This is an AU with hybrids, Tim's the main focus, and there is no pairing chosen for this fic. Though there is a chance of one. It's un-beta'd so beware of some mistakes. Though I think I caught most of them. Enjoy.
The streets bustled with the mid-day rush. It was a typical day really. People rushing down the street with their pets trailing behind. Though dogs, cats, and other true animals weren't the most popular pets these days. Forty-nine years ago a new type of pet developed. Human mutilations. It started out small, really. A few children were born with, well, animal features. Ears sprouting from the top of their heads, small tails, and in extreme cases whiskers.
People were disgusted, afraid. What was happening? In over a span of ten years fifty of these things sprouted. It became a 'thing' when a lawsuit started- a child being sold on the black market as if it were a rare species. The battle of that was long and hard, most the hybrids had families, jobs, and somewhat normal lives. Than the case settle, new rules were set. The hybrids born after that day forwards would be taken from their families and have a life of servitude.
Extremists bubbled up protesting for a cure. A scientist managed to came up with a drug to block the growth of the appendages. The citizens were terrified, almost a near billion went to be administered. There were only a few thousand who actually carried the gene so many became neutralized, but the shot didn't always work or the gene resurfaced in later generations.
It stirred all kinds of feelings within the world. Some of the mutated creatures would be captured and forced to breed, their children stolen, and a few who willingly bred themselves out for the money. Many fled and hid while babies were ripped away from families. Those caught hiding their children were forced into the pet business as well.
It became a new thing, having these creatures to abuse. A false sense of power that could make some masters cruel. Competitions bloomed up. Rules and structure was determined quickly in hopes of severing the humanity humans had left inside. As generations came and gone there were few left who truly cared for hybrid rights.
Breeding rules were set up quickly. The highest pure-breed was rare due to the regulations of having them. They parents must both be of the same breed. Such as both black-haired dogs or two Blue-winged birds. Any baby born by a human and hybrid was usually just a common house pet- nothing to marvel at. The rarest were now the ones born by both humans. But the worth of the pet went up along with a good lineage on parents side and how many features they share. Such as the mother and father both having black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. How well known the family name was…
Which, coincidently, a good example is Timothy Jackson Drake. When his parents were excited to see their little boy their was no disappointment. Janet and Jack Drake knew the riches that were destined their way. Both were well known thanks to the Drake industries and both bragged far enough during the pregnancy that their son would be one of the last real English man, They planned on take him to his homeland during his birth but the boy came early.
They never treated Timothy like a son because he wasn't, he was their prize. Their fortune. They had teachers training him around the clock. When he first got up in the morning he was fed, than he trained. There were breaks, but not many. He'd get to eat, nap, and even play. He received rewards and praises for doing good but affection after that was rare. Once in a while he'd receive soft hair ruffles from his masters. [Timothy knew by instinct they were his birthright parents and the bragging his father said may have helped] But he loved the affection and craved to please them. So he raised to their expectations and farther than that. Though there was only so much a little boy could do. It worn him down, slightly breaking every time he hears his parents talking about selling him once he reaches age. He tells himself that if he works harder he'll be useful.
By the age of five the kitten could speak full sentences coherently with intelligence . He knew the people his parents wanted to impress, those who to stay away from, and people flatter. Tim was gifted with a silver tongue. Not in the way you'd think. He wasn't exactly charming, the boy could always predict the right things to do when. Thanks to that he never really earned a real punishment. Timothy made sure to have a worthy reason for doing something.
Jack tells him to run the mail up to his desk. [He skims over the documents scattered on the surface]. Staying late at gymnastics because he couldn't get his tumble just right [Better than going home and being ignored.]Tim enjoys it when his parents order him to prepare snacks for them. [They would overlook the missing portion]
In every aspect Tim was marveled as the perfect pet. For one such young to be so obeying and calm- most young pets were frightened by people. They were usually shy until they reach the end of training at the age of ten. Before the Drake boy the youngest to be broken was a young eight year old girl. It was a number one topic brought up in contests. But that wasn't the only thing that threw people into a tizzy about the kitten. The intelligence in breeds were important. The lowest score one could get was a F-, which were usually deprived hybrids that were raise to be mere dolls, and the highest was an A+. The tests difficulty did change with age and the testing age was five, which was when a child could legally be sold as a pet.
