Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim curls around his teddy bear as tightly as he can, knowing it’ll do nothing to protect either of them. He’s wet again. One time could be considered a genuine puppy accident, redeemable maybe, but twice is the beginning of a pattern. It’s irrefutable proof that Tim was wrong to ever crawl back into this nest. It’s not his to ruin. 

He suspects the only reason neither omega has awoken yet is because of the towel lying drenched underneath him. Once again he is unbelievably fortunate that he didn’t get any pee on Dick or Jason, despite having fallen asleep cuddled in their arms. They must have let go of him at some point, allowing them to slumber peacefully while Tim chokes back tears. 

He has to fix it. Putting himself in time-out again must be the wrong answer. It did nothing to clean the mess while somehow distressing Dick further. He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, he just doesn’t know how to stop. He just wants it all to stop, please, please. 

The only way he can think of to make it better is to wash the towel, maybe the clothes too if he can. It won’t erase his screw-up, but at least it’ll keep from spreading the mess. 

Tim gives a kiss to his teddy’s nose. He’ll bring it with, even if that practically guarantees he’ll get it all icky. He’s already disgusting, he’d rather have a dirty stuffed animal than risk it getting confiscated because he left it behind. He blinks a few times, forcing himself more awake than he actually feels. The sleep-bleariness still clings but he knows how to push through. 

Maybe if he hadn’t been such a baby then he could have gotten some proper rest. He can’t bank on getting another nap in just because Dick allowed it the day before. He’s still so new to this house and their routine. But if he can get the towel clean then maybe he can be allowed to stay a bit longer.

He drags himself up. He bundles the damp towel in one arm, cringing at the urine seeping into his pajamas. At least it’s his own clothes that he’s tarnished this time. He reaches a hand out, pawing at the nest and thankfully finding the blankets underneath to be dry. It must be a very high quality towel to have absorbed it all. He knows he won’t be able to pay Mr. Wayne back for it, but he can wash it at least. Tim is a big boy, he can do the laundry all by himself. His parents told him to do his own chores and he figured it out all on his own. He can figure this out too. It’s what’s expected of him. 

He makes the awkward shuffle across the nest, barely managing to keep ahold of both the towel as well as the teddy bear without being too loud. Blessedly, neither omega wakes up. Jason snuffles a bit in his sleep but simply nuzzles against his big brother and drifts back off. Tim doesn’t dare let out a relieved sigh, unsure what’ll be enough to alert them to his naughtiness. 

Even though no one’s explicitly told him that he has to remain in Dick’s den until morning, he’s sure there’s a rule of some sort. So he has to be fast. He’ll find the laundry room, set the washer to a quick load, keep himself awake long enough for it to clean. Then it’s just drying and he’s done. He can make it better. For once, he knows exactly what to do. Maybe they won’t have to punish him too terribly if he can get this right. 

If he were home the consequences would he just as severe, whether he cleaned up after himself or not. It could be even harsher if Daddy deemed the extra load a waste of water, always changing his mind on whether the urine stench is worth the cost or not. Regardless, it always ends the same, a freshly spanked bottom upon the time-out chair. 

He hasn’t yet seen the same implement in the Wayne’s house, but that doesn’t mean they won’t pull it out of hiding. Maybe they have a tool even more effective, some fool-proof way to get him obedient and submissive, as all good pups ought to be. Maybe that’s why Dick and Jason seem so confused on Mommy and Daddy’s methods, Mr. Wayne has just trained them so well that they haven’t needed further discipline. 

He hopes they won’t be too scared if their alpha decides to bring out whatever his preferred implement is. 

Tim doesn’t actually know where the laundry room is. Between the commotion of retrieving his things from Drake Manor and the distraction of playing with the other boys, he forgot to ask. He hopes Alfred isn’t too sick of him yet after having more loads added to his routine. Tim will help take some of the burden away, all he has to do is find the right room.

The towel is big enough that no matter how he tries to fold it in his arms a corner somehow still manages to drag along the floor. Despite how yucky it feels, he keeps the dampest part pressed against his chest so he doesn’t leave a pee-trail everywhere he walks. With his teddy clutched in his other arm, he’s more than a little clumsy. There’s some night lights throughout the halls, which keeps him from complete darkness but still isn’t enough to prevent the stumbling. He has to shuffle his feet to keep from tripping. 

