Tim was confused. However, confused didn't even cover the feeling. He was at odds with himself, wondering why he had been saved. When the Joker had cornered him, he had fully expected to die, just like Jason, the previous Robin had. He saw the bomb way too late before it blew up in his face, shrapnel flying everywhere. Tim had stared up at the Joker, and half his missing left wing, and knew he was going to die. He was going to die surrounded by white and green wings, with streaks of red like blood throughout. The Joker - a Winged - and Batman's greatest enemy was going to kill him. The man was insane, had been insane before he was sentenced to Arkham and just continued on his rampage after the doctors had torn part of his wing off in an attempt to control the craziness lurking within his mind. His age was unknown, but he loved setting off bombs and causing insanity wherever he went. He was absolutely crazy, and was known to love the scent of blood. He was known to be one of the many Winged who refused to hide his wings, ever, and who ate meat. To be specific, he loved human flesh. Tim had assumed that the Joker would eat part of him first, causing hallucinations before killing him brutally. Not with a crowbar, that joke was old. Tim had waited for death, but then he had seen it. The person who had swooped down was very small of stature, and baggy clothing hid all the muscle and skin tone Tim could have used to identify him. The boy had denim jeans, with a baggy black sweatshirt. The hood was up, with the strings pulled tight enough so that barely any part of his face was shown. What Tim remembered was the haunting, bright blue eyes that glowed from the darkness of the hood. The Joker had smiled, and turned to the newcomer as he dove towards them. A few meters away, Tim had noticed that the boy wasn't stopping or slowing down. Like… like he was preparing to slam straight into the Joker. And away from Tim. Tim had watched, jaw dropping as the boy smashed straight into the Joker, sending them both tumbling. The boy had recovered quickly, one knee on the ground as he stood, eyes burning into the air in front of them. He leapt, then, smashing the humerus and radius bones into the side of the Joker's head. The boy (or, at least, Tim assumed he was male. He couldn't see any indication of a female from the body he could see) stepped back, wings folding up.
He had made eye contact with Tim as Tim desperately searched those bright blue eyes, and wondered if perhaps the boy had a personal vendetta against the Joker, or if he wanted the Joker out of the way so he could kill Tim himself. Before Tim could question the strange boy, he lifted his wings and took off into the air, disappearing into the Gotham skyline. Tim had remained on the ground for only a few moments before calling Batman on his comm-link.
"Robin to Batman." he murmured quietly, still on the ground. "The Joker is down. An unknown Winged took him out. And before you ask, the new Winged did not touch me at all."
"...an unknown Winged." Nightwing repeated, disbelief shining steadily throughout his tone. "A new Winged… who took down the Joker. And left you alone? Am I hearing correctly?"
"Yes, you are." Tim sighed. "Meet you back at the Cave. I'll explain there. Robin out." Tim gathered himself up, leaning his weight on shaking forearms. He dragged his knees up, and remained there a moment before standing up slowly. He could feel the small place where shrapnel from the bomb had pierced the Kevlar. He winced slightly and checked the wound, ensuring it wasn't fatal. With that in mind, the Robin began limping over to the R-Cycle, mounting it and kicking the bike into action. He took off, weaving through cars and passing by white and blue GCPD cars as they drove by, followed by an ambulance and a fire truck. Most likely, they were going to detain the Joker and send him to Arkham - again -, ensure that no one was injured in the bomb explosion, and put out the large fire that was in fact created by said bomb. As Tim drove, he quickly went over the facts he did know about this new Winged. It had the height of a child, but it could just be incredibly short. Muscle mass, unknown. Any defining bodily marks, unknown. Skin tone, unknown. Eye colour, bright blue. Tim shook his head. No, that wouldn't be his real colour. Often when skilled Winged pulled their wings out of tattoo form, their eyes glowed with the transformation. Tim went over every bit of knowledge he had gained about the dangerous species and quickly surmised that the Winged must have blue eyes of some form. They wouldn't glow blue if their dormant colour was brown, for example. The eyes also glowed when they used their ability, but Tim had not seen any sign of an ability. Another curious action was when the Winged had slammed the humerus and radius bones into the side of the Joker's head. Tim knew for a fact that Winged took their wings touching anything very seriously, and it was often known as an intimate gesture. But then Tim remembered how he thought the Winged may have been crying as he attacked. That would make sense, then, the Winged allowing his wing to touch the side of the Joker's head… perhaps as an apology? Tim had read grief in those eyes as the Winged had taken in the Joker's prone form. So, the Winged had attacked the Joker and felt guilty over it, to save Tim. If the boy (Tim was assuming) had been angry at the Joker, his eyes would have been much more narrowed and his lower eyelid more pronounced. The Winged had attacked the Joker to save Tim, that much was clear. Now all Tim required was a motive.
Tim realized, with a jolt, that maybe he knew the Winged and that was why the human-bird hybrid had saved him. But in that case, he would have to be someone who knew that Tim was Robin. It could be any of the Titans, but Tim was sure that none of the Bats or extended Bat family were the Winged in this case. They were too hateful towards the creatures, it just wasn't possible that one of them was hiding wings. But of course, they could be acting. Tim knew that Dick was an excellent actor, but there were many signs. Plus, he was too tall to be the Winged. Same went for Jason. Bruce was too tall, again, to be the Winged, and Tim knew for a fact that both of his parents had not been carriers of the Winged gene. Katherine Kane was much too tall to be the Winged, and she used guns, and hated the Joker. She wouldn't feel grief for having harmed him. Cass was in Hong Kong, and there was no way she could have made it Gotham without Oracle noticing. Oracle was, well, in a wheelchair, so she was out too. The last person Tim could think of was Damian, but that was impossible. Bruce wasn't a carrier of the Winged gene, but perhaps Talia was? Tim shook his head again, he had personally looked over Damian's genetic coding, and there was no sign of the Winged gene. Tim crossed all of the previously listed people out as he wove around a thick black truck. The man driving gaped at him, before Tim accelerated, and continued towards the Cave's secret entrance. After ensuring that he was not being tailed, Tim entered through the waterfall and stopped his bike once he hit the platform. He dismounted, fingers gripping his chin and his mind racing a million miles an hour. The Winged's wings! They were short, broad, and rounded. A wingspan of about 140 inches, Tim would guess… they resembled a mockingbird's. Gray feathers, throughout the wing, except for a bright white patch in the middle of each wing that stretched from the radius bone to the bottom of the very last feathers sprouting out of the wings. They looked strong, but not particularly built for flight. Tim assumed that the Winged must be feeling that hit he gave the Joker. Almost all Winged had very light and hollow bones, which were easily snapped and broken. That's how Tim and the rest of the Bats managed to put them back most of the time. They were really quite fragile, if you got past their powers.
"Oi, Timmy!" Nightwing called from below him. Tim's gaze switched to his older brother as he shook himself out of his daze and headed down to greet the older man.
"I think I need stitches." he murmured, showing Dick the wound. His older brother nodded solemnly and quickly herded Tim over to the medical bay, encouraging his little brother to lay down as he spoke about absolutely nothing useful. Soon, Bruce was looming over the pair of them, cowl down but cape still wrapping around his shoulders. Alfred joined the gathering, with the disinfectant in hand and stitches on the table next to him. Tim's uniform was peeled off gently, and Alfred soon began wiping at the wound with the disinfectant. Tim hissed and almost squirmed away from the stinging, if not for the glare full of disapproval Alfred shot his way. Tim stilled immediately, pretending not to notice how Dick chuckled at his misfortune. Dick ruffled Tim's hair sympathetically as he looked Tim up and down, checking for anymore injuries. Tim knew he had a couple of small cuts here and there, and several large patches of bruises, but nothing serious except for the shrapnel cut, just below his ribs on his left side. Alfred had removed the piece of glass and disinfected the wound, before grabbing the needle and thread and beginning to stitch Tim's side back together. Tim sighed in relief and smiled at the old butler, before sitting up and letting his legs dangle on the infirmary cot.
"I know what I saw." Tim said, looking Bruce right in the eyes. The man's deep blue eyes were hard, cold, and unfeeling, but Tim could read the confusion and relief in there. "A Winged attacked the Joker, and knocked him out cold with the humerus and radius bones of his upper wing. He slammed it against the side of the Joker's head, and judging by how intimate allowing a wing to touch anyone is, I would assume that the Winged did so in order to apologize for the attack. I was not able to identify the Winged as male or female, but they were wearing baggy jeans and a large black sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up and strings pulled enough so that I could not see their face. Bright, shining blue eyes, which leads me to believe that this particular Winged can transform his wings from actual physical wings to tattoos on his back. The wings themselves looked like a mockingbird's - gray feathers with large white patches stretching from the radius bone to the bottom of the wings themselves. I believe the new Winged was about 4'6", but I couldn't see the build nor the skin tone due to the clothes. If I had to guess, I'd say that it- they, looked like a child." Tim spoke, quickly correcting himself for the use of 'it'. "And I think they felt guilty for attacking the Joker, and I'm pretty sure they were crying as they attacked. They didn't want to harm another member of their kind, especially… a crippled one, I suppose. But they did do it to protect me, I think. When you think about it… why would they attack another member of their kind, one that's crippled and known for their insanity? They probably wouldn't unless they had to, and the only reason it could have done that was to protect me. The name of 'Robin' is known throughout the Winged community as being one of the top ten Winged fighters to never run into. I was weak, on the ground, and vulnerable. I could have been killed easily, but that Winged left me alone. It even nodded towards me, like a sign of respect. It didn't harm me, just flew off and disappeared. I've thought about it, you know, what if the Winged knew me outside of the costume? Unless someone's busted us and just hasn't said anything, it has to be one of us, one of the Justice League, or one of the Titans. I can't imagine who, though… every one of us has been crossed out for reasons you two already know."
"It protected you." Bruce echoed, disbelievingly. "I've never known a Winged to do that."
