Chapter Text
Talon felt like it was falling.
It had felt this way for days. Ever since the Man-who-wasn't-court had taken it.
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Talon had been sitting placidly in its cell, as was expected at this hour. It recalled being struck with some sort of tranq dart, then lurching in to a crouching position before losing control over the muscles that were holding it up. It vaguely wondered what kind of new poison or toxin the Court alchemists were developing before blinking and opening its eyes to a completely different location.
It had been lying on a soft flat surface, and it was ashamed to admit how long it had taken for it to realize the surface was a cushioned platform of some sort. Talon was also ashamed that its initial reaction to the discovery was to immediately roll to the floor, bt it instead stole another few seconds of soft-warm-comfortable before gracefully stumbling to the ground. It cowered for just a moment before it steeled itself and knelt before the (plush-decadent-forbidden) platform and bowing its head sharply, knowing better than to look up in hopes of leniency. Talon knew better than to even imagine such a thing was meant for it to use.
Talon stayed there for an indeterminate length of time before risking a glance up. It had to be careful about these things—its freakish yellow eyes were more obvious shining out from under its dark eyelashes, and any lingering gazes were easily caught and reprimanded. Talon was still seeing spots from the last punishment for looking higher than permitted. It wasn't looking forward to being forced to stare unblinking into the rows of bright lights again. The adhesive from the tape that had held open its eyelids had irritated the delicate skin, and it hadnt been allowed to scrub the trails of artificial tears that had been steadily dripped into its eyes to keep them from becoming too dry. The Court wouldn't want to risk any damage its accelerated healing couldn't fix.
It had no use to the Court as an assassin if its eyesight was permanently damaged. Talon knew the options that were there for Talons who couldn't properly serve the Court.
Upon ntaking its stolen peek upwards, Talon was shocked to realize it was alone in the dark room. It chanced fully raising its head for a quick look around. It knew it had to learn the rules of whatever this new test was, and fast. Every passing second could be leading closer to failure. Closer to another black mark on its record, closer to being judged unfit to serve.
Whatever new toxin had been used on Talon this time had been highly effective—assuming it had been intended as a paralytic. It also felt the unwelcome but too familiar chill that came with Talon's weakened resistance to cold. It turned to look at the nearby fireplace jutting slightly ou t from the brick and plaster of the walls. No longer burning, although the smouldering embers were enough proof that recently had been. Talon felt torn between relief, and a lonesome kind of mourning. Relief—because the bright light of the flames surely would have been far too harsh on it's sensitive eyes; the sorrow came because that meant it had slept through the fire's glowing warmth; experiencing it, but not consciously. There had been plenty of warmth right there and like a failure it had managed to not be present in its body to enjoy it.
Talon shook itself out of its thoughts and scoped out the rest of the room.
The soft—inviting—platform it had found itself on not its fault, not its fault, please, it knows better and hadn't gotten on, it knows better was what looked like some very luxurious mattress, what was curiously resting directly on the floor. It was missing the usual ornate iron frame Talon had seen on previous beds belonging to members of the Court; it had seen and felt enough of those. This bed was piled high with soft pillows and warm blankets the likes of which Talon had never been allowed to touch. It worried that this had been a trap. A test, meant to fail from the beginning. An—unnecessary— excuse to try out a new punishment cooked up by the Court. Didn't they know they could experiment on Talon for no other reason than a whim? It belonged to the Court; the Court could do whatever they wished. Perhaps setting up Talon to fail, and watching it panic in confusion was just an extra step for their own entertainment. One of the young masters had recently reached the age where he was allowed to take on a more active role in the lives of the Talons, and he had proven himself... creative, if a bit hard to satisfy.
On the floor beside the bed was a thick, lushly woven rug. Talon was sure it held the lingering warmth from the fireplace in the best way. It stood up on wobbly knees, and discovered a doorway past the fireplace. The door was closed.
Talon struggled to the door on fawn-weak legs. It was still unable to completely shake off the effects of the concotion used earlier. It finally reached the door, and after tentatively testing the doorknob, slowly creaked open the door and stepped out into a hallway—just as dimly lit as the room. There were a few scattered low light lamps adorning the faded but well-maintained and obviously expensive striped satin wallpaper, and Talon could faintly see sunlight glowing from the outline of a window covered by heavy curtains to keep out the vicious rays.