With every step he takes he swears he feels his rash burn worse, each movement irritating his sensitive skin more. He can only hope he doesn’t bleed this time. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he stains his clothes worse. He never did figure out how to get rid of red discoloration from any of his fabrics. 

He can hardly take a deep breath when he’s still sniffling back incessant, pained tears. It’s like his body is incapable of getting through a set amount of hours without imploding in on himself. He started reading a book on stars once, but when he got to the part about supernovas and black holes, he got distracted. He never found out what happened to them in the end. 

In Drake Manor the laundry room is downstairs, so that’s where he heads. He tries to lift the towel a bit higher, craning his neck to see where he’s stepping as he makes his way down the stairs. 

Tim has almost reached the bottom of the flight when he starts losing hold of his plushie. He knows he could let it go and it wouldn’t get hurt. But it’s his teddy, his oldest friend, he can’t let it fall. He adjusts his hold as he steps down, trying to shove his bear back into the crook of his elbow, but all he manages is to land on the edge of the towel. 

He can’t catch himself when his arms are full.

He collapses, tumbling down the last few stairs and landing in a pathetic pile. The fall wouldn’t have been so bad if the fright of it didn’t make a shameful little spurt of pee leak out, making him even more icky. He can’t hold it in anymore. In a heap on the floor, the wet towel ruining the nice carpet, teddy strewn across the ground, and his owies renewed, he sobs. 

He presses his face to the carpet and weeps, hating how even when he does the right things he still gets the wrong answer. It’s like he just can’t help himself. 

He reaches a hand out, blinding searching for his stuffed animal when the tears are blurring his vision too terribly. He finds the bear quickly, grabbing on tight even when the strain makes him ache. He’s a little bit hurt all over. Nothing new, and he reacts just as pupishly as he always does, crying like it matters. As if he’s earned the tears.

It was such a waste to give him all those bandaids when he’s just gonna get hurt again. 

He’s not bleeding, he doesn’t think. It’d be inexcusable if he was, daring to blemish the carpets with further proof of his disobedience. He can only hope the floor isn’t too soggy from his second accident. It was only a little one, but it’s punishable all the same. Tim doesn’t know much about sports but he knows it’s three strikes and you’re out. Daddy wouldn’t have even given him a second chance. He’s already on borrowed time and he managed to screw it up the same way. No matter how hurt he gets, he never learns. The lessons his Daddy bruises into his skin just can’t seem to stick. 

He curls into himself, wishing he was back in the nest. Wishing he didn’t ruin that too. He sobs right into his bear’s fur, getting it all wet with his tears and drool. He’s all snotty again, like a real nestling. Puny and pathetic and perfectly punishable. 

He knows he has to get up, clean the floor, clean the laundry, clean his face. He has so much to do and he’s wasting time, he’s sabotaging himself. He knows this, he does, and yet he can’t stop crying. He can’t catch his breath. He can’t. He can’t. His lungs feel half their normal size. No matter how much he strains he just can’t seem to take a full breath. He knows Dick tried to teach him a breathing exercise, but he can’t remember. He’s such a naughty boy, forgetting the things his new friend taught him. He’s not worthy of such attention if he can’t even make use of it. He’s not worthy of the nest, this house, these friends, any of it, all of it. He’s such a bad boy. A bad puppy. Bad Timmy. 

He’s still gasping on the floor when someone calls out, “Timothy? Timmy, are you okay? What happened?” He didn’t even hear him coming. Mr. Wayne is here and he didn’t even hear him. He’s here. The alpha is here. Oh god, he’s here. There’s no hiding. There’s no one to protect him. Dick and Jason don’t even know he needs protection. 

He’s gonna kill him. He’s gonna murder him, right here at the bottom of the stairs. Maybe he’ll use the yucky towel, strangle him with his own mess. He’d deserve it, if he did. But Tim is a bad pup, he cowers. He flinches back from the alpha, holding his teddy closer as if it’ll do anything to help him now. It probably only makes him look more infantile. 

“Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” Mr. Wayne asks, voice hushed despite how far they are from Dick’s bedroom. They won’t hear unless Tim screams. And Tim knows better. He won’t scream. He might be nothing more than a dumb baby but he knows how to keep quiet. He’s well trained, afterall. 

Mr. Wayne crouches down, close enough to touch. He doesn’t yet. Maybe he’s waiting for Tim to present himself. Daddy likes that sometimes. 