The Drake's notice their sons brilliance and couldn't pass off the chance to be show off. Jack demanded they tested the pet on a higher level. When asked if he wanted the second or third test he demanded the eighth level test. A few people figured it wouldn't hurt anything to let the man make a fool of himself.
They graded the test with shock, checked it over three times, and made Timothy take two more tests. All with the same outcome, every single answer correct. Tim wanted to be smug himself. He worked hard, he studied all day and night. Spent his free time reading, stayed up five hours past bed making notes in textbooks, and often asked for harder work. He wanted attention, his mother gave him some. He seen her yearning looks and soft touches. The small toys she could get away with buying like stuffed animals. Cheap prizes to satisfy a pet, she explained to Jack. But Tim knew better, if only for the soft I love you she'd whisper to him on nights his father passed out drunk or out with other women. In the end he craved his father's touch and praise, because if he was useful to his father he wouldn't be forced from his mother. He'd be able to keep his almost-family.
They agreed to let the test score to be announced on live television. They dressed him up in a dress suite with a green tie neatly pinned against his neck. He remembered vividly how important he felt to his parents, how his heart thrummed painfully in his chest, and the booming voice of the speaker-
I can't believe it folks. This five year old pet, Timothy Jackson Drake, took a test for a eighth year mark- that's right folks eighth- and scored an A+. A perfect score. Hey, you two ever think about having more children?!
People attempted to bid on the male, trade him off for other things, and there was no lack of strange offers. The Drake's turned them away, too selfish to give away the treasure they cooes at Jack at night, telling him how special the boy is. How he'll make them famous. The longer Jack likes the idea of a perfect pet the longer Janet could secretly love her son.
Tim remembers the cameras, the annoying reporters, and all the hype over the test score. It took a week for their scheduled appointments to slow to a stop. News shows picked up clips but the boy never watched them fully. He put all his time in getting better and focused on the look in his fathers eyes. He hoped it was pride even if deep down he knew it was greed.
Jack pushed more strengths onto him. Straight after the entire IQ thing started to simmer his father couldn't sit still. The male decided that cats needed to be agile and assigned him to gymnastics, ballroom dancing, and piano. The boy needed grace for the competitions Jack demanded he win. Nothing else would be accepted. On the busy days Tim sacrifices sleep to study history, science, and math. He doesn't want his brains to rot with age, after all. When his mother notices him getting close to the edge, close to breaking, she invites him to do yoga with her. His father spots it one time and deems that the gymnastic lessons are working, He doesn't notice the mother and son bond.
By the age of six he mastered ballroom dancing. He disliked the stiff clothing and the boring dance so he put the most effort in that, wishing to get it done and over with. At eight he could play piano with the best, his fingers gliding over the keys naturally. He found he enjoyed the fact he could infuse his feelings with sound, move people with each note. Gymnastics took more time, there was always more to learn, and at times he felt like he had wings when he used bars to do flips and twirls. He was one of the best by the age of nothing was ever enough.
And Timothy never truly had a fair chance. People tended to do sick things for rare luxuries. Such as attempting to sell their son behind another's back. Jack couldn't ignore his greed any longer, one priced was just too good to be true. Janet had found out and from there everything went down in flames. He watched his mother scream at his dad and slam her fists into the male's chest. [how could you do this Jack, how?!]
After ten years of holding onto a simple hope, one dream of his earning the love he craved, and had found that it'd be ripped away from him. The one thing he worked so hard for. His mothers shrill voice sobbed about how awful Jack was and what their son had to go through. How he was theirs, not some thing to be given away, and how dare he do that. He promised as long as she went along with the pet thing it'd be okay. They'd stop when he got old enough to know his place so their -baby, our little baby boy you prick!- son wouldn't get hurt [we're supposed to protect him, Jack!].
He can only stand by with his tail tucked between his legs as it turned more violent. He tried to get into the middle of it when he spotted a metal gleam. Even with all his efforts he watches his mother and father crumple to the floor. The women wrestles the butcher knife from her husband's hand. Hesitation wasn't even present as the women stabs the knife through that same hand and scrambles up. Grabbing a hold of her son, who is terrified at this point and a bit numb, and drags him to a spare room. Quickly she tosses him a worn jacket he'd never seen before. His fathers blood is smeared on it- or maybe it's from his mother's nose.
Tim robotically puts it on as his mother tugs a beanie over his head. She grabs his face gently, pressing a kiss against his forehead.
