Jason's huge head came up a second before the crackof a breaking branch came from the woods to their left - from the direction of the manor.
Tim had the gun back in his hand and aimed in the direction of the disturbance almost before the sound registered, crouched low over Jason; who was tense and rumbling deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against Tim's abdomen.
Even though the night was mostly still, they had approached from downwind; whoever was coming knew what they where hunting, and they were very good. The step that broke that branch had to have been been deliberate, which meant-
Tim pulled his backup gun out of his ankle holster and pointed it in the opposite direction. This was a familiar tactic, one he and his brothers had employed many times in the past, so he was less than surprised when Nightwing stepped out of the shadows in full hunting gear, gun drawn, mask making his expression unreadable. He knew that Robin had broken the stick to draw their attention away from Nightwing's approach, that he was still out there, creeping up on them. Tim's guns wavered, not sure where to aim. He never wanted to find himself aiming a weapon at *any* of his brothers, yet he'd had them *all* in his gunsights at one point tonight.
Jason's rumble died out into a pained whine when he saw Nightwing, and he fought the urge to struggle out from under Tim and throw himself over the smaller boy. He didn't want to break the stalemate that held them all, didn't want to attack the men who's scents he knew so intimately. The dim train of human thought yelled that they were a threat, no matter how much that thought hurt, and he needed to protect his mate from them. The wolf insisted that they would not hurt him; that his packmates were not a threat to anyone but enemies of the pack.
His brothers would never hurt him, or his mate…would they?