He’s shaking all over, body trembling as if he’s hypothermic. He knows he’s supposed to get up, kneel, bare his throat the way good pups ought to. He opens his mouth- intending to promise his good condition. He’s still whole enough to discipline, he swears. He can handle whatever punishment Mr. Wayne deems fit. He won’t beg for mercy, any senseless yearning like that has long since been spanked out of him. 

He opens his mouth and a terrible, terrified keen spills out. He knows better, he does, he does, and yet he still cries onto the floor. He whimpers, sounding scarily similar to puppy yelps. Only naughty little nestlings make such a sound, a helpless sort of pack call. Tim doesn’t have a pack, there’s no reason for his body to be betraying him like this. He’s wracked up so many punishable offenses that if he tried to write them all out his hand would tire before he could finish. 

He sobs into his teddy’s fur, knowing this will be his last chance to receive such comfort. He wishes he could close his mouth long enough between cries to give his stuffie a kiss on the head, the kind Dick bestows to him. Whether Mr. Wayne rips the stuffed animal out of his hand or he’s in too much agony to muster the strength to cling, he latches greedily onto the plushie. 

He doesn’t know why Mr. Wayne hasn’t begun yet. Maybe he likes watching him writhe in such primal fear and desperation. Tim doesn’t have the energy to take advantage of the time he’s being granted. He can hardly do anything other than dampen his plushie with tears and slobber, bracing himself for the hits he knows to come. 

Mr. Wayne is speaking but Tim must be too out of it to think clearly because his words make no sense. Soft murmurings of safe and will not hurt you and the like. It’s incomprehensible. Tim can’t, he can’t. He’s sorry, he doesn’t know how to do this.  

Tim is so tired. He’s beyond sleepy, beyond exhaustion, fallen into a forced sort of resignation. 

Against all his Mommy and Daddy’s teachings, he thinks he’s finally given up. That must be it, curled up on the floor, he’s succumbed to his fate. There’s nothing he could do to make this better so he might as well make it worse. He loses himself to the staticky bleariness threatening to overtake his brain. He’s still bawling, hiccupy whines relentlessly spilling out of him like water out of a cracked vase, knowing he too will be left empty. There’s nothing more he can do.

Maybe if he weren’t so tired. Maybe if his privates didn’t sting or if his knees weren’t scraped anew. Maybe if his head didn’t ache so horribly, or if he hadn’t fallen again. Maybe, maybe, maybe-

Tim’s such a bad boy. 

And there’s nothing else he’ll ever be. He won’t have the chance.

There might have been warning before he’s touched, but he flinches all the same. Past his own pitiful sobs and his labored breathing, he can hardly hear a thing Mr. Wayne is saying. There’s some prodding around his neck, poking at his scalp. He recoils from his touch, unsure what sort of punishment this is but knowing he doesn’t want it. Mr. Wayne only nudges him for a moment, shifting his head and touching his spine before he stops. 

When he’s done, the alpha doesn’t throw him over his lap. He doesn’t grab him by the scruff or by the hair, he doesn’t even squeeze too tight. Mr. Wayne scoops him up and cradles him in his arms like a proper nestling, curled against his chest like he’s preparing to nurse him. Tim’s never been held like this before, not as far back as he can remember. He’s supposed to be a big boy now, and yet he fits in his arms like it’s not wrong of him to.

The position leaves Mr. Wayne’s scent gland open and unprotected. If his head weren’t so fuzzy or if he weren’t such a scaredy-cat, he might have bitten him. He can’t though. He knows the consequences. He’s only ever bit Daddy once. That was the first time he ever lost a baby tooth. It wasn’t even loose, but Daddy said it was ready to come out if had the audacity to be such a brat. He didn’t even know teeth were supposed to fall out.

Tim must actually be losing his mind because he swears Mr. Wayne’s scent is unangry. Though the cinnamon is nowhere nearly as sweet as Dick’s honey scent, it lacks the telltale spice of fury. He can’t make sense of it, so he doesn’t even try. He hides his face against his teddy bear and pretends that his plushie can actually do something to save him. It’s hard not to curl into Mr. Wayne when he’s being held so close, but he does his best not to overstep. He’d hate to be dropped from this high up. 

