Long chapter to compensate for the last one.

xXx

Tim glanced back tentatively at the dark frames supporting the brown masses of filthy feathers. "Are you sure about these?"

Dick chuckled. "You tell me. You designed them."

"You approved them, and you have actual experience with this kind of thing."

"Just try it," Dick told him, rolling his eyes.

Tim leaned forward slowly, grimacing slightly as he used stiff muscles that hadn't moved in days. "Ooh, yeah, that feels about right," he muttered.

Dick put an arm behind Tim's back, ready to catch him if he fell back. "You've got it. You're doing great."

Tim finished sitting up and carefully slid forward towards the foot of the bed, like they'd talked about. If he turned around from where he sat, he would have hit a wing on the back of the bed. Instead, he scooted himself forward until his legs dangled over the edge and tentatively lowered himself to the ground. He leaned against the bed for a moment as he found his footing, then, making sure Dick was still close by, took a deep breath and stood straight.

He immediately fell backward. Dick, already prepared to catch him, grabbed his wrist and wrapped his arm around Tim's waist. "Careful. Your center of gravity is--"

"Nonexistent, I know," Tim said sourly. "I didn't realize quite how much so." He backpedaled as Dick lifted him to get his feet back under him.

"It's like having a backpack. You kind of have to lean forward to counter the new weight. At least--"

"I know, I know, I've carried my fair share of heavy stuff. I'll get the hang of it." He put his arm around Dick's shoulder. "Sooner or later." They started making their way, slowly but steadily, toward the stairs leading to the manor above.

"Are you sure you want to go upstairs right now?" Dick asked as they drew nearer.

Tim gritted his teeth. "I've been stuck down here for a week. If I stay here another day, I'm going to lose it like the Holy Grail."

Dick laughed. "I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor."

"And yet you don't notice my sense of urgency."

At the base of the stairs, Tim grabbed onto the nearest object (the chair of the Batcomputer) to hold himself upright. "You're ready?" Dick asked.

"Stop asking me that," Tim said impatiently. He leaned forward and walked to the base of the stairs. "You're behind me, right?" he asked Dick, not wanting to turn around for fear of hitting something with the giant appendages sprouting from his back.

"All the way," Dick answered resolutely.

Tim put his foot on the first step and lifted himself up. Okay, that wasn't so bad. Now just thirty-five more to go. He put one foot in front of the other, putting one hand against the wall beside him to steady himself. This was bearable. He'd climbed literal mountains carrying more weight than this. It was more widely distributed this time, sure, but the concept was the same.

He was about halfway up when he lost his balance.

He wasn't sure when it started going downhill. Maybe it was when he closed his eyes briefly to psyche himself up. Maybe it was when he missed a step. Maybe it was when he kept fumbling around, trying to recover his balance.

In any case, he could feel himself start to topple over backward. Even as he reached out desperately for something to catch himself, he knew there would be no stopping him. He was already in motion.

But then he felt Dick's hands on his back, supporting him. He allowed himself to be pushed forward until he was safely balanced, then put his hand against the wall, his eyes wide.

"Are you okay?" Dick asked.

Tim nodded slowly, mute from the terror of what had almost happened. He swallowed hard, taking a moment to settle his nerves before he continued up, now more careful of where he placed his feet.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to fit through the grandfather clock without too much of a hassle. He leaned against the wall for a few moments, then took in the natural light filtering in through the windows down the hall. He sighed in relief as Dick stepped out behind him. Finally, he was out of the dark and musty cave.

"Alfred is planning a big lunch to celebrate," Dick told him. "It'll be a while before it's done, though."

Tim grinned, not needing to say anything for Dick to know his excitement. He followed the light into the living room, where the mid-morning sun shone through the full-length windows and French doors. He sighed contentedly, looking outside at the greenery of nature. "You have no idea how good this feels," he said quietly.

Dick stood next to him. "I can only imagine."

After a while of absorbing the sun's rays, Tim turned his head to Dick. "Think we can get these things washed by lunch?"

Dick looked at them. "I think it's worth a shot. We'd have to get those bandages off, though. That might hurt."

Tim lifted his hand to the wrappings around his chest. "It'll only get worse the longer we wait."

Dick shrugged. "That's also true." He turned around and made as if to start walking to the bathroom.

"Wait, not yet," Tim said. Dick turned around to ask why, then saw his brother sitting on the couch as best he could with the protuberances from his back. He laughed. "Oh, hush," Tim told him, turning a light shade of pink. "I'm tired, okay?"

Once Tim had sufficiently rested his back and legs, they went into the biggest bathroom in the manor, each of them carrying an armload of towels and a pair of swim trunks. They set everything on the long counter next to the sink, and Dick, after checking to make sure they had everything, turned to face Tim.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Stop asking me if I'm ready. I'm tired of these old bandages, I'm tired of feeling this disgusting, and I'm tired of smelling like a zoo. Let's hurry up and get this over with."

