. It won't go away, and he knows it's just a feeling because he can't hear them, or see them, or smell them.
His senses may not be as keen as Phil's, but he's still an avian and they've got stronger senses. Especially sound and sight.
He falls back into fitful rest.
-
Tommy's about to start thinking this guy is stalking him.
"Tommy!" The man says, gliding over. Tommy thinks he might be a cat in another life. If he were back home, he's probably have cat ears and the iconic feline tail. But, more importantly, Tommy can barely hear his footsteps as he moves. He thinks that if he fell off a tall building, he would probably land directly on his feet.
"Dick," he replies, and wrinkles his nose, "Eugh, can't believe people actually call you that."
Dick chuckles, "Yeah, well. Nobody calls me Richard."
Tommy exaggerates a disgusted face, "Yikes."
"Well, whate'er you doing, then?"
"Well, I haven't been to a library in a while, thought I'd see what the library's like in Gotham!"
"You haven't been to a-" Tommy firmly cuts him off.
"So far, I must say, it's nice! Uhm! The librarian, Babs, she's amazing. Have you met her? She gave me a computer pass and I didn't even have to have a library card, see!" Tommy held it up into the man's face. It even had Tommy's name on it!
"That's great, Tommy." Dick replies, "Did you want to check out books? You need a library card for that, yeah?"
Tommy sighed. It would be nice to have something to do. He never was the biggest fan of reading, but sometimes Techno would read to him. He was so bored. He had nothing to do other than work. Tommy needs enrichment, he's starting to die.
"Yeah, but you need an address for that." and an ID, but Tommy doesn't mention that part.
"I'm sure we could get it figured out, buddy." Tommy shrugs it off. It's not that big of a deal.
"Nah it's okay, do you think I'm allowed to play games on the computer?" Tommy's never actually, seen a computer before, but he's heard of the. They're probably similar to comms, right? Tommy had a little ping pong game on his comm before Dream took it that one time.
Dick glances back over at the librarian for a moment before he beams back at Tommy, "What they don't know won't hurt them."
There's suddenly a hand on his back, close- no. Not close. Touching where his wings are bound. Tommy flinches hard and cries out in pain. The cry is too close to a chirp, and Tommy bursts out into a coughing fit to avoid the warbles that beg to escape. His instincts scream at him to call for his flock. But his flock isn't here.
He puts distance between himself and Dick, turning his back away from the man's touch.
"Don't touch me." He snaps, and really he doesn't think Dick deserved it, but it hurt! Tommy's been in pain lots of time. He's died for Primes sake! But wing pain is different. It's infinitely more difficult to handle.
"Sorry, Tommy, I didn't mean-"
"Whatever! Can we play a game?" Tommy doesn't even care who plays with him at this point. He's bored.
"Alright, come on, then!"
Dick leads him to the computer table and suddenly they're in the middle of playing this game where Tommy is a little blue character and Dick has the little red character. They work together to the finished puzzle, and a couple levels later, Tommy is relaxed into the computer chair. The feeling of his tied up wings pressed against the chair is only stinging enough to slightly inconvenience him.
It's in the middle of a level where Dick fell into the water 4 times in a row where Tommy speaks up again,
"Prime, Gothamites are so weird"
"What makes you say?"
"First the rich guy in the suit, carrying hundreds around like it's nothing, and now you!"
"A rich guy? Huh."
"Yeah! And he was about the size of a pickup truck as well. Said his name was, uh, Byron?" Tommy knew it was Bruce, but.
"Oh! That's my dad." Dick says. And Tommy freezes in place. Coincidences didn't happen this often to Tommy.
"Oh, I should've noticed the family resemblance."
"And what's that?"
"You know! Your rat's nest of hair!"
A light punch at his shoulder is sent his way by Dick, which he dodges as smoothly as possible, as to not feel the uncanny tingle of physical touch.
Tommy needs a knife. Or, well, a nicer knife. He has one at the moment, stored deep in his inventory, but it's dull, and he doesn't have too much trust in it to keep him safe. He decides that's his next thing he buys, no matter how hungry he gets.
"Prime, you suck at this game."
"Wooow. Thanks." Dick sighs. His words are flat, but Tommy can feel the amusement burning off him.
"What's Prime?
Tommy's eyes go wide. There's not Prime here? Are there not even Admins? "You don't- You know, Church Prime?" Tommy guesses he understands, seeing as Tommy was one of the people to help create the church. But. He's getting sick and tired of all the differences.
He thinks he's heard Technoblade talk about multiple universes once. Or maybe it was somebody else, but Techno's pretty smart, so Tommy's pretty sure it was him.
Maybe that's what this is?