The alpha’s chest is rumbling, a sort of half-purr lacing his words. Tim clenches his eyes shut and tells himself it’s not true. All these reassurances are nothing more than another ruse. 

“You’re safe. I’m so sorry I keep scaring you. I don’t intend to.” Mr. Wayne lies and lies and lies. “I’ll fix you up. Just nod or shake your head if you can, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

Tim can hardly find the energy to breathe let alone dare protest any of the alpha‘s decisions. He stays limp, allowing the man to manipulate him as he pleases. He waits for the pain, keeps waiting when Mr. Wayne simply brings him to a bathroom. Maybe this is where discipline is dealt out in this house. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to spank an icky pup. He doesn’t know how he could bear carrying him when he’s still wet, but maybe that’s where he draws the line. 

“I won’t put you down if you don’t want me to. I won’t hurt you, Timmy.” His voice is a low rumble of alpha-ness. Tim’s sleep deprived little brain wants to call it protective but he knows that can’t be right. Tim knows he’s not supposed to, but he can’t find it in him to care. He’ll be hit either way, maybe this will make Mr. Wayne start already. He shoves two fingers in his mouth, nibbling the way puppies do when they don’t have anyone to soothe them. Mommy hates when he suckles on his fingers, says it’s unbecoming. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he thinks she means naughty. 

As promised, Mr. Wayne does not put him down, even as he putters about. He must have picked up the ruined towel because it gets thrown into an otherwise empty hamper. That’s not where it’s supposed to go. It needs to be washed right away or it’ll get all smelly. Tim wants to say as much, but words are too hard right now. Besides, he’s too busy chewing his fingers to voice any arguments.

“Here, I’m going to start the bath and we’re going to go grab you some clean jammies,” Mr. Wayne narrates. He shifts his hold on Tim, adjusting him more firmly into one arm, practically on his hip. Tim squirms a bit, the position irritating his rash. Though he doesn’t say anything, his scent must give away his discomfort because the alpha shifts again, easily fixing the hold to put less pressure on his bottom. 

Like this, Tim has to lean against Mr. Wayne to keep from toppling out of his arms. He’s not sure if he’d actually drop him, but he can’t be too careful. He moves slowly, easing himself against the alpha’s shoulder. When he’s not immediately spanked or otherwise punished, he gingerly rests his head down. Mr. Wayne hums, a pleased sort of sound that makes no sense. He’s walking, leaving the bathtub filling as he heads down the hall. The steady bouncing is unrightfully soothing, making it harder to keep his eyes open. They sting awfully after all the crying, a few stray tears still slipping lazily down his cheeks, but at least he can breathe easier now. 

“That’s it, such a good boy. I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. We’ll get you nice and cleaned up and then back to bed.” It’s too good to be true. Maybe Tim bonked his head when he fell down the stairs. Perhaps he’s dreaming. That would make more sense than the utter gentleness this daddy is showing him. Daddies aren’t supposed to be kind and soft, it’s against their nature. 

They end up in the laundry room. There’s hardly time to be upset at the fact Mr. Wayne found it so easily when he’s already going through a small pile of clothes. Even through the sleep-bleariness, he can tell it’s his laundry from Drake Manor. Alfred must have washed it already. He doesn’t even know how he got ahold of his clothes without him noticing. Mr. Wayne doesn’t seem surprised, instead he picks out a set of pajamas as well as some clean undies and socks. Just from looking at the selection he knows it’ll be nowhere near as comfy as Jason’s hand-me-downs, but it’s fine. He’ll be grateful for what he has. 

Mr. Wayne snags a clean towel before carrying it all out and towards the bathroom. By the time they get back, the tub is almost full. He places the bundle down, keeping careful hold of Tim as he leans down to check the water temperature. It must be to his approval because he turns off the tap. 

“Okay, pup. It’s time for your bath. Do you need help?” 

Tim does. But he doesn’t, not from Mr. Wayne. He might accepted it if it was Dick, or even Jason. But not him. He knows how to undress himself, he knows how to clean off. He does, he does. But it’s so much. It’s so many steps and he’s sure he’ll mess up again, somehow. He can’t say all of that to Mr. Wayne. He can’t get any words out at all, staying limp in his arms like silence isn’t also a transgression. He nuzzles his teddy and wishes the bear could speak for him. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so scary.