I've always, and always will, love you my precious kitten.
She rushes him to put on the backpack before gesturing to the window. They both can hear the thundering steps of his father, rebounded from the attack. "Check the bag when your safely away. Run and never come back." She says, eyes watering. Tim's opening the window, fingers shaking and making everything so damn hard. His feet clatter on the fire escape. His blue orbs turn when he hears his fathers disgruntled yell.
The images of the knife slashing the skin on her shoulder burned into his mind. Teeth grit at the fact he deserves to suffer for being such a coward. How could he leave the only person who loved him? Even if the love was forbidden, hidden under lies and hurt.
Once he found himself on the roof of some apartment building he deemed it safe enough to shuffle through the contents of the bag. An extra set of warm clothing, water, and some nutrition bars. It made his throat constrict. Never come back, huh? He shuttered slightly, digging deeper into the bag. He stares dumbly at the five, thick stacks of twenties. It was almost mocking him. Only one side pocket holds something that makes Tim feel something. A key. He observes it, tongue rolling over the roof of his mouth in thought. He'd seen it before and the memory slowly dawned on him.
Timothy, go fetch my gym key off the counter.
His fingers tighten around the cool metal as he attempts to recall where that gym was. Something in the back of his mind wonders if his mother let him overhear certain things, and those motherly glances she sent him when Jack wasn't looking. He felt a dull hate for his father restricting that love but, in the end, he still loved that man. Jake was his father, after all. So many years were spent trying to please the man, all wasted.
If I go back he might see how loyal I am. He'll find me useful. Or he'll sell me off to pay for his lawyer.
Tim places everything neatly back in the bag and heads out. He needs to find this gym and get to the locker, in which the key belonged to. The metal felt like it was burning his skin. His mother loves him and gave up her life for his freedom. He wouldn't give it to the man that never cared no matter how wrong it felt to be free.
So Timothy promised he'd always be free. His life dedicated to helping hybrids protect their freedom, the freedom and love they were denied. He'd shelter their need to be loved, help them flourish it even if it meant giving up his right to love.
It takes him two hours to find the gym. He merely had to filter around them but he had to be quick. As much as it made his stomach churn Tim had to keep in mind the maids would be showing up at the Drake residence at nine-sharp. The blood would be found, lies would be spouted, and hopefully the man would be pushed into prison. He found all the gyms in the area the night before and attempted sleep. Instead he detailed out his plan, running different scenarios in his head of what could go wrong. The worst thing possible and how to wiggle his way out of it.
He wakes up as the sun rises and heads for the gym. He leaves his bag on the next building over from the Blue Skies Gym. He slips in unnoticed and to the locker room. It takes a few minutes to find the metal box that was fifty-three B. Inside that was a small gym bag. His fingers twitched before he snag the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The locker snapped shut, he locked it, and he's out of the building before anyone registered he shouldn't be thing was first. Head back to his hiding spot. Which, in truth, was really lame. Tim knew he had to stay out of site, though, and blend in. So he went to the slums, crawled up onto a roof, and tucked himself away in a corner. Than he stared at the dark green gym bag that seemed to taunt him. His mother's last gift to him that he should've never needed. Maybe she planned on running with him and everything was ruined right before it.
He let out a soft breath as he fiddled with the zipper. This seemed so surreal, as if it was a bizarre dream.
The zippers groans are mocking him as it slowly reveals the contents. Tim almost let chokes on the air he's breathing. Money and a lot of it. He feels sick. His mother always knew this would happen. That's why she never, truly made that bond with Timothy. He lets out a shuttered breath and jerks the bag closed. He rubs at his eyes, shoulder straightening as he takes in a deep breath. He needed to be strong and he would become something- someone his mother would be proud of. Even at ten years old he'll be a hero. Start small. The money would help him figure out some of the problems if he was smart about it.
He swallows thickly, standing up. First he had to hide this money, somewhere no one would find it, and than he'd have to find a secure home. He knows he only has a small amount of time to find such a place. If he's lucky people will be to captivated by what happened with his mother and father to think of him. Maybe even for a couple days before people think of the pet.Tim wasn't one to waste time.
He stumbles upon an old floral store. The windows are smashed and it's tiny. But something draws him to the worn building, the sign broken and hanging lopsidedly. The yellow paint is fading but the flower shop's name is 'King's corner', He remembered the fire story in the newspaper a year ago, the shop wasn't big enough or worth the effort for being rebuilt. Plants grew freely in here, vines trailing up the scorched wood and a plush moss coating the floor in a vibrant green, daring to trail up a few of the standing counters and shelves. Flowers spouted from the ground where the sun rays hit during the day while most of the wood held some kind of damage from the fire. Charred beams hung from the ceiling, crushing holes in the floor, and others laid uselessly on the ground with chunks of floorboards.
This was his home.
He moves upstairs to find only one room slightly intact. The window could be fixed and the few ruined floorboards could be looked over. He hummed in thought as he wondered about this living area. He was surprised no one else claimed it. They probably thought nothing of it, a flower shop as a home? That wouldn't be safe. Especially with the smashed windows and cold draft. It wasn't in a horrible area of town either, two blocks down was a pet catcher building. That was dangerous which probably kept the other hybrids away from the hiding place. But Tim was determined to make it his. He spends the next week fixing his home. It helps him stay out of sight and keeps his mind off of his current situation. The first few days are spent in the new found basement. He works silently to create a place to hide his money there since it was a horrible mess. He decides to leave the burned items and fallen beams scattered along the floor. Nobody would believe somebody planned on staying here as long as he played his cards right. If someone stumbled upon the basement they wouldn't think to steal anything let alone to look for something to steal.
He clears a spot near the middle of the basement. A strong, broken piece of timber in his hand. He uses it to dig in the dirt, not caring about ruining his clothing. Looking fresh and clean on the street would send out red flags when there was no master in view. Something he needed to avoid. He lines the hole with a half-burnt blanket. He stacks a portion of money in the hole and buries it. After he pats down the dirt he pushes a half-melted plastic tub on top of it. He does this five more times in various spots, marking each area with an item.
He uses material from the basement to fix the room upstairs. He boards up the windows and holes in the ground, careful to move the material at night and work quickly. Soon the room on the second floor holds a bed made of sheets and a single singed pillow. He keeps his duffle bags in the corner, only holding his clothes. No one should wonder upstairs, the steps leading up here were broken and dangerous. Not to mention the middle of the floor was caved in thanks to rafter that crashed down onto the first floor. He figured he was safe as he needed to be.
In two weeks he finds himself sneaking out into the night. He observes how the outside world works, scared to fully indulge in it. He eats the scraps he can find and shares what he can with those who look to weak to fight him for all his food. Slowly he learns to become a protector of the hybrids, helping them thrive on the outside. Small groups were already formed at this point. In a year he learns even with money he has to steal. Only certain places will pay and flashing around money would be stupid. People would figure it was strange a stray had that much money, even if he was whoring himself out he wouldn't have that much. They'd put two and two together. So he only bought things when he needed too or the cheapest version of it. When he couldn't spare it or buy it he simply took it.
Take from the rich give to the poor, right?
When he's thirteen he has the streets memorized. He knows the good people and the bad. Groups of strays begin to form, better than they had in the past. They function in abandoned buildings and other places, one group even lives in the sewers. Each has a leader but Tim doesn't take that role on. Instead he gathers the supplies needed for each group. Medication, food, clothing, and blankets were always in high demand. Winters were horrid and summers were blistering hot. The cat would often drop things off and attending the meetings the leaders held.
Tim didn't always speak with them, he didn't want anyone to ever recognize him. So he only spoke when he needed to, not bothering with trivial conversation. He went by the name Solitaire to help point out that he didn't want to join any of them. If he got attached to someone it'd deter him from his goal. He'd most likely end up focusing on their group rather than all hybrids.
There is a group in Bludhaven run by Nightwing. Tim tends to let his attention go to his beautiful blue wings that match his eyes. When they flutter it's like welcoming him, asking him to come forward and accept the male's embrace. He watched him and his brothers silently for a while. Nightwings group was made up of teenagers, ranging from thirteen to nineteen. Most moved to fend for themselves after a while, some stayed loyal, other's were caught or worse…
Than there was Red Hood, the middle brother, who handled more young adults and older men. He used more brute force but he took care of them. They feared and admired the male's strength. It helped that he bared sharp teeth, a wolf's tail sprouting behind him and thick ears on top of his head. He gathered dangerous, but trustworthy, people from more troublesome groups. Weaken the 'bad guys' army and strengthening his own. It amazed Tim how the male worked so well with the sour bunch of people, managing to get them to understand and be useful. To respect others and not just act like petty thieves.
