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Bruce is swinging between buildings when he hears it. A tiny, nearly inaudible cheep. He stops on the next building, searching the dark city for any sign of where the noise came from. It could have been stray noise from a building or a car, some shifter settling down with their parents for the night, but he needs to know. There are enough kids on the street; one of them could easily be a shifter without a pack. Without a home. Without a nest.
Cheep.
Bruce lets his eyes shift almost all the way into owl eyes and feels his ears lengthen at the same time. The noises of Gotham are almost overwhelming, but he filters them out to focus in on the small, helpless noise.
There.
A rustle in an alleyway, a shifting pile of trash, and another tiny peep.
Bruce swoops down and the pile of trash goes still, no more noises coming out.
“It’s okay,” he says, letting his body shift fully back into human. “I’m Batman. I’m here to help.” No response.
He crouches down and starts shifting through the pile of trash. Some old newspapers, bottles and cans, an old cushion and—Bruce’s jaw tightens. Who throws out a fishing line in the middle of Gotham city? He lifts it up, and there’s a slight resistance and a surprised cheep. Bruce carefully follows the fishing line and uncovers a ball of fluff with the biggest yellow eyes he’s ever seen. A baby owl.
“Hey there,” he says, trying to make his voice gentle, and the owlet screeches and lunges at him. Bruce falls backwards in surprise, and the owlet drops back into the pile of trash. There’s fishing line wrapped around his wing, so the poor thing can’t shift back into human form without risking greater damage, but he also can’t seem to get the line off of himself. He can’t even fly away from Bruce.
“I’ve got you,” Bruce says softly, reaching back down. The owlet screeches and Bruce just hushes him. “I’m going to help,” Bruce murmurs, getting a gauntleted hand firmly around the owl and lifting him up. The owlet is screeching and thrashing, and Bruce gently runs a finger down his soft, downy head. “You’re going to be okay,” he adds as the owlet snaps at his finger. “I’ll get this off and bring you back to my nest.”
He’s never seen another owl in Gotham before, other than Dick, and he certainly isn’t leaving one on the streets. At his promise, the baby owl goes still, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“There you go,” Bruce says encouragingly, bringing out a batarang. “Just hold still; I don’t want to hurt you by accident.” The owlet stays utterly still in Bruce’s hand, and Bruce carefully cuts away the fishing line. “All clear,” he says, bringing the owlet up to look at him more closely. The owlet sits in his hand, looking even smaller dwarfed by the large black gauntlet, but he must trust Bruce because he’s not trying to fly away or move.
Bruce gently tucks him away into a pouch, a little shocked the owlet can fit in one, and swings back out over the city, heading for the Batmobile. He’s done for the night.
Dick is grumpy. He wanted to go out on patrol with Bruce, but his ankle isn’t quite healed up. He would have gone anyway, but Bruce pointed out that further injuring it would result in even longer being benched, so Dick stayed home. Grumpily.
He hears Bruce come up the stairs, but the man doesn’t stop at his bedroom the way he usually does. Instead, Dick listens as Bruce goes into his room, and he can hear Bruce’s deep voice murmuring.
Did he get injured? Is Alfred helping him? Why didn’t Alfred get him? Why didn’t anyone tell him?
He throws off the covers, vaulting out of bed, and manages to not quite run to Bruce’s room. He quietly opens the door, and Bruce turns to him in surprise.
“Dick!” he says, smiling. Dick scans him rapidly. Uninjured, alone, so why didn’t he stop to check on Dick and why was he talking? “I was about to come get you. I was just getting him settled.”
What?
Bruce steps to the side, and Dick sees the tiniest ball of fluff he’s ever seen sitting in the middle of Bruce’s bed, staring at Dick with wide, terrified eyes. The poor thing is barely breathing, stiff and scared.
“He’s settling in nicely,” Bruce continues, and Dick lifts shocked eyes up to gape at his mentor. “He’s fluffed up because I think he’s cold—” He’s terrified, you moron, that’s why, Dick thinks. “—so I was about to get him warmed up and come get you.”
Dick stares at Bruce a moment longer, wordless, and Bruce’s smile drops a bit. “I couldn’t just leave him, Dick,” Bruce says, more seriously. “Not on the streets. He had fishing line wrapped around him, and he was nesting in a pile of trash.”
Dick looks between the owlet and Bruce and manages to say, “Give him to me.”
“What?” Bruce says, clearly startled.
“Give him to me,” Dick says, finally finding his voice. “Give me the tiny, terrified baby owl you kidnapped off the streets and brought back into your bedroom.” He can barely process that Bruce thought any of this was a good idea.
Bruce doesn’t move, so Dick steps forward, reaching out a hand to the baby owl.
“He’s an idiot,” Dick says softly, reassuringly. “I’ll keep you safe. No one will hurt you. You can come to my nest.”
“He’s not afraid of me, Dick,” Bruce says, as Dick carefully scoops up the baby owl. “He was relaxed! Look at how calm he is!”
“Bruce,” Dick says, with thin patience. “You kidnapped a baby owl.”
“I rescued him,” Bruce snaps.
“Oh?” Dick asks meaningfully. “Why hasn’t he shifted back? Why isn’t he moving?” He can feel the owlet trembling in his hands, and Dick tucks him close to his chest.
“He didn’t need to shift back!” Bruce objects. “He was safe!”
“A large man picked him off the streets and brought him back into his bedroom,” Dick says flatly, and watches as Bruce struggles to find words.
“I didn’t—he wasn’t—”
Dick turns and heads for the door, the owlet shivering against him.
“Don’t worry,” Dick says. “I won’t let him get you again.”
“Get him—” Bruce starts, outraged, but Dick just leaves the room.
He takes the owlet into his room, shutting the door and locking it for good measure.
“Do you want to shift back?” Dick asks. “It’s okay if you don’t,” he says, using the gentle voice he uses for the victims they find on the street. “I like to stay shifted, sometimes, too, want to see?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he shifts into a snowy owl.
The owlet stares up at him, and Dick can hear his heart racing. Dick settles down next to him, not quite touching, and then hears Bruce knock on his door.
“Dick?” he calls. “Are you two okay?”
Dick screeches at Bruce, angrily saying go away. Of course, Bruce has never listened, although Dick never thought he’d kidnap a child. Dick listens as Bruce picks the lock, the owlet’s heart going faster and faster. When Bruce pokes his head in the room, Dick spreads his wings, the owlet protected behind him, and screeches louder than he thinks he’s ever screeched in his entire life.
Bruce recoils, opens his mouth, closes it, and then takes another step back. “Maybe I should have Alfred check on you.” Dick glares at him balefully, and Bruce slowly closes the door.
When Dick settles back down into the bed, he’s surprised to feel the owlet pressing up against him. He slowly reaches his beak down and carefully runs it through the owlet’s downy fur. The baby takes a deep, shuddering breath, relaxing against Dick, and Dick runs his beak through the fluff again and again, until the owlet’s eyes drift closed, and he’s sleeping soundly.
Something warm blooms in Dick’s chest.
When they wake in the morning, the owlet won’t shift back to human. Alfred brings owl appropriate food, leaving it outside the door. The owlet won’t eat unless Dick is in his own owl form, and he stays pressed close to Dick every waking moment.
Dick preens him, cuddles him, keeps him warm and safe, taking his job of protection very seriously. He tries to bite Bruce when the man slips in while the owlet is sleeping. Bruce only tries that once.
Alfred comes into the room on the second day, and Dick feels the owlet stiffen in fear until the man shifts in a soft morning dove and coos. The owlet peeps out, and Dick can feel the tiny body relaxing.
Bruce takes this as a sign the owlet prefers shifters, and Dick and the baby wake up in the middle of the night to see a great horned owl looming over them. Dick screeches, the owlet buries himself in blankets, and Bruce freezes.
Dick shifts into a human so he can shout. “What are you doing?” he demands, and Bruce shifts awkwardly from claw to claw. “Your claws are the size of his body, Bruce, why would you think this a good idea? Because of Alfred? Because he’s not afraid of a dove, you thought creeping into our room in the middle of the night as a huge owl was a good idea?” Dick’s voice echoes through the room, and Bruce retreats with ill-grace.
Dick shifts back, screeching angrily at Bruce for good measure before curling back up with his owlet.
On the fourth day, the owlet shifts back into a dirty, ragged boy.
“Hey there,” Dick says, relieved but calm. “Do you have a name?”
The boy’s eyes are wide, even in human form, and he glances around as he says, “Jason.”
“Well, Jason, do you have a family to go back to?”
As much as Bruce claimed Jason had to be homeless, Dick wasn’t so sure. But something sad passes over Jason’s face, and he blinks as he shakes his head.
“N—no,” he says. “But I don’t mean to be any trouble. I can go now,” he offers, starting to slide off the bed. “You don’t need to keep protectin’ me from that other owl.” Dick feels a pang at the thought of his nest being empty again.
“He’s not going to hurt you, Jason,” Dick reassures. “I know he...comes across as scary.” Jason shoots him a disbelieving look. “He’s Batman,” Dick says. “Don’t you know Batman is safe?” When Jason looks away and doesn’t answer, Dick sighs. “If you don’t have anywhere to go, we can find you a foster home.” He doesn’t want the baby to go, but if Jason would feel safer somewhere no one kidnapped him…
Only Jason stiffens in fear, reminiscent of a tiny, scared owlet, and Dick resists the urge to shift and preen him.
Instead, Dick gently coaxes Jason into staying, into letting Alfred bring some pancakes and bacon. The boy’s eyes light up at the mention of the food, and he’s too thin, even after a few days of feeding him.
Later that night, Dick wakes up and his window is open, the owlet gone.
Bruce has taken to flying around the Manor at night, hoping to peer in Dick’s window and catch a glimpse of the owlet. He didn’t mean to scare the child. He’d thought going still and quiet was a sign the owlet was trusting him, and—well, Dick’s perspective makes sense now.
But he can’t get Dick to let him into the room, and he feels an unusually strong need to check on the smallest, most reluctant member of his flock. So after Bruce patrols Gotham, he comes home and flies around the Manor, over the grounds, hoping to see his flock.
Dick usually leaves the drapes closed.
They were closed earlier that night, and Bruce has been morosely flying over the woods behind the Manor when he hears a terrified, tiny cheep. Then another louder, still terrified cheep, and a faint scuffling sound. He swoops down low and sees a fluffy owlet, his fluffy owlet, being held in the paws of a raccoon.
Raccoons eat owlets, and Bruce swoops down, hooting angrily and in alarm. The raccoon startles, dropping the owlet and running off into the night, and Bruce barely resists the fierce urge to go and kill the raccoon for threatening his flock. But there’s a scared owlet still here, fluffed up on the ground, and Bruce gracefully shifts back into a human as he lands. He bends, and picks up Jason, and the owlet furiously clamps his beak down on the webbing between Bruce’s thumb and finger.
Bruce lets out a hiss of pain, manages to keep from trying to shake off the source of the flaring agony, and says tightly, “Jason, let go.”
When the owlet doesn’t, Bruce uses his other hand to find the hinge of the owlet's jaw, pressing firmly through the blood and making the owlet let go. He braces, expecting Jason to try to bite him again, but the owlet is still and quiet, fluffed up.
This time, Bruce notices he’s barely breathing, notices the fine tremors going through him, and internally sighs.
“It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “We all bite when we’re scared. That raccoon scared you, didn’t it?”
Jason doesn’t move or respond in any way. It would be faster if Bruce flew back to the Manor, Jason in his claws. But Jason was nearly torn apart by raccoon claws, and is already afraid of Bruce, so walking it is. Bruce thinks he can find his way back in the dark.
“Let me get you tucked away somewhere warm,” Bruce says. “And I’ll get you back to Dick.” The owlet doesn’t relax.
Why would he leave Dick’s nest? Did something happen? Is he afraid of Dick, too?
Bruce carefully makes his way through the dark woods, hyper-aware of the little body tucked into his jacket pocket. It’s a relief when they break free of the woods and start across the expanse of manicured lawn. He hears a familiar owl shriek, and a snowy white owl swoops down, transforming into Dick right in front of Bruce.
“Bruce,” Dick gasps, and then bursts into sobs, lunging for Bruce. Bruce catches him, kneeling down and hugging him close, mindful of Jason in his jacket pocket. “Bruce, Jason is gone. I woke up, and the window was open, and I’ve been flying over the woods, but he’s not there, and he’s a baby, Bruce, what if something got him? What if they ate him, and he’s dead and it’s all my fault?” Dick sobs into Bruce's shoulder, while Bruce hugs him tight.