"Prime, this worlds gone to shame! You don't even know our lord and savior Prime. I hate Gotham." He says bitterly, shaking his head. He sees the palest part of his hair flash across his vision as his curls sway with the movement.
"Tommy, you're not going to believe it, but I think wherever you come from might be weirder than Gotham."
Tommy pauses, turning slowly to Dick.
He buffers for about two seconds, before shouting back. "Oi! You take that back! My flo- My hometown is perfectly normal!"
"Whatever you say, Toms." Oh hell no. Absolutely- Tommy's done. Dick didn't do anything wrong. Not technically. But that name- that was Wilbur's name for him. Dick didn't get to call him that. Nobody gets to call him that anymore.
"Alright, Big D. I think it's time for me to leave you be," Tommy says, standing up from the chair.
"But-"
"I've got big man shit to do, you see. Talk to you later." He says, before turning around to leave.
-
Tommy likes his job, he thinks. It's repetitive in a way that doesn't make him cringe. It itches his brain in the right way, just the same as lying down the Prime Path had been.
He says goodbye to his regular with a short dip of his head. At this job he doesn't have to be eccentric. In fact, it was heavily discouraged of him in the interview. Being too loud, saying something to the wrong person at the wrong time gets you killed in Gotham. Tommy enjoys his little break from eccentric-ism. Even if he disdains at being told what to do and how to do it.
So he does like his job! Really! If only he didn't keep getting interrupted by the strangest people he's ever met. Tommy notices when the new person walks in. Even if the shorter guy looks like he's trying desperately to blend in.
Tommy feels it, though. He knows he's being watched, but when he looks up from the receipt he's been doodling on, he doesn't see the eyes on him.
Tommy does not like this guy. He'll say it now. He's… he walks. In a way that makes him somehow blend in and stand out in the same breath. He's got thin fingers, but Tommy notices the callouses on them when he places the Zesti on the counter. Tommy does see the wallet in his pocket, but he doesn't dare feel the urge to snatch it. This guy almost gives off vulture vibes, and Tommy might compare him to an elytrian if not for the sheer pale skin.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're pale as a ghost?" He says before he can stop himself.
"Wow. You've got more audacity than what they said." Uh. What.
Tommy doesn't pause. He doesn't react. He brushes it off. "Oh! Has the word of Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit spread to the four corners of Gotham.
It is not effective. "That cannot possible be a real name." This guy doesn't seem amused. Not one bit.
His eyes are scanning Tommy. They're pale, pale blue, and they feel uncomfortable on his skin. "It is! On my birth certificate, as well!" He thinks.
"And where's the ID to prove it?"
"We don't have to talk about that part," Tommy waves his hands to brush away that subject, "but seriously, you need to get more sun. You know UV's are only harmful in large doses, right?"
"Mhm. Look outside, do you see sunshine?" Well, no. It's been raining for the past week.
"Oh. Are you too poor to afford vitamin D? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed!" Tommy snarks.
"Have you never thought that maybe somebody is naturally pale?" The guy asks and Tommy grins wide. Oh he's annoyed. How fun!!
"My bad, big man. I see somebody I could snap in half with the darkest circle under their eyes and I assume they aren't getting proper vitamins. Is it nasty to assume you haven't heard of melatonin either?"
"I see why Dick likes you."
"I'm sorry, what now?"
"My brother, Dick. Speaks about you all the time." Once is fine. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern. Tommy hates patterns.
"Is everybody in this Prime damned city related to your family?" Tommy hisses, and it definitely comes off inhuman. And the guy notices, too. His head twitches towards the sound.
In Tommy's word, this guy has to be a phantom. Tommy knows it.
"No. But I tend to get a little curious when they take interest in somebody." Oh Prime. Does this guy even know how to be subtle? Is Tommy the crazy one, or is this guy admitting to being a stalker?
No. He's not crazy. And Tommy isn't stupid, either. This is- Tommy feels a wave of nausea creep up him, as if he sunk his teeth into a firm piece of meet.
"Alright, dude. Your total is 3.75." Tommy says, motioning at the little screen.
The guy holds out a $100 bill and Tommy frowns. Rich people. Tommy grabs it, moving to grab the change for him.
"No, keep the change. As a tip. You know. for excellent service."
Tommy swallows around nothing. He doesn't provide excellent service. Sub par at best, that's the rule his manager gave him. But another rule? Keep any tips. Something about not being taxed and it being apart of Tommy's income.
"Thanks?"
"You're welcome, Tommy. Can't wait to see you again." And he leaves.
Oh Hell No.
-
Packing up his belongings was simple. He didn't have much. Just a couple cans of vegetables and the few items he had collected since reaching Gotham. It was finding his escape that was a little trickier. He visited the library and by the time he found the closest bus stop, it was already 8:45 pm.
