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It was all too good to be true, anyway.
Jason is crying as he drags Talon through the streets and past darkened corners, hiding in the shadows.
Talon is cooing, chirping in confusion as Jason keeps pulling him back towards-
Back.
Back.
He can’t think about it.
Maybe not ever.
He can just— it will be okay. He can get through this, and he will never have to think about it again.
It’s fine. It’s not like Talon wanted this, either.
Jason has to stop when they reach a crossroads, orienting himself by virtue of familiar landmarks such as— there. The diner.
He resolutely refuses to acknowledge the way Talon has draped himself all over Jason’s back and just starts running again, tugging the delirious guy along.
Just another block or so. Just a little more. They’re almost saf-
Jason’s stumbles over nothing before he catches himself.
It was too good to be true anyway, he tells himself. It’s okay. This is the catch. He knew there would be one, eventually.
But the thing is— there probably wouldn’t have been. Not if it weren’t for Ivy and her stupid tantrums and her stupid fucking pollen-
Doesn’t matter. It happened, Talon got tagged, and now they have to deal with it.
Talon cries out softly as Jason slips his hand away to pry away the loose board behind the tower and a moment later a pale hand takes the board from him and just— breaks it. Clean down the middle.
Idly, almost numbly, Jason notes that he’ll have to replace it later. Can’t have anyone else think this place is good for squatting.
Talon makes a pleased little chirrup in the back of his throat and suddenly there are hands under Jason’s knees, around his waist, and his brain short circuits and screams and whimpers but—
Jason clamps his mouth shut.
It’s ok. He can do this. It’s- It’s better this way. It was bound to happen eventually, living on the streets, right? And- And Jason still has it better than most! He rarely has to go real hungry these days with Talon’s help, and- and it’s only fair that Jason pays him back, right? Some kids don’t get anything for— that. Because they’re snatched up and made to do stuff and then discarded or beaten or killed, but this is still Jason’s choice, somewhat, and- and it’s only Talon, he’s still fairly small himself, so it’s ok, right? He’s— he’s not going to hurt Jason any more than he absolutely has to, right?
The world around Jason blurs as Talon crouches and leaps, through the gap in the boards and up into rafters that look like they might crumble if so much as a mouse stepped on them yet somehow seem to carry both Talon and Jason’s weight effortlessly. They go up and up, gravity nothing but a fantastical concept, and Jason’s heart feels about ready to burst from his chest by the time Talon ducks into the small room at the very top of the clocktower.
Jason wants to cry when he’s being carried straight towards the nest, the little alcove that had always felt so safe and warm and homey since that day in the alley, where Jason was allowed to hug Talon and snuggle into his arms and feel so very protected in a way he can’t remember ever feeling before. No, no, he can’t- he- not in the nest. Anywhere but there. Even the floor would be better. He can’t lose that one space where he doesn’t feel like crawling out of his own skin. He doesn’t want to— Not in the nest, please.
He doesn’t realise he’s thrashing until there are claws digging into him in warning, a low and chiding chirp vibrating in his ears as Talon approaches the pile of pillows and blankets swiftly. He doesn’t realise he’s babbling nonsense until Talon croons at him in that distinctive ‘be calm‘ manner. He doesn’t realise he’s already crying until Talon eases him into the nest gently and wipes a knuckle across his cheek and it comes away glistening with tears.
It’s happening. It’s happening now. In the nest. And Jason— is not gonna do anything to stop it, because— because he can’t lose Talon. And— it’s okay. It’s okay. It will just be this once, until the pollen are gone. And then- and then they can go back to how it was before. And Jason needs to stop crying because he knew this would happen eventually—
But he can’t stop. He looks at Talon, at the dark silhouette hovering above him, into the luminous gold of the other boy’s eyes— and all he can see is a kind, unpracticed smile, a soft trill, cold hands carding through his hair, so very gentle despite the sharp claws.