Dick laughed. "All right, hold still." He took off the clips and started unwinding the bandages from Tim's torso, wrapping his arms around his brother to pass them from one hand to the other. It took a few minutes, but soon Dick got to the last layer of gauze wrapped around the joints. Carefully, he peeled it away from the pink, swollen tissue. He didn't miss Tim wincing, but neither said anything until all the soiled bandages were in the wastebasket.

"You're done," Dick told him, though by that point, it was obvious.

Tim stared into the mirror at the strange patterns impressed into his bare skin by the cloth. Now was the moment of truth. He could finally see the Joker's handiwork.

He didn't turn around.

Dick watched his brother stare himself down in the mirror. He was content with letting him take his time, since it was a lot to take in. He had barely even had his skin open to the air in the last week. A little time never hurt anyone.

"Do I even want to see?" Dick was startled out of his thoughts by Tim's sudden, quiet question.

"What do you mean?" Dick asked.

"What will I see when I turn around to look at them? Is it awful? Will it do anything to benefit or worsen my current mental state? Is it even worth it?"

Dick met Tim's eyes in the mirror. "You'll have to see them eventually."

Tim nodded silently. Staring at himself, he drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly. Then, careful to keep the wings from hitting the counter, he turned around. He craned his neck to get a good look, and slowly his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

Where the incisions had been made was pink and swollen, still inflamed after a week of healing. A thick layer of pus surrounded the joints, and he could feel the stickiness of other various 'healing' fluids covering his back. He tried to justify it as just his imagination, but even from his awkward angle, he could tell that the left wing was attached noticeably higher than the right. The skin that wasn't pink from scar tissue was an unhealthy shade of purplish-yellow from a combination of the time spent wrapped tightly in fabric and the sheer trauma of what had happened to the area.

And the crown jewel of it all was the inflamed, yellowish-pink J on his spine between the two protrusions. It was covered in the same pus as everything else, and it took him a moment to realize that he was seeing it normally through the mirror because it was backward on his back.

"In case you ever have any thought of forgetting who gave you such a beautiful gift!" Cackling. A searing pain.

"Oh," he said softly.

"It doesn't look very good right now, but once it gets cleaned up, it'll look much better," Dick reassured him. "The bandages left everything a little nasty."

Tim heard his words, but they never registered in his mind. He stared at the reflection in the mirror, trying to process the images his brain was receiving. It seemed completely alien, not at all what he should be seeing when he looked at himself. It just didn't belong. He could only process it as though it were through a lens a hundred miles away, looking at a different person and their poor, unfortunate, mutilated back and its odd excrescences.

Dick was still talking, but he barely even noticed. He was still trying to get past the horrific, swollen tissue that now composed half of his back.

"Tim." Dick lightly placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

Tim flinched and came out of his stupor, turning his head to face Dick. "What? Oh, no, I didn't. What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to give it a shot now. I know how much a hot bath can help clear your mind." His face was gentle, sympathetic, and as grateful as he was for the support, Tim was starting to get tired of seeing the same expression over and over again.

He couldn't keep himself from glancing back again. "Yeah, sure."

Dick rubbed his hands together. "Great. Let's get on with it, then." He grabbed his swim trunks from the counter and, after going through the usual "You don't need anything else?" spiel, left Tim to change into his own trunks.

Two minutes later, Dick came back and knocked. Upon hearing the quiet, "Yeah, come in," he reentered to find Tim waiting next to the empty bathtub, his arms crossed and shoulders tense.

"Let's do this." Dick rubbed his hands together eagerly. He helped Tim carefully climb into the tub and lower himself to the dry bottom. When the lanky boy had settled in, he grabbed the detachable showerhead from the wall and set it on the edge of the tub. "All right, let's get that brace off." Careful to keep the joint supported, he slowly unclipped and unfastened the various pieces holding the right wing in place. It took a couple minutes, but soon, the wing was completely free of its mechanical support, held up only by weak tendons and Dick's steady hands. He kept one hand under it near Tim's back to support the swollen base as he turned on the water, then started rinsing it off.

At the sensation of the lukewarm water running down the wing, Tim had to stifle a gasp of shock. It didn't hurt, but it was a jolt to feel so much so suddenly. His brain still had no idea where any of the nerves sending signals were or what they meant, so it was nearly overwhelming to have almost all of them firing off at once. He could feel the muscles in the wing trembling slightly under the new weight coupled with the tsunami of sensation as Dick moved the showerhead from one end of the wing to the other, slowly bringing it back and forth to get the wing as saturated as possible.