"Hey!" Tommy whips around, pulling his newest knife from his inventory and aiming it at the attacker.
The newcomer was adorned in a black long suit, with two sticks on his back. There was a
Where are you headed"
"I'm, uhm. Meeting my Dad in Metropolis."
"The 9pm bus is to Central."
"What?"
"Where are you really going, bud?"
"Out of Gotham." The man in the mask frowns.
"Is something wrong?"
"No- Well. I can handle it myself, big man. Thank you."
insert.
"Are you running from something, bud? I can help you. You know, it's kinda my job.
"Yeah?" This is a vigilante, isn't it. The blue one? Tommy's heard whispers. The bats are good people. They take care of the city. Tommy saw in the newspaper they recently stopped a child trafficking ring. "There are these- people."
"At first it was just this weird dude and then- I think they've been following me," Tommy confesses. He's so tired. He's so, so tired. He couldn't sleep last night. Too busy packing his stuff, then tossing and turning, knowing he was being watched.
"Oh, Tommy." The man sounds sad. "It's alright, okay. How about this? I can get you a house somewhere safe, where they wouldn't be able to hurt you, alright?
Tommy observes the vigilante. He could sense the worry in his tone, could almost smell the anticipation- nerves? But the vigilantes regarded. So Tommy should be able to trust them, right? He looks down at the offered hand and grabs it. "Okay. But- I'll shank you, so don't make me regret it."
"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less." Nightwing leads him away from the bus stop and it takes a good minute before Tommy stops in place.
Nightwing had called him Tommy. He had not told the vigilante his name. Nightwing turns around, and it's when Tommy realizes that he couldn't hear the step of his feet when he turned that he realizes.
Tommy yanks his hand away, or at least, he tries. Only now he recognizes how tight the vigilante's hand had been gripping his.
"Woah- buddy! What's wrong? Hey, did you see something?" The man glances around, but Tommy's not looking at him. Tommy's freeing himself.
Tommy's heart is going a hundred miles a minute and its uncomfortable, they way its slamming against his ribcage. He pulls back again, desperate to get back.
"It's- you! You're! The guy!"
"Buddy! It's okay, hey, look!"
Tommy does not, Tommy frees his hand, and moves three steps backward before there was another grip on his wrist, this time the other.
"It's okay, shh." It is not okay! This is- Dick is a vigilante, Prime, they probably all are. And they won't- Dick won't let go! "Look, look at me. I'm just Nightwing. Remember?"
"Dick." He yelps, hating the fact he has to admit it,"Let go!"
The eye whites of the mask shrink a little, "Oh, you're just as smart as I thought." Tommy doesn't care. He pulls his knife out of his inventory with his nondominant hand, leveling it at Nightwing.
"Look, Tommy. It's okay, don't-"
Tommy is not listening to this guy. He doesn't care. He's been in battles with people three times as strong. He swipes, aiming at the wrist of the hand that's holding his own. But this guy is quick, with cat like reflexes and his own wrist is caught, stopping the blade before it can hit skin.
"Okay. You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep struggling. Can I get some backup?" Both of Tommy's hands are held behind his back, but he's fighting. He kicks at Nightwings legs, tries to pull his spare knife out, but it's pried from his hand. "Where do you keep getting those?"
"Let go of me! I'll kill you! I will!"
"I know, bud. Can you breathe? It's fine. Look. I'm not gonna hurt you." Tommy, one, doesn't care. And two, doesn't believe him. Why should he?
"So much for not freaking him out." That is a new voice, and Tommy recognizes it instantly. It's the freaky one he met at work. He didn't get his name, but Tommy thinks that suit is Red Robin's. Tommy means to do a threatening hiss, but instead it comes out as rapid desperate chirps calling for his flock to save him.
The new vigilante looks at him. "Huh. Never heard a meta chirp before."
What is a meta? Actually it doesn't matter. He's out. He looks to his inventory. Rope, some stone he's gotten his hands on. He should've gotten his hands on a sword. Or something- anything! Nothing of use. He does have an axe, which he may or may not have stolen from a construction site.
"Alright, Tommy I need you to breathe." This time a hiss does come out, but he sounds too similar to a wet kitten for it to be effective. He never was able to properly imitate Phil's death rattle. "It's okay. We were just headed somewhere safe, remember?"
No. Tommy meant it to be away from them.
"Fuck off!"
He kicks his feet back at Dick's knees, getting a good kick in, loosening the grip and freeing himself. One step away, then two, and next he's swinging his axe from his inventory. Multitasking running at the same time as cutting his bound wings free. He could fly away. He can fly just as good as any avian.
The same moment his wings are free and he leaps to take off, something wizzes by his feet, obviously meant to trip him up. But he's already in the air.
"Shit!" Someone shouts from behind him, but Tommy does not care.
He's busy, trying to keep himself in the air.
One wing beat. Two.
On the third he wavers. His wings hurt. They complain with every movement he forces from them. He hasn't moved them in the two months since being forcibly transported into Gotham. Hasn't trusted his surroundings enough to stretch them out. Phil would be aggrieved.
On the fourth they fail, and he's falling from the sky. With just four wing beats he'd made it twenty feet into the sky. And only moments after that he's crashing to the ground.
The impact sends shredding pain into his ankle. He can hear footsteps rushing towards him. He pushes himself off the ground, to his feet, scrambling back.
"Tommy, it's okay." Tommy glances between Nightwing and the other one, not knowing who he needs to focus on, whose the bigger threat.
"I think I heard a snap."
"Oh, Tommy." Dicks voice is smothered in pity and Tommy backs away further- or, he tries to. Instead he falls straight on his ass, leaving him scrambling to get back up.
"Hey, look. Can I look at your leg, please?" Tommy scoots back further, but he's stopped in place when Nightwing kneels down and holds onto his calve to keep him from moving, "It's alright, it's okay. You're hurt."
"It's your fault, dumbass!" Tommy curls his wings around his torso, as if it would save him.
"I know, I'm sorry." He doesn't sound very sorry.
Tommy hisses in pain when there is pressure on his newly injured ankle.
"Definitely broken." Dick says. Tommy can hear the other one speaking from wherever he is.
"No, B, we have it handled."
"Tommy, you're hyperventilating."
What? Is he? He hadn't even noticed.
Theres a hand on his shoulder now, far too close to his wings and Tommy can't help it he moves and he bites at the skin, wishing desperately he had an elytrians canines. He still breaks skin, and Tommy can hear Nightwing's yell of pain. Well, he didn't sound like he was in too much pain, more annoyance than anything. Nightwing shakes his hand to try and free himself but Tommy grips on like he's a dog and not a bird.
He bites tighter, and tighter, until he feels a pinch in his neck and lets go, moving to snap at whatever touched him. But the needle in Red Robins hand is already far from his neck. His teeth clink around nothing.
The drug- because it's obviously a drug- is almost instant. Fast acting and Tommy can immediately feel it working down his body. Tommy knows how slowness potions feel. Hates them, in fact. Whatever was in the syringe was like that. But different.
Tommy can't stop it this time- can't even try. He warbles for his flock. Phil- Techno, somebody. He's surrounded by predators and there is nothing he can do.
"It's alright, buddy. I've got you." Yeah, that's the problem.
He stares into the eyes of a predator and he recognizes that his body isn't reacting properly. It's trying to trick him. The drug- his body, it's saying that he's safe. He's tired. He's not safe, not one bit. But he's so exhausted he yawns.
He tries to squirm again, but his body doesn't cooperate.
Even his wings don't twitch.
Dick pulls him into his arms, lifting him upward. "Alright, kid. We're heading to the car and you can take a nap, alright. Tommy tries to bite the man's shoulder, but his jaw doesn't close nearly as hard as he intends to.
His vision is blurry, but he can see a black car as they approach.
"Everything alright?" It's Bruce. Tommy tries to turn his head to look at him but his neck is so tired- he gives up.
"Yeah. Fought hard, though, think he wore himself out." Well, actually, the Prime damned drug wore him out, but currently Tommy doesn't have enough control of his own body to argue it.
He's set into the back seat, Dick climbing in after him. He's gently pulled into the vigilantes lap and he feels the rumble of a car waking up. Theres a hand in his scapular feathers and Tommy's shrill warble sounds more like a scream. This is not his flock. Only his flock is allowed to touch his wings. Why were they touching- why did- fearful chirps escape his chest.
"It's alright Tommy. Shh." He doesn't stop chirping, doesn't understand why his flock hasn't come to save him yet. Phil was always able to sense when he was in danger, why isn't he here. Why are there a predators claws in his feathers?
He cries out again, but is only met with shushing. He can taste salt on his tongue. The hand in his feathers isn't… uncomfortable. The predator clearly didn't know how to preen, but- it didn't hurt. All he could feel was the buzzing of skin contact and he was tired. He was… safe? He wasn't in too much pain- his ankle only twinged. Something about that felt wrong.
Tommy yawned, and moved his left wing over so the vigilante had more room. He chirped- questioning, trying to lift his head. A hand pushed his head back onto a shoulder and he melts involuntarily.
"It's alright, buddy. We aren't going to hurt you, see?"
You know what, this guy might be right. He's safe, and he's tired. He sniffs the air just to be sure he doesn't sense any danger and when he doesn't he relaxes completely. It's fine. His flock has him. (That's not right.)
Why was he even freaking out in the first place? He's okay.
Everything is fine.