Midnight Murder

Talking Is Overrated

Whumptober Day Two: Garotte | Choking | Gagged

Part One of: Birds Of A Feather Die Together (Owl! au)

[Tim Drake & Dick Grayson]

-!!!-

   The cord was around his neck before he could process what was happening. He wasn't sure what to feel; the surprise that someone had managed to sneak into his room, or ice-cold panic at the fact someone was trying to kill him. Being the last child of the Drakes, Tim was not a stranger to assassins or death threats. He got them every three months or so, with a strange straightforwardness in the demands. Money, jewels, a ticket out of the country – he's seen it all.

But, when he looked up, dread had filled his stomach quicker than it had before, fear seeping into the marrow of his bones.

For above him, swirling in the shadows like a demon from the pits of hell, was a man dressed in a skin-tight suit, brown dancing in the black as a gold emblem glinted the stream of moonlight that seeped past the open window. Goggles had been secured around golden eyes, paper-white skin gaunt and sunken and a complete contrast to the midnight hair that twisted to the assassin's ears – cleanly chopped, out of his face and perfect to easily wipe blood off.

There was only one man in Gotham with that many twinkling knives: Talon.

"Timothy Drake," Came his smooth voice, like it had been sandpapered down to ring across a room with chilling attention, "The Owls have sentenced you to die."

Of course, Tim could only smile as he felt the rope tightening, the warm feeling of pride seeping into the aching cavities of his chest. Even while the center of his world – Richard Grayson, Talon! – was strangling him to a possible death, he felt the pleasure of knowing he died because of a secret he kept from the world and the fact that in death, he didn't have to live in a mausoleum of a house. He'd die, and he wouldn't be alone anyone.

There was a pause in the tightening as Tim's cheeks hurt, laughter bubbling at his throat. He was going to die, and he would see his deadbeat mom once more, maybe even meet the Waynes and then they would share stories on Gotham, and how much change Bruce Wayne had made. Would they be proud of their son, for taking on the mantle of Owlman, or would they feel guilt and repulsion to what their son has become?

Thinking about that answer would be pointless; he could simply ask them when he died.

"Why are you laughing?" Talon questioned, brows furrowing and his grip on the cord tightening. "You are sentenced to die, why are you laughing?"

Air was straining to get past Tim's trachea, but he laughed anyway, sounding crazier by the moment. "You said it," he choked out, "Not me."

Talon's grip loosened, before turning steely and hard. "All fear the Owls," he hissed, "None are not afraid."

A challenge, Tim hazily processed, the words bouncing around in his head, a challenge!

A challenge was the only thing keeping him sane. Piece together the identities at the Owls? Done. Stalk them until he caught their attention? Check. Take revenge on Felipe Garzonas for making his Owl feel angry and upset? His body is rotting in a mass grave somewhere, decomposing and forgotten. The only challenge he failed was getting his parent's love, but he didn't need that anyway.

(Dana was trying, trying hard-)

He was ready to die, but now that Talon had uttered those words, he couldn't – he couldn't let it go! He couldn't lose his perfect streak of winning!