Suddenly Talon became aware of a pair of eyes boring into its back, and whipped around, hiding the effects of the paralytic with practiced grace. A tired looking, pale boy with perfectly neat, combed black hair gawped back at it. Talon had a faint memory of a slight woman with tan skin and warm eyes, cheerfully telling it to pick up its jaw before someone tripped over it. It shook off the memory as quickly as it possibly could, hoping it was hiding its alarm. Those memories were bad. Dangerous. If the Court found out Talon was having them, they would send it back to reprogramming.
Talon hates fears reprogramming.
The two stood there frozen, observing one another for what felt like forever, and though Talon knows it should not be looking it can't manage to look away; its brain still fuzzy-heavy-slow, wrapped in a stubbornly clinging layer of sticky cobwebs. The boy looks to be about twelve—or maybe a very small fourteen—years old . He was dressed in casual clothing, not the darkly colored ritual robes of the inner Court, nor the stiff-cold-untouchable formalwear of the Outer court. He held a clear plastic bottle—still sealed—in one hand, and a reusable silicon sandwich bag in the other. It was patterned with a stylized drawing of the sun, wearing black sunglasses and smiling brightly. Inside was a beautifully made sandwich, with what looked like fresh lettuce, juicy tomato and cucumber, and a soft reddish looking bread.
Talon's stomach rumbled, shocking it out of the deadlock with the boy. Like a spell had broken, the other boy stopped staring and put on a shy smile; it quickly turned to worry when Talon dropped to the hardwood floor, its knees jarred at the impact. It stared, barely daring to blink, to keep breathing, taking in the whorls in the swirling of the pattern of the wood. Talon laid its hands flat on the ground in front of it, and pointedly did not react at the sudden appearance of socked feet in its periphery. The other boy moved quickly, and so silently the footsteps went undetected even by Talon's trained hearing. Talon hoped the observers that were doubtlessly there from the Court hadn't noticed the boy sneaking up on Talon, hadn't witnessed yet another failure.
"Oh," came a soft, quiet squeak of surprise from the boy. "Are you alright? I could hear your knees hit from here." The boy knelt next to it, and asked "can I touch you?" He telegraphed his movements as he reached his hands out—palms down, fingers relaxed—toward Talon, water and sandwich abandoned on the floor beside them. A soft but firm pressure on its shoulders, molding its posture to be looking up, face pointed so they would have been making eye contact, had talon not frantically slammed its eyes shut when it realized what he was trying to do.
It had been right. It was being tested, to see if it had learned its lesson last time, if it had finally developed the instinct to avoid seeking out anyone's face. Talon had, it promised! It would never look at anyone's face again, unless it was about to kill them, or otherwise maim and inflict harm under the direction of the Court.
It kept its eyes squeezed tightly closed, even when it felt the boy get closer into its space. The boy was obviously still part of the court, and his comfortable looking clothes weren't enough to fool Talon. It would pass this test. It had to pass this test.
Someone was breathing loudly, fast and shallow, and Talon felt bad for whoever it was, it could tell they weren't getting any air. Was that the punishment this time? Oxygen deprivation was the worst. Talon hoped whoever was wheezing like that was given a break soon, or they would lose consciousness soon. That was never a good time.
Slowly Talon became aware of a low, even voice murmuring comforting reassurances in a steady stream. It felt a hand in its hair, stroking slowly like Talon had seen people to do animals. As awareness slowly trickled back in, it realized it was now laid on its side on the ground, its bruising knees pulled close to its heaving chest. The breathing, it noticed with a terrible sudden clarity, was coming from its own open mouth, sounding thick with the snot draining into its aching throat. Another hand gently laid against its cheek, which was itchy with drying tears. The boy was still talking to it lowly, another tactic it had seen used around a frightened animal, or maybe a small child. Talon recalled being good with animals. It remembered liking kids, once. Another unwanted memory from it's traitorous brain—doing its best to draw smiles from the cheering audience—before it chased the thought away.
"It's okay, I'm sorry for startling you so badly," the boy said once the heaving breaths began to slow down. "I hadn't realized you'd be out of you bed, the dose of that tranq... you were supposed to be out of it for a couple more hours."
What?
The hand stopped running through Talon's hair, and it bit back a pitiful whimper.
"You must have, like, an insane metabolism, huh?" The thumb on his cheek began moving, softly brushing light strokes along its cheekbone in a grounding pattern.