When it seemed heavier with the trapped moisture than it had ever been (which probably wasn't too far from the truth), Dick turned off the water. "Could you hand me that bottle there?" He pointed with his free hand.

Tim reached slowly over to the edge of the tub, careful to keep his back muscles still. He picked up the translucent shampoo bottle without incident, then furrowed his brow as he held it out for Dick to take. "This looks different from usual shampoo from this bottle," he observed.

Dick looked at the bottle offered to him, then inhaled through his teeth and held out his palm. "Could you pour some in my hand? Just kind of dump-- Yeah, a little more-- Good." He rubbed it in the one hand with his fingers, then started massaging it gently into the feathers. "It's a mix of shampoo and Dawn. Somewhat cheaper than buying a whole bottle of shampoo every time I get into something nasty."

Tim hunched his shoulders uncomfortably as Dick rubbed the soapy mixture into the feathers. It was strange, to say the least. He didn't often have intimate contact under normal circumstances, and now Dick was just-- dare he say-- 'rubbing it in.' It was prolonged, close physical contact on a level that, a week ago, Tim probably would have flat-out refused.

But as Dick progressed, moving farther along the wing and eventually getting to the other side, he found himself closing his eyes, smiling at the feeling of his brother gently running his fingers through the feathers of the wing, getting them all going the correct way to fit together as feathers should.

When it came time for Dick to rinse out the soap, Tim had adjusted to the feeling of feelings in the wing. The cacophony of nerves shouting for his brain's attention was less deafening. Without the waterfall of screaming receptors, he could actually enjoy it, and he couldn't help but shudder ever so slightly with pleasure.

But sooner than he would have liked, Dick turned off the water and set the showerhead back on the edge of the tub, still supporting the joint with one hand. He picked up one of the many, many towels they'd brought in and started wiping the wing dry. The flowing of water over the feathers was replaced with fabric gently pushing the remaining moisture down the wing to encourage it to drip out into the tub. Dick got through three towels before he considered his work finished, then he picked up the brace again.

"You're going to need to help me with this, too," Dick admitted as he held it up with his free hand.

Tim looked over his shoulder at the contraption, tilting his head slightly. "The part with the giant bar goes on top," he said, straightfaced.

Dick made a face at him. "I don't have enough hands to hold up your wing and do the fastenings."

Tim smirked. "Yeah, I got it." He twisted his arm behind his back and found the base of the wing, resting his hand slightly below it. Dick put the hinge of the brace into his palm for him to hold, then lifted the bar to wrap around the joint and fastened it in place. He tightened the clamp holding the bar to the wing, then sat back to look at it. "We really ought to simplify this design so I can do this myself," Tim commented.

"Well, you'll be needing to keep these on for at least two weeks. We'll have plenty of time to figure something out." He started taking off the brace on the left wing.

Almost immediately, Tim could tell something was different. Dick's hand under the wing was, rather than a small and comfortable presence, a mass of tingling pins and needles. When the cascading water poured over it, he nearly pulled out of Dick's grip in shock. It felt like they'd been buried in snow for a day, and now hot water was being dumped over them and the nerves couldn't handle the shift in temperature. It was even more overwhelming, and if he didn't already have the experience of the previous wing, he didn't know if he would have been able to handle it. He didn't know as-is if he would.

Dick leaned forward, holding the showerhead lower as he spoke. "Are you okay?" he asked with a hint of worry.

Tim realized he was arching his back slightly and relaxed. "Yeah, just... keep going." They just needed to get it over with. Then it would be done.

Soon the whole wing felt like it had been drenched in liquid needles. Dick set aside the showerhead, and Tim obliged as he did last time with a squirt of soap. Again, the feeling seemed to improve as the washing process continued, but it was more difficult to come to enjoy it as with the other wing.

Dick was efficient in his cleaning. He was soon done lathering the wing and moved on to rinse it. Just as it had last time, the sensation improved, but the baseline was significantly lower. It continued to tingle as soapy water ran down the wing and dripped off the bottom, tapping quietly against the bottom of the bathtub.

Tim could feel the wing trembling as Dick turned off the water and started wiping it down with a towel. It was almost over, and for that, Tim was grateful. He moved his hand to his lower back, holding it in the same position as he had on the other side. It was uncomfortable, but he dismissed it. He could deal with it for thirty seconds, and Dick had already set the bottom of the brace in his palm.

Without warning, a wave of pain shot through his shoulder and back. He instinctively dropped the brace, clutching his left arm tightly in his right and grimacing. He struggled to steady his breathing as the twinge passed.

Dick couldn't move to see what had happened. "What's wrong?" he asked with alarm evident in his tone.

"Spasm or something," Tim answered in a tight voice. He took a few deep breaths to relax himself. "I'm good."

"I can figure something out something so you don't have to--"

"I'm good," Tim insisted. "I just need to be more careful." He put his arm behind his back again, albeit more slowly.

Dick set the brace gently in Tim's palm, waiting to make sure he was fine before fastening it in place. He quickly finished, and Tim relaxed, relieved to not be in the perilous position any longer. The first twinge had been more than enough.

He reached up to run a hand through his hair to settle his nerves, but stopped when his hand reached his ear. He could feel the beginnings of another spasm.

"I think we may have a little problem," Tim admitted reluctantly.

"What?" Dick asked with a considerable amount of worry in his voice.

Tim made a mental note to be more careful about his word choice in the future. "I don't think I'll be able to wash my hair."

Dick chuckled. "I can do that too, if you want."

"Well, I don't want it to be this crusty anymore, if that's what you're asking," Tim said with a crooked smile.

"One hair wash, coming right up." Dick patted his hands dry on one of the few towels that wasn't sopping wet and stood up. He started picking up bottles from the counter and holding them up as he spoke. "Would you like shampoo and conditioner, or two-in-one? Or do you just want to skip the luscious flowing hair?"

Tim snickered. "Preferably the option that doesn't make me smell like a teenage girl."

Dick pouted. "I am hurt."

"Not everyone has hair standards as high as yours," Tim said with an eyeroll.

"Conditioner it is!" He picked up bottles of shampoo and conditioner and set them on the edge of the tub. "Your hair is going to be happier than it's been your entire life."

"I've used conditioner before," Tim said defensively.

"But you haven't been treated with the Nightwing-approved hair therapy experience!" Dick exclaimed.

Tim half-turned to look at him in disbelief. "Don't tell me you have a hair treatment experience."

"Well, it's nothing official," Dick

"I never would have thought I'd want to know that." Tim was still smirking as Dick turned off the water and poured some shampoo into his hands.

"The more you know, right?" He started rubbing the soap into his hair. "Man, you really needed this," he commented with a low whistle.

"Thanks, Dick. I really appreciate it."

"No, no," Dick laughed. "You just had a lot of stuff in your hair."

"I'm oozing with appreciation."

"You know what, ignore me." He ran his fingers through the hair at the base of Tim's head a few times.

"I'll do that." He managed to keep a straight face. Dick rolled his eyes and reached again for the showerhead. "Though you're probably used to it at this point." Tim sighed comfortably as the water ran over his head and down his back between his shoulder blades.

"Gee, thanks." Dick shook his head slowly, rubbing the soap out of Tim's hair. They fell into comfortable silence as Dick massaged in conditioner. Tim still wasn't sure he liked the intimacy of it, but he decided to overlook his discomfort and enjoy the fact that he didn't have to try and get the gunk out of his own hair. The conditioner also meant that at least one part of him would look somewhat presentable, and it didn't smell half bad either, much better than what his idea of the smell of conditioner was-- somewhat fruity, but with some undertones of... cinnamon? Maybe cloves? He made a mental note to work on the smells he knew while he was recuperating. It would be great mental exercise, and it would help his detective skills for sure.

He was pleasantly surprised when he realized how optimistic he was. He was starting to think of his future in terms of what he could do and what he was planning, not what he couldn't do and what he had to avoid. Though he didn't linger on the thought too long, it gave him a sense of pride to know that his outlook was starting to improve.

Dick rinsed out the conditioner and started rubbing Tim's head with a towel, not being quite so gentle as he had been with the wings.

"Take it easy," Tim laughed.

"What, like this?" He rubbed harder.

Tim tried to push him away, both of them now laughing. "Cut it out!"

"Nah, I think there's still a wet spot!" The towel was draped entirely over Tim's head now, swinging wildly as Dick continued scrubbing out the water.

Tim could only twist slightly to try and reach his brother. "You're going to make me pull my stitches!" he laughed.

Dick let the towel fall to his side, still chuckling. "See, that's better."

Tim pushed him away, using the edge of the tub to pull himself to his feet. "Gosh!" he said with mock indignation.

"Your hair is so beautiful now, though!" He leaned forward and took a long whiff of his brother. "Smells terrific, too!"

Tim lifted his arm, holding it level between himself and Dick to try and fend him off. "Okay, seriously," he laughed.

Dick held up his hands to show that he was done. "All right, all right," he said to placate his brother.

"Now go away. I have to finish decontaminating myself." He made a shooing motion as he stepped out of the tub.

Dick backed toward the door. "Be careful. And don't be afraid to yell if--"

"Gooooo!" Tim laughed.

"I'm going, I'm going!" He left the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. He smirked. "And don't forget to wash behind your ears!" he called through the door.

"DICK!" Tim yelled.

Shaking his head and chuckling quietly to himself, Dick went back to his room to change into his clothes.