"I think that this one is a good guy." Dick said, face serious. "He, and I'm just saying he so I don't confuse myself, seems like a good person. I've read a couple books about the Winged and how they work as a community. They're sort of like humans in the sense that they don't leave anyone behind, and they take extra special care to care for the crippled, old, weak, and sick. According to those books, studying wild Winged behaviour, the crippled are considered very close to infants. They have an intense drive to protect those missing parts of their wings and are unable to fly due to it. If this Winged really did attack a cripple Winged for you, Tim, then he just went against years of evolutionary instincts to save your behind. If that doesn't scream 'Good Guy' to you, then I don't know what does."
"We'll look into this." Bruce promised. "As for now, tell no one about the new Winged. We need to keep this under wraps. As soon as we discover who the Winged is, we can accurately ascertain if the Winged is truly a 'Good Guy' or not." Bruce's voice was thick and heavy with sarcasm and some sort of dark promise. "If the Winged fails the test, and I'm sure it will," Bruce spoke with distaste and hatred lacing into every word, placing emphasis on the 'it', as if the Winged were not human enough to be given a gender. Both Tim and Dick winced, while Alfred closed his eyes and paused, sighing softly. "Then we eliminate it." Bruce walked off then, to the computers and began a database search of known Winged around the world, by their wings. Each pair of wings was completely unique, meaning that there wouldn't be another human-bird hybrid out there mimicking a mockingbird. Bruce knew he wouldn't find anything. The Winged was most likely skilled enough to transform it's wings into tattoos, and therefore, wouldn't be stupid enough to be placed on the database. Just as Bruce predicted, no matches came up for a Winged with mockingbird-esque wings. The man sighed and rubbed at his temples, feeling the headache already pounding at his skull. This search would take a while, and they couldn't just give it. It made no sense that a Winged would protect a known Winged-hunter, therefore, Tim was right. It must know who Tim was under the mask and Robin mantle. That was an enormous issue, and if Bruce wished to continue his vigilante activities unbothered, then no one could know his identity outside of the people who he fought together with on an everyday basis. If this Winged knew who Tim was, then they would almost certainly be intelligent enough to trace Tim back to Bruce. Tim's parents had died not too long ago, and Bruce had officially adopted Tim into the Wayne family. It would be simple to trace Tim back to Bruce being Batman. That would put not only Bruce's civilian identity in danger, it would also placed Alfred and Damian in danger as well. If this new Winged leaked the information it most likely possessed, they'd have swarms of Winged upon the manor in no time. Alfred was a capable fighter, but he would be slaughtered. And Damian…
Bruce knew Damian was capable. He knew that the child was strong, and able to fight several Winged. He knew Damian had had League training, he knew that the child was an assassin born in the League of Assassins and raised by both Talia al Ghul and Ra's al Ghul as the next Alexander, the next person to conquer the world. He knew how powerful Damian could become, and he knew that Damian was well-versed in several different martial arts and had a katana within easy reach in his bedroom. Bruce also knew that Damian had been trained to kill, and would not hesitate to do so. But… despite all these facts, Damian was Bruce's son. A child. He was only nine years old. And a nine year old, despite some of the brutalist training in the world, would not be able to defeat the Joker, Scarecrow, Harley Quinn, Penguin, Poison Ivy, and Black Mask all in one go. And that was only some of the inmates that were in and out of Arkham like a revolving door. No matter how powerful he was, and no matter how much Bruce wanted to believe in his child's abilities, Damian was his son and therefore benched until twenty five. Or forever. Bruce didn't want to hold another dead child in his arms, with the crushing knowledge that he was much, much too late. Damian was a child, and should be treated like one, even if he wouldn't accept it. And while Bruce also knew that Damian wasn't really a child, only looked like one, he also desperately wanted to shelter his son from the horrors of the world he knew Damian had already experienced. There was no turning back, for both Bruce and his son, and Bruce hated the knowledge of the path they were both on. Bruce by choice and Damian by birth. If Bruce didn't allow Damian to fight in the coming years, the boy would escape and go back to his mother, which was virtually even worse than Bruce being around to save his son from the black demons ripping both of their souls apart. Bruce shared a similar fate with his son. They were both destined to die alone, crumpled in a street in Gotham, with a sword through some vital point in their body and feathers decorating the ground around them. They were destined to die choking on their own blood, knowing help was too far away and they were too far gone to help themselves. They were destined to die with that knowledge, and Bruce would do everything he could to protect his son from that horrible fate. Bruce had always known that that fate would befall all of Gotham's vigilantes, but he hadn't truly considered it until the night Jason lay dead in his arms, body stiff and cold. He didn't truly realize it until he was burying a child who had had nothing but a hard life. He didn't truly accept it until he was walking away from a grave he couldn't bear to look at. And he didn't truly project that knowledge until he had set up the memorial of Jason's Robin costume, as a constant reminder of how Bruce had failed in protecting a child, one he thought he could raise to save from his demons.
Bruce didn't want to ever feel the pressure of being too late again, and he knew that Jason's death had nearly destroyed him. If Damian died… if Bruce was too late to protect his own son... then it would destroy him. Completely and utterly. And this time, there would be no other Robin to fill the gap Damian would have caused.
No one would be able to save Bruce from himself if Damian died.
Therefore, Damian wouldn't die.
Bruce wouldn't allow it.