Then Bruce pushes him back, and Dick scrubs his face and says, “We have to go look for him. We can’t just leave him out there alone, and if—if something happened, there will be—be—be feathers, or something and—”
Dick is shaking, voice wet and tremulous, and Bruce gently reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a small ball of fluff. Dick’s voice stops abruptly, and he heaves in one breath before he reaches for Jason and hugs the owlet carefully.
“Jason,” Dick says, voice breaking. “Jason, don’t leave again, okay? We can find you another home. It’s not safe out here.”
“I think he knows that, Dick,” Bruce says seriously, and Dick looks up at him, horrified.
“Did something happen? Is he injured?” Dick holds up the owlet, studying him.
“I found him with a raccoon,” Bruce says reluctantly, not wanting to upset Dick further, and Dick sucks in a shocked gasp. “But he’s fine, uninjured and fine, just—” Bruce pauses. “He’s afraid of me,” Bruce admits. “With good reason. You should probably get him back to your nest.”
Dick nods, and hurries away to the Manor, Jason cradled carefully in his hands. Bruce heaves a sigh, watching his flock rush away from him, and slowly makes his way back to the Manor.
Dick’s room is familiar by now, and Jason is surprised to find it so comforting. He can still feel the raccoon’s sharp paws, the hot breath, and still see the huge horned owl swooping down to his rescue. For a moment, he thought the owl was going to eat him, and then he realized it was Bruce and he was scared because Dick wasn’t there to protect him and he was alone and—
And then he bit his rescuer.
Jason shivers with horror at the memory, because he thought for sure Bruce was going to kill him, or do something worse, but Bruce was just—gentle. Kind.
Dick feels his shiver and snuggles him closer, and Jason lets himself relax into the promise of safety.
If Jason thinks back, kind and gentle is all Bruce has been, and Jason was just afraid because Bruce was a large man who picked him up off the streets. It was a rescue then, too, Jason can admit now. He wasn’t going to get free of that fishing line on his own. Bruce has rescued him twice.
Dick places Jason gently on the bed and starts preening him, making a low soothing hoot every so often. Jason calms further under the familiar ministrations, letting himself get sleepy. It is safe here, and it’s certainly not safe out in the woods.
An echo of hot breath and sharp claws washes over him, but Dick’s reassuring hoot reminds him he’s safe inside.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and Dick’s head snaps up as Jason presses closer into Dick’s body. The door slowly opens and Bruce is standing in the hallway.
“I just wanted to be sure he was uninjured,” Bruce says quietly, looking sad. “I’m not coming in.”
Something pricks at Jason painfully. There’s a part of him that’s been empty since his mom died, since he was alone and flockless. He could tell they wanted him in their flock, but could only think of the bad, scary reasons they’d want a shifter kid from the streets.
They’ve had plenty of time to hurt him, though, and no one has done so.
Jason hesitantly nudges his way out between Dick’s feet, popping up against the older owl’s chest where Bruce can see him. Bruce’s eyes widen and he holds perfectly still. Jason lets out a quiet hoot, a call of a baby owl to his flock, and the man in the hallway sways a bit into the room.
Dick bends down and runs a comforting beak through Jason’s fluff, and then tries to push him back behind him. Jason doesn’t let him, leaning around the insistent beak and letting out another calling hoot. Bruce steps into the room, and Dick’s head snaps up again.
“Dick,” Bruce says quietly, eyes locked on Jason. “He’s calling me.”
Dick ruffles his feathers a little, but doesn’t screech angrily, and Jason hoots one more time.
Bruce shifts, the man transforming into a powerful, scary owl. But Jason isn’t really scared. Well, not that scared. This owl saved him, twice, and brought him home and fed him and wants him in his flock.
Jason would like another flock. He hated being alone and vulnerable on the streets, and both of these owls have shown they are protectors. He can grow up here, safe and warm and wanted. Bruce flies up on the bed, Dick stiffening, but Jason just hops forward a little, looking up at the large owl.
Bruce slowly bends his head, and Jason doesn’t move as that deadly, hooked beak goes through his fluff ever so gently. Dick moves closer, and Jason stays pressed between the two large owls. They take turns preening him, and he drifts off to sleep.
Alfred finds them asleep in the morning, all in one nest, and the photo he takes of them always has a place of honor on the living room mantlepiece.