Jason doesn’t want this.
Talon probably doesn’t want this. Not in his right mind. But any moment now he’ll do it anyways, because Ivy is a bitch and she had to take even this one thing Jason thought was good away from him. Any moment now Talon will stop being soft and gentle and- and it will hurt. It will hurt so much. But— just this once, right? He can— he can do this. Talon at least will not be cruel about, will not make it hurt more than he absolutely has to, right?
Talon chirrups from deep within his chest, pleased, and then lowers his head to rub his cheek against Jason’s with a coo, one arm sneaking around his waist to pull Jason closer.
A desperate little keen slips past Jason’s lips and he bites down on his tongue until he tastes blood, muffling the sound. But it’s too late, of course it’s too late. Talon can hear Jason’s heartbeat without ever being in the same room as him.
The arm around Jason’s waist freezes, the lanky silhouette stuttering into stillness with a tilt of its head. Talon clicks his tongue, a staccato sound miming the clack of a bird’s beak, and Jason stifles another desperate sob by slapping a hand to his mouth.
Talon clicks again, the sound tapering off into a questioning, concerned hum as he towers over Jason like death.
And- And Jason just wishes he’d get on with it already— the sooner he’d start the sooner it would be over, right? But Talon just blinks slowly at him, the luminous gold of his eyes waxing and waning like the moon.
“Please,“ Jason hears himself say, pleading for— he’s not sure. For this to be over, maybe, even though they haven’t even started. Or perhaps for this to just be a bad dream Jason can wake up from and find himself back in the nest with a Talon who hadn’t been tagged by Ivy’s pollen, a Talon who’d wake up because Jason woke up, who would coo at him in that weird yet endearing bird-way and cuddle him, a Talon who wasn’t about to- to-
“Please,“ Jason whispers as white noise rushes through his ears and Talon trills, leaning down to press their foreheads together.
Oh. Okay.
At least—
At least the wait is over, right?
“Please…“
Everything goes soft and blurry around the edges and then-
Jason
is
drifting….
Its owlet is sick and Talon doesn’t know what to do.
Talon is sick and Talon doesn’t know what to do.
Keeping the owlet clutched against it makes it feel better, but Talon doesn’t want to do that when—
Talon whines, butting its head gently against Jason’s, smoothing down the dark curls anxiously, but the owlet doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look. His eyes are round and empty and— and Talon had already checked many times —just in case — but the owlet is still warm, still alive, even if his eyes look empty enough to be cold.
Talon steels itself and pulls away from the owlet, gritting its teeth against the awful sensation of pins and needles assaulting its skin as it hurriedly scrabbles at the soft material of the nest, bunching it up, up and around Jason’s shoulders, bundling the owlet into a cocoon of softness. This, at least, will keep the owlet suitably warm in a way Talon’s scarce body heat alone cannot.
Talon shivers, slinging its arms around its torso to chase after the vestiges of that blissful warmth seeping like lifeblood from him, replaced by the cruel cold of the freezing boxes.
It hurts. It hurts so very much. But Talon cannot think about that when its tiny little owlet is so still and void. Talon cannot find a glimpse of the owlet’s fierce spirit behind the deep blue of his eyes. Talon cannot find anything of its owlet in the shell sitting in front of it. Talon is terrified that, somehow, it missed its owlet deteriorating before its very eyes. But Jason was fine just a few hours ago, grinning and smiling and seeking contact like he always does nowadays, easing away the lingering chill of years that Talon had to spent without touch that kept hurting.
But then, when they’d flown over a stretch of that rare greenery in this grey city, there’d been the faint pang of wrongness in the air and Talon had only just managed to twist its body between the feeling and Jason in time but— it had just been dust. Iridescent and pretty and Talon wouldn’t have paid it any mind if not for the way Jason had just— frozen. Staring at the smear clinging to Talon’s suit and streaking up over a part of his uncovered neck with slowly mounting horror. Talon had wiped the powder (“Pollen,” Jason had told him shakily, handing him a dirty rag from a dumpster, “Ivy’s. She- We should go— back.”)