Little Robin was the one he watched closest due to his young age. The boy couldn't be older than twelve and hated being called Little Robin by Solitary so he had to keep it up. Tim liked to pick on him most due to the fact he was a cat hybrid like himself, except his ears weren't completely black. They had patches of white on the tip of the ears and tail. Adorable. Tim had thought the first time he say Robin. Him and Hood kept their groups in different parts of Gotham. The twelve year old's group had mostly children, five and up, but no more than six of them. Children weren't left alone on the streets often, most had family taking care of them or were caught before found by any of the leaders. Tim watched over all the groups like they were his own.
It wasn't until he was thirteen that he showed himself to the groups, letting himself be seen dropping off bags of necessities, giving food to one of theirs, and helping those in trouble. It was his way of showing he wasn't there to hurt but to help. He wasn't sure how else to show himself. Nightwing approached him first, asked if he wanted to join a group.
"I work alone, but I don't mind having allies." Solitaire voice echoes behind his hoodie, a black make-shift mask covering his eyes. He was dropping off medication for a sick teen that he caught word of. His own cold kept his voice thick, hidden, he doubted he seemed like any pure-bred. Just a mangy stray trying to do good.
"You're welcome to join my group for the winter." He can feel the want in the male's voice. It's funny how soothing it was, it makes him think of hot broth set in front of him after a cold night. It feels safe. There is something inside him that screams at him for not taking such an offer.
"If you need me, tie a green bandana to the streetlight outside your hideout." he comments easily, his tail flicks behind him as he gives the blue bird one last look before disappearing into the shadows.
It wasn't soon after that Nightwing introduced his 'brothers'. Than he found himself following them to this meeting place, not trusting the gang leaders that also joined into the meetings. He kept an eye on them because they weren't to be trusted. Some whored out hybrids and attacked groups with better supplies. But treaties were made. Had to be made. Tim also monitored all the groups to make sure they followed the deals made to correct any wrong-doing on both sides. He had to shove Red Hood into place once or twice, along with Robin.
There would always be bloodshed between groups, but the groups that wanted no trouble were usually left alone. There were two main gangs that screamed trouble. The 'Joker' who was a rather cruel man who led one group and two-face had his claws in the other. They didn't always show up to the meetings, only when they needed or wanted something, but it was the easiest way to keep fights away from the non-gangs. There were plenty of smaller gangs running around but none were true threats, most only street thugs trying to survive. They were usually handle one on one by Red Hood. He was good at handling more violent natured hybrids. If he needed to Tim stepped in but he didn't really like dealing with those who had no boundaries or morals.
Everyone knew Solitaire sat on the rafters during the meeting. His tail swinging side to side, listening to needs and demands. The deaths of hybrids and other problems expressed. The deals that were made never overly dramatic, a certain amount of food or materials. Things they could and sometimes couldn't spare. As the meeting came to end the dark cat stood on the beam, easily balancing and looking downwards. His tail swayed as they trade off their things, no gang leaders showed tonight so there was no true threat. The feline hummed softly thinking all was well for the night, that he could turn in and cuddle up in his mound of blankets and shitty heater in his room.
There was a soft sound that he barely picked up, his ears twitched. His feet glide against the beam as he turns his body and walks towards the noise. It was outside the building. Maybe a hybrid rummaging through trash or an actual animal. Bellow he can hear the three male's talking about a new group run by a female, which one should checked out, but he doesn't really pay attention as he reaches the long window running alongside the top of the wall. He stays on the sill, looking outside at the city glowing in the darkness of the night.
The peace he worked so hard for would be put on the line soon. He had a mission, one he feared, but he wouldn't let the danger of it falter his decision. No, tomorrow he'd make a very big impression on the population. Until than he'd enjoy the calm before the storm.
"Hey, Sol, come join us for the night." Nightwing yells up at him. His ears twitch with interest because he wouldn't mind that. Company was nice. He smiles and turns back for one last glance of the city through the dusty windows. Tim would let himself indulge this one time. His freedom would be jeopardized tomorrow as well as everything he worked for. He needed good memories to keep himself motivated if anything went down hill.
He drops to the ground with ease and earns a smile from Nightwing, but he dodges the touch he tries to administer. Tim listens quietly to the banter and teasing as they move into the darkness. He wonders what his life would be like if he let himself become a true part of this family.