Mr. Wayne doesn’t snap at him for disobeying, he doesn’t even give that annoyed sort of sigh that parents do. He simply asks, “can you nod or shake your head?” 

Tim can. He knows he can. It’s such an easy request of him, and yet, his body is still. He’s somehow simultaneously completely leaden and floating away, as if his blood was replaced by mercury. He’s fluctuating between liquid and solid. Whatever he is, whatever he’s turning into, he’s not listening. Mr. Wayne asked something so simple of him and all he’s doing is cuddling his teddy bear like that’s allowed. As if he’s the innocent party here. It’s inexcusable. He’d be locked up forever and ever if his parents knew he was behaving so badly. 

It truly must be a dream or some sort of vivid hallucination because Mr. Wayne remains gentle. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll help you and if you want me to stop at any point, you can say something or show me somehow and I’ll step back.” His scent remains open, seeming much too similar to honesty to make sense. “I will not hurt you, Timmy. I’d be honored to prove to you that this is a safe home.” 

Tim doesn’t understand. He keeps waiting for the catch, for the cost of all this perceived generosity, but Mr. Wayne isn’t asking anything of him. He doesn’t know how long people can play pretend for.

Before he can catch himself, Tim yawns big enough that his jaw pops a bit painfully. Mommy would have popped him on the mouth if he dared show such weakness in front of her. That must be answer enough because Mr. Wayne slowly lowers him to the ground. His hindbrain whines and he can’t even think why because it’s not like he wants to be held by an alpha. He’s all muscle and bulk, not nearly as cushy to cuddle against as Dick’s nest. He could break Tim with one hand without any strain. He’s not sure why he hasn’t yet. 

“Here, can you stand while I help get your clothes off?” Tim doesn’t respond outwardly, simply stands still as asked of him. Mr. Wayne keeps one hand on Tim to steady him as he helps him out of his shirt first. He doesn’t even take away his teddy bear, allowing him to switch it hand to hand as he slips out of the sleeves. “I promise, I will not do anything to harm you,” he repeats before easing down his pants. They’re cold by now, and Tim can hardly keep from squirming at the uncomfortable feeling. “You’re doing so well, pup.”

Tim doesn’t know what he’s doing right but it must be something because Mr. Wayne’s chest is rumbling. It’s such a nice sound, easing away the worst of anxious puppy instincts. It’s a deeper purr than either of the omegas. He wonders if his parents would sound like that if they ever allowed themselves such a primitive sound. 

He seems about to continue before pausing. “Timmy?” He croons. Once he meets the alpha’s gaze, he continues. “While you’re in the bath, why don’t we keep your bear over here on the counter? That way it won’t get wet?” Tim outright whines. He freezes, so sure he’s about to be slapped. Instead, Mr. Wayne’s voice seems to lower further. “You’re not in trouble. I won't touch your toy. As soon as you’re clean and toweled off, you can have it back. I won’t take it away.” 

Maybe this is his punishment. 

He knows better than to argue. He sniffles, reaching over and lovingly placing his stuffie onto the countertop. He makes sure the plushie is sitting up, facing the bath. Even if his teddy can’t do anything to help, at least it can watch. Even if Dick and Jason don’t know what their dad will do to him, his bear will know. Maybe that’ll be enough. 

“Good job, Timmy. You’re doing so well,” he praises, hollow and mean. How can he bear to say so many pretty words when they both know it’s not true? “Now the underwear. As soon as you’re undressed you can go right in the tub, okay?” He’s not sure if he’s supposed to respond but he nibbles his fingers either way. He hopes he doesn’t leave bite-marks, Dick doesn’t like it when he has ouchies. Mr. Wayne allows him to brace on his shoulder to keep from toppling over. As soon as it’s done, he picks him up, placing him right into the tub.

The water is warm. Tim can never get the right temperature when he runs his own baths, but Mr. Wayne got it perfectly. Mr. Wayne says something but Tim is too busy swishing his hand through the water, enjoying the way he makes small waves. And then there’s bubbles! They immediately start foaming up as Mr. Wayne pours them into the tub. Tim can’t help but wriggle a bit, scent sweetening ever so slightly as the bubbles grow. It’s so nice that he could almost forget it’s the alpha helping him. That it’s a dad choosing to sit here with him, no matter how awful he is.