"There you are," the boy smiled, Talon could hear it in his voice. "Are you back with me? You kinda geeked out for a bit there. Can you open your eyes for me?" Talon cracked open its eyes, soggy eyelashes clumping together. It kept its eyes pointed as far from the boy's face as physically possible while its face was pointed directly towards the boy's own. "Can you look at me? We don't need to make eye contact, but I'd feel a little more comfortable talking with someone who isn't doing their best to show me what it would feel like to be Medusa." Talon cautiously dragged its eyes high enough to look at the boy's chin. His lips curved into a pleased smile; the corner of one lip had been chewed on. Talon's heart rate was climbing like it wished it was, climbing away-high-safe, and it was taking almost all of it's concentration not to start hyperventlating again.
"Hi there," the boy said, voice a bit brighter than before. "I'm Tim. I'm not going to hurt you, you can act freely." Talon wasn't falling for that one. "I'm here to help you, okay? Bruce and Alfred are pretty worried about how you might react to someone older and bigger than you, so Jason and, uh," the boy—Tim—got a slight look of panic-lie-think running across his face for a moment "Dee, they're both out, and I'm not subjecting you to the care of Batgirl, so I guess you're stuck with me." The mouth cracked a self-depreciating grin. "How about we get you back to your room, and a little more comfortable. Not, you know, that the floor here isn't just fine, but I know I'd be warmer all cozy and wrapped up in a blanket..." Tim helpfully guided it up off the ground and steadied it upon its shaky legs "can you stay up? good, okay, just stay right there, okay? you're doing a great job" the bottle and the sandwich were successfully retrieved from the floor and tucked safely under one of Tim's arms. The other one kept contact with Talon's shoulder, and it tried not to admit to itself how amazing it felt to be touched without being harmed.
Even if it was to lead him back into the room with the bed-it-couldn't-sit-on.
Maybe it would have to watch Tim eat and drink without its empty stomach making a sound. One of the more cruel members of the Court liked to do that, sometimes; to make it kneel next to the table in the banquet hall and stay still as stone still as stone still as stone still stil still as stone while she lanquidly picked at a delicious meal, and then fed the scraps to her small dog that she carried around with her in a vintage designer shoulderbag. When the dog had eaten her fill, Talon would be allowed to sit next to her chair as she would feed it tiny morsels, and laugh in joy-mirth-disgust at the way it would desperately lick at her fingers for every last bit. Of course, they didn't starve it, but getting your sustenance exclusively in the form of protein bars that tasted looked and felt like slightly damp cardboard would rarely give the same satisfaction as a sliver of roasted chicken.
Before it realized they had moved, it found itself in front of the mattress again, and it dropped back to its knees next to the bed, and shivered at the loss of human contact.
"Oh, are you religious? I'm not, but Jason is, even if he won't admit it. I've seen him pull out one of those little saint things the Catholics have, anyway, I'll let you finish your prayers and then you can eat." Tim plopped neatly onto the mattress, folding his feet into a lotus pose while Talon felt his eyes burning on its skin.
Wait.
Wait.
What? Had he said "eat?" As in, Talon, eat? It looked around furtively under its eyelashes, but it couldn't see any of the dull silver wrappers the bars came in Maybe Tim planned to get them for it after he finished his sandwich. That made the most sense.
Evidently Tim wasn't too hungry, though, since he seemed content to just sit there with his shrewd blue eyes boring into the top of Talon's head It felt its stomach begin to cramp in earnest and it clamped its eyes shut before Tim could see the starved shine of its eyes.
"Dude," Tim's voice was soft, coming from above it on the mattress. "I can hear your stomach growling from here, come eat." Talon froze, determined to keep its posture loose. "Hey," it felt a hand—small and warm—grab hold of its arm and give a measured tug. Talon let itself be pulled unresisting-obedient-docile onto the mattresssoft-luxury-warmth carefully letting itself be positioned however Tim liked. It kept its gaze fixed on the ground, trying failing to monitor its breaths. Talon knew what beds with members of the Court meant, but Tim had seemed so nice and he was so innocent-young-protect "Hey no, no, it's okay, um..." a rustling noise "uh, hold on, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be alright, uh..." Tim's voice came in and out like he was walking in and out of Talon's range of hearing, even though it could see he was sitting in one spot, hands on its shoulders in what might have been considered a grounding action if Talon didn't know what he wanted it to do and it didn't want to it was tired and hungry and its body hurt and everything was happening too much too close too much too much too much too much
Talon let out a pathetic keen for help it knew wouldn't manifest out of nowhere which ends abruptly, stops when its vision darkens around the edges before finally sinking away entirely.