Talon grits its teeth against another wave of cold and pain, shivering violently as it pulls further and further away from its owlet even though it hurts so very bad and curls up a few feet, still in easy sight of its owlet, because Talon can’t bear the thought of not seeing Jason, to at least make sure if only by sight alone that its tiny owlet still draws breath.
Talon doesn’t understand. Everything was good until an hour ago. Jason had clung to Talon’s back while Talon vaulted the rooftops, whooping in delight with every flashy loop and twist Talon doesn’t remember learning, grumbling and snorting but still leaning into every soft nuzzle and affectionate hug like always. Its owlet was fine. Talon even taught him to scale the buildings without the fire escapes earlier, and he’d only needed to catch Jason twice this time! Talon was so proud! But suddenly— Talon doesn’t understand. Everything about Jason had read content-happy-loved-joy and then, like the flip of a coin, Jason read scared-terror-no-please.
Talon doesn’t understand, and it cannot find the right words to ask even if they didn’t make its throat feel scratched raw.
It’s silent and dark up here, the shrill noise of traffic muffled and distant. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for their nest. But now Talon wonders if its little owlet has gotten sick because of the darkness, because of the height. Not many humans live so high, none at all had lived in the caves Talon had had its nest in with the Court, and those that do have bright lights and more warmth than Talon knows how to provide. But— it remembers… medicine? The ones that don’t hurt. The ones its second handler had given Talon sometimes when Talon was shivering and crying from another dose of electrum. The handler looked sad, sometimes. And then he’d been gone.
Perhaps, if Talon can find this medicine again, Jason will get better? It will be hard to find, but Talon knows there are humans who know their way around medicine. Talon will simply have to find one of those first and then make them give it the medicine. Talon will not accept no for an answer.
Talon starts chirping, warbling, jumping between pitched sounds and melodious hums with an ease human speech never grants him. Safe, the sounds say, safe, protect, safe, love. It makes the same sounds every time Jason and Talon curl up together in the nest, and Talon had been positively charmed the first time Jason tried to mimic that one particular warble-trill Talon makes at the end that urges the owlet to sleep-safe. Jason likes the sounds. He always falls asleep by the time Talon gets to the third loop. It hopes that, somehow, the sounds will make the owlet move again. Or at least sleep. Owlets sleep a lot, and they are always more energised when they wake again. Talon hopes that sleep might make its owlet feel better.
Talon doesn’t know how long it sits there, curled in on itself with watchful eyes fixed on the still form of its owlet. Its warbles are off, stilted with the ebb and flow of pain suffusing its body, but Talon refuses to stop even when its throat starts feeling the strain.
And finally, just as another wave of stabbing pain rolls through Talon’s body, Jason blinks.
Talon’s warbles stutter for a whole other reason then, but it quickly picks back up, louder this time but still soothing, and is promptly rewarded by another slow blink and an off beat exhale.
Talon doesn’t move. Talon doesn’t breathe. Talon doesn’t dare do anything but continue its nonsensical song as Jason blinks again and his eyes move slowly between where they’d been fixed on the far wall and the faint light falling in through the windows.
Next, Talon can see one hand bunching in the nest blanket it had wrapped around him, can see how the owlet shuffles a little and then—
Surprise, Jason’s body language reads, and Talon almost collapses in relief when the awful void of emotions vanishes into bewilderment-confusion-unharmed?-anxious-safe?
Talon halts its song to chirrup at Jason hesitantly and the boy jolts a little, head snapping to Talon’s curled up form in the corner. For a moment there’s mind numbing fear in Jason’s eyes again, but then he blinks and it’s back to confusion.
“Talon?“ The owlet rasps, pulling the blanket tighter.
Talon shivers through another wave of agony and trills in reply. It takes a monumental amount of effort not to immediately bundle the owlet up in its arms and nuzzle at him until it can forget the past few hours of fear and terror altogether, but Talon knows that it cannot move from its position just yet.
Jason hums, tilting his head this way and that, staring down at the blanket wrapped around him before he goes back to looking at Talon and falls silent. Watching Talon just as intently as Talon is watching him. But there’s something calculating in his gaze now, something wary, but Talon will take it. Anything over the nothingness of earlier.
“You didn’t-“ Jason starts after some time, stops, bites his bottom lip, “Why didn’t you? You… you could have.“
Talon hoots in confusion, curling up a bit tighter when the pins and needles sensation crests into another wave of stabbing and freezing all at once. It hurts. It hurts so bad. But Talon has had worse.
Jason’s expression spasms, something unreadable flitting across his face, “I don’t understand. It’s— it was Ivy’s. You should have— I thought—“
Ivy again. Talon does not know who that is, but the sheer loathing in Jason’s voice makes Talon dislike them on principle.
Jason worries his bottom lip, lost in thought, and silence falls once more. Talon is glad for it, because now that Jason has stopped being void, Talon’s entire body seems inclined to keep reminding it that it’s in a constant state of agony, freezing him from the inside out in a way even the cold boxes hadn’t quite managed.
Talon gasps around a particularly vicious stab of pain, burying its head against its knees with a whine.
“Talon?“
Its owlet sounds alarmed now, worried. But there’s also that faint note of apprehension that reminds Talon to keep its distance lest the void returns.
It chirrups, trying to reassure the owlet that it’s fine, but the sound tapers off into a choked wheeze and Talon bites down on its tongue until it tastes the disgusting mix of blood and electrum to keep from screaming.
“Talon!”
Between one moment and the next Jason is kneeling before him, hands hovering indecisively for a moment before he visibly steels himself and grasps him by the shoulders, shaking lightly, “Talon!“
Talon keens, the touch enough for the agony to dull back into the feeling of pins and needles. For the moment.
“Tell me what to do!” Jason begs, and Talon wants to hug him, to gather him close, to chase away the cold gnawing at it, but the fear-despair is back in the owlet’s voice, and so Talon keeps still.
“Talon!” Jason’s hands are shaking, his eyes glistening, “Talon, please, please just— please.”
Talon closes its eyes, shakes its head no.
“Talon, tell me what you need! I can-” Jason’s hands spasm, tiny pinpricks where his nails dig through the material of its suit, “I can-“
“Hu-g,” Talon presses out, voice stumbling over the second syllable. It doesn’t— yes. That’s what can make the cold go away. But it doesn’t want the owlet to feel like he must—
Jason goes slack jawed, his eyes round with disbelief, “Wh- hug?”
Talon shivers against another stab of pain, nodding miserably.
It shouldn’t need its owlet’s help. Its owlet is still sick himself, probably. Jason is tough, but he is also still so very small, and only a few minutes ago he’d been so void and cold-like.
“I- nothing else?“
Talon shakes its head, confused. Of course that’s all Talon wants, what else could it want?
Jason exhales shakily and then, so suddenly the floorboards creak in protest, the owlet throws himself forward and Talon only has enough time to unfold its legs so Jason doesn’t crash into them before its arms are full with familiar, beloved weight and—oh—
Talon sighs, warmth flooding through it like a tidal wave, chasing out the cold and the pain, and its body slumps like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
Talon wraps its arms around Jason and pulls the little owlet closer, burying its face in the unruly hair at the top of his dead chittering gently when Jason stiffens momentarily but quickly relaxes again at the sounds.
“Just cuddles?“ Jason asks again timidly, his voice a puff of hot air against Talon’s throat.
Talon croons in confirmation, rubbing its cheek against the top of his head affectionately.
Jason’s arms draw tight around Talon, but Talon doesn’t mind. If anything, the added pressure just makes it feel warmer, but then Talon feels its owlet shudder, feels the trembling, hiccupping breaths and the wetness of tears against its suits, and draws back in alarm.
“No,“ Jason says immediately, chasing after Talon and utterly unwilling to allow it to put space between them. And Talon does not fight the owlet’s desperate clutching too hard, not keen on having the cold and pain return so soon after having it chased away, “No, don’t go. Please.“
Talon trills in quiet reassurance, returning the embrace once more albeit a bit reluctantly, rubbing slow, soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
“I thought-“ a harsh shudder runs through Jason, “I thought you-“
Talon hoots worriedly when the owlet bursts into frantic tears, sobbing and clutching at its suit like Talon would disappear if he didn’t. But Jason doesn’t offer up any further explanation and after the third questioning trill Talon switches to soothing rumbles and chirps interspersed with humming, content to simply wait until the owlet has calmed down.
They sit like that for quite some time before the owlet’s heartbreaking sobs quiet to occasional hiccups and then taper off altogether and lights from outside have changed from dark blue to the pitch black of night by the time Jason heaves a breath and mumbles, “C’n we go… nest?“
Talon chirps in assent and easily rolls to its feet with the owlet limp in its arms, crossing the few feet to their nest in a matter of seconds before hesitating, hooting at Jason just to make real sure that-
“Yeah,“ the owlet says quietly, “S’okay.“
Talon waits a moment longer but Jason doesn’t rescind the request so Talon settles them both down carefully in the middle of the messy nest and immediately begins to draw the blankets back into a semblance of its earlier pristine condition, piling fabrics in a lose circle around them before drawing the thicker, larger outer layer over the top of Jason and itself to trap the warmth more effectively.
When Talon is done it wraps both its arms back around the owlet, cooing happily, and is promptly rewarded with a stuttering, human sounding nestling chirp. Talon answers in kind, tacking on several trills and warbles beckoning the owlet into sleep, and Jason huffs a semi-laugh but relaxes further into the nest with a small sigh.
The pain is gone, the cold is gone, and Talon’s owlet is once more reading content-safe-loved-warm.
Talon doesn’t know what exactly happened today, but it doesn’t care as long as Jason is okay and that horrible void doesn’t return to his eyes. Talon will be even more vigilant from now on. Nothing shall harm its owlet as long as Talon still draws breath.
Jason yawns, nuzzling into the embrace with a soft sniffle, and Talon chirrups quietly before tucking its chin firmly on top of Jason’s head, its body a barrier between the vulnerable owlet and the world.
They’re safe. Jason is safe.
Talon sleeps.
Ivy frowns, tilting her head.
The plants are whispering amongst themselves, low and semi-urgent, drawing her attention away from the fools daring to skirt around the edges of Robbinson Park.
She curls a finger, beckoning a lush vine closer to her ear, watching fondly as a flower bursts from its stem and unfurls in brilliant shades of pink.
“What is it?” She asks, stroking carefully along the delicate petals. She does not remember this particular vine ever blooming before. She is very proud of it.
It quivers, the delicate petals shaking lightly as impressions of darkness-terror-flower-sweetness carry along the roots and feed her a steady loop. Plants do not see in the same way she does. In a way, they see more. And they share it with her.
She gasps lightly, a faint pang of remorse rolling through her and causing the nearby shrubbery to creak in surprise.
Children. Her pollen had hit children.
Street kids, if the moss covering the window panes are correctly interpreting the pitter-patter of heartbeats.
Oh, no, no, that just won’t do. Her quarrel had been with the Batman. The poor children have done nothing to earn her ire.
Ivy taps the vine gently with her middle and index finger and watches as it curls away from her languidly, its pretty little flower vanishing in the thicket, roots branching out to deliver a swift natural antidote to the children’s hideout.
She nods to herself and turns back to the greenhouse.
Now, about that oil company…