Mr. Wayne’s voice is a low thrum, nothing more than soothing background noise as he makes tiny splashes in the water. Not enough to spill out of the tub but enough to be kinda fun. When Dick bathed him he was too sleepy to play. He knows he shouldn’t, that Mr. Wayne is likely cataloging all of his mistakes, but he’s too far gone. It’s hard to care when he’s so very ready for bed. He knows he’ll be aghast at his actions come morning. He’ll hate himself for being so careless, so entitled, all the things Mommy hates. But for now, he runs his fingers through the bubbles. 

Mr. Wayne doesn’t wash his hair, but he does scrub his back in big comforting circles. He does his arms and torso, and it’s almost okay. Like this, unable to see Mr. Wayne. He can pretend it’s Dick taking care of him. He can pretend it’s Mommy grooming him. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all gonna be fine. 

And then the bandaid slips off. The one on his hand drifts away and when he tries to grab it, he sees the one on his knee peeling off too. He scrambles forward, trying to stick it back on his owie but it won’t stay. The adhesive is gone, he ruined it. He can’t fix it, it won’t go back on. Dick gave him these bandaids and now he broke them. He’s sorry. He wasn’t trying to break them. He doesn’t mean to be ungrateful.

“Hey, it’s okay. Timmy, it’s fine. Just let it go, here, we can get you new ones, okay?” Mr. Wayne reaches a hand out and Tim flinches so badly it aches. “Give me the bandage and we’ll check your wounds again after.” Tim’s so dumb. He’s so incredibly stupid. He never learns.

Biting his lip isn’t enough to keep from whimpering. He hands the bandaids over. All of them. He knows what happens when a privilege is taken away. He peels the one off his chin even though it stings a bit. He has no right to complain, he’s had worse. Even now, the way he sits bothers both his renewed rash as well as his lingering bruises. Maybe they’ll never be allowed to heal. 

“Timothy, you’re not in trouble. We’re almost done. I just need you to wash your bottom half and then we can get new bandages if you want. It’s not a big deal.” And he’s right. Tim knows he’s right. He needs to stop being such a baby about everything and suck it up. That’s what his Mommy and Daddy would expect of him. 

All at once, any sort of fragile resignation he’s had shatters. He sobs, ugly and loud. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. It’s like he’s on a bungee cord of feeling to unfeeling, plunging headfirst and doesn’t know where he’ll land. He can’t believe he let himself play, acting like Mr. Wayne is anything more than a scary Daddy ready to punish bad pups. 

He curls in on himself, wishing so badly he never let go of his teddy bear. He’ll never get it back now. Not when it’s in Mr. Wayne’s possession. Tim just never learns. He covers his face, mourning his first friend, unregistering of whatever insults Mr. Wayne is surely spewing, when he feels something touch his hand. He recoils, crying out, hardly able to see past his tears and his own trembling hands. But when he does, it’s teddy! 

His bear, here. He can’t think better of it, he snatches the stuffie. He clutches the toy to his chest. If this is the end, at least he has his teddy bear. Somehow, he has it back.

Mr. Wayne is humming. It’s such an unfamiliar sound that Tim can’t make sense of it. He cries right into his teddy’s belly, just the way he was earlier. He’s so tired. He wants to sleep, please. In the morning, it’ll be better. Or maybe it’ll be worse. But at least he’ll have slept. 

“You can take your time. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. As soon as you’re ready, you can finish washing and we’ll get ready for bed.” 

Tim hiccups, a helpless whine leaking from his throat. He can’t help it. He’s so sick of all the seesawing of emotions. It’s like his body can’t contain the magnitude. No matter what he’s feeling, it’s too much for him to bear. His body is too small to handle the rippling ever-growing abundance of scared-grief-happy-fear-relief-confused- helpless-helpless-helpless. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but Mr. Wayne never stops humming. The tune sounds similar to something Dick sang before, but maybe he’s imagining it. He takes a shaky breath, nuzzling his stuffie right against the little gland in his cheek. Sometimes he likes to pretend his teddy can scent him back, but all he ever gets is a disappointing mixture of his own sour milk and dust. 

Mechanically, he takes the washcloth handed to him. He scrubs himself down, not risking the time necessary to be as gentle as he craves, knowing his rash won’t heal anyway. Once he’s done, he tries to stand. He slips almost immediately, only for Mr. Wayne to reach out and steady him. He keeps him on his feet, holding him careful enough not to bruise. After ensuring he’s not about to collapse, the alpha pulls him up and out of the tub, right into a fluffy towel. This one is even softer than the one from Dick’s nest, perfect to snuggle in. 

