Robin was never supposed to be a permanent gig.
That was what Tim told himself, from the first time he looked at Bruce and called him Batman, from the first time he pulled on the tights and called himself Robin. Robin was a job to be done, a mission to be completed, not a lifestyle. One day, he would fold up the costume, place it in a drawer, and step into the world as a man, not a bird.
God, how life must have mocked him then, knowing what was to come.
Tim looked down at the city below him. Tried to remember a time where Robin was Robin and Tim was Tim. It seemed so long ago, decades instead of years. Back when he had the surname Drake instead of Wayne. Was he ever really separate from Robin, Tim wondered as a bird landed on one of the gargoyles next to him. Or had he been fooling himself into thinking that he could be something other than a boy with green tights and a smirk on his face?
Sirens sounded below. Tim stretched out his hands, let his feathered cape spread behind him. There was no time to reflect on the boy he had been. He was a bird now.
It was time to fly.