If Tim was supposed to start drying off immediately instead of nosing against the towel, he disobeyed. Mr. Wayne doesn’t scold him, simply giving him a moment before asking, “can I help you?” Tim doesn’t know what the right answer is, so he doesn’t respond at all. If he’s allowed the assistance without being hurt for it, maybe that could be okay. Just this once. 

Mr. Wayne takes a breath. “Okay, kiddo. I’ll move slowly. If you want me to stop, then do whatever you need to to tell me.” Tim doesn’t know what he means by that but he doesn’t shy away too severely when the alpha reaches out. As stated, he moves slow and gingerly. Still clutching his stuffie to his chest, he lets Mr. Wayne dry him off. It doesn’t take too long since his hair wasn’t washed. 

Mr. Wayne stands, allowing Tim to stay swaddled in the towel while he rummages through a cabinet drawer. “I had Alfred put some small tubes of dia- rash cream in the bathrooms for you. Just in case,” he says, as if it’s not a big deal. As if it’s not completely mortifying and generous in equal measure. “I don’t want the irritation to worsen, I can step out while-”

“-immy? Timmy, are you there, baby?”

Tim makes a noise so instinctive that he couldn’t contain it if he tried. An ear-piercing keen rips from his throat, a pack call to the omega, saying I’m here, are you here, I’m here. 

Dick responds in tune, a loud trill. I’m here, I’m coming, I’m here. 

The bathroom door opens so quickly that Tim yelps. Mr. Wayne tenses but there’s no time to be afraid when Dick is here. He came back for him. “Oh, honey, you’re here.” He doesn’t hesitate, coming forward and scooping Tim into his arms, towel, teddy, and all. “Dad, you found him.”

“He had a bit of an accident. We just finished his bath,” Mr. Wayne says. It doesn’t sound judgmental but Tim reddens just the same. No one can see though because he’s hiding his face against the crook of Dick’s neck. He didn’t realize how much he missed him until he has his scent wrapping around him again. His teddy bear gets squished between them, protected. 

Dick kisses him on the side of the head and god, he’ll fall apart if he keeps doing that. He doesn’t know how to earn all this affection, how to pay it back. “Are you okay? Any owies?” 

Tim’s too busy pressing his cheek to the omega’s scent gland to answer so Mr. Wayne does it for him. “He’s been on the quiet side. He has no visible injuries outside of some scrapes, possible bruising, but he hasn’t said otherwise.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dick hums. “Quiet puppy? You sleepy?” Tim nods at that. That’s an easy answer. “Let’s get you dressed and we can go back to the nest.”

Mr. Wayne pipes up again from where he’s standing. “I was just showing him the ointment when we heard you.” He places the tube on the counter before wiping his hands on his pants. 

Dick runs his fingers through his hair, voice sounding akin to adoring when he asks, “sweet boy, are you hurting?” It’s not any more than usual so Tim shakes his head. He’d hate to worry Dick over nothing. “Okay, thank you for telling me. Here, we can clean up while you apply the cream, alright?” Tim nods his consent, hoping if he listens well to the omega that Mr. Wayne won’t punish either of them too severely. 

Mr. Wayne’s voice holds not a hint of frustration when he speaks up, “If you have him, I’ll go tidy up.” 

Dick agrees easily, still carding through Tim’s hair. “I’ve got him. You might want to check on Jay though.” He doesn’t elaborate and Mr. Wayne doesn’t ask. They stare at each other a moment, and Tim is sure they have to be communicating somehow but he can’t figure it out before Mr. Wayne is leaving. The bathroom door closes with a click and just like that, he’s once again left unpunished and in Dick’s care. 

Dick holds him for a moment before deciding, “let’s get you dressed, lovely. If you can put on your cream then I can help with the rest. That sound okay?” Tim nods again. Anything if it means Dick will stay. Maybe if he’s really good he could be let back in his den. He knows he won’t be allowed back in the nest again, but maybe he can sleep on the floor. So long as he’s allowed his teddy, allowed to be close by, he’ll sleep anywhere he’s permitted. 

With one more caress, he’s placed on his feet. “I’ll be just outside the door. Just open it or call out and I’ll be here. I am not leaving you.” Tim ignores the desperate urge to cling to the omega and hugs his stuffed animal instead. He wastes little time, unsure if Mr. Wayne will come back. He places his plushie on the counter and quickly applies the cream. He washes his hands right after, disliking the texture it leaves behind. He pulls on his new undies before scooping up his teddy and opening the door, unwilling to be apart from Dick any longer. 

He greets him with a warm smile, ruffling his hair before entering the room again. As promised, he helps him into his new pajamas. It’s nothing like the way Mommy used to dress him, no pinches to his baby fat or biting remarks. Instead, he rubs his wrist over the fabric, scent-marking him the way packmates do for each other. It’s such a familial gesture that Tim knows he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he does nothing but lean into the touch. 

“There, that’s better,” he grins, bright and toothy. “Now, is there anything else you need before we head to bed?” He picks him up as he asks, settling him in his arms. 

Tim takes a breath, needing to clear his throat before he vocalize his thoughts, “where- ah, where am I gonna sleep?” He stares down at his teddy, playing with the ribbon as he waits for the answer. 

He hopes it’s not anywhere near Mr. Wayne’s bedroom. Though he hasn’t disciplined him yet, that doesn’t mean he won’t be. Mr. Wayne could be waiting for morning, or even just until he’s checked on Jason. He’s not sure how he’s lucked out of a spanking so far but his good fortune will likely end soon. 

Dick’s brow furrows and Tim hates himself a bit for it. He doesn’t want the omega to look so worried, not about Tim of all people. “In my nest?” He sounds downright confused but Tim can’t be sure why. Only for his eyes to widen, and then soften. “Baby, I’m not mad about your accident. That’s what the towel was for, afterall,” he huffs out a laugh, as if it’s not a big deal. As if Tim didn’t defile his nest. “We can just lay another one down.” 

Tim doesn’t have it in him to protest. He’s been ready to sleep for the last… however long it’s been. He’s tired and maybe Mr. Wayne is patient enough to wait until morning to punish him. “‘Kay,” Tim mumbles, leaning so he can pillow against Dick’s shoulder. All the adrenaline from earlier bleeding out of him, leaving him even more exhausted than he was before. He yawns again, a small squeak accidentally escaping his throat. Dick coos at him, chest beginning to purr.

Tim can’t hold on any longer. Between the gentle rocking as he’s carried and the crooning purrs, consciousness evades him. 

Chapter Text

Tim wakes slowly, lazily. He stretches with a whine, trying in vain to remember why his tummy feels so icky. One hand searches blindly for his teddy bear as the other splays out satisfyingly. He hugs the stuffie tight, nuzzling the fur against his cheek. There’s a lingering tension in his chest from a nightmare he can’t recall the details of, only amplifying the yucky squirminess threatening to overtake his organs. There’s distorted images of big hands and cruel touches but any leftover terror is fading the more he scents his teddy.

“Aw, is the puppy awake?” Jason calls out. His tone is as teasing as it is fond and Tim isn’t awake enough to be properly embarrassed anyway. He turns over with another drowsy moan, intending to curl up small but instead he ends up partially atop of the little omega. “Needa cuddle before you get up?” He asks in that same teasy-sweet cadence. 

Tim’s scent must give him away because Jason’s own lightens, like a blossoming cherry tree. “Me too, c’mere.” Just like that, he wraps an arm around Tim’s waist and pulls him fully onto his chest. Though there’s not as much of an age gap between them, Jason is still so much bigger than him. A soft place to land. 

Tim is dry this time, so he thinks the cuddle could be okay. Jason seems just as content so maybe he won’t be in trouble for the indulgence. He hopes.

Tim can just barely see Jason placing a book down on the bed from this angle, leaving his hands free to begin gently tugging at his hair. He can’t read the title from where he’s lying but the pages are yellowed and worn. It looks old, expensive maybe. Mommy and Daddy love old stuff, they say that they’re the most important things in the whole world. But Tim doesn’t have the energy to stress over the book when he’s only just awoken. 

Jason doesn’t play with his hair the way Dick does. Instead of finger combing out the strands in place of a brush, it’s like he’s actually playing. He makes little braids just to undo them, braids them again. It’s unrightfully calming. It doesn’t feel nearly as demeaning as it should, to be used as a dollie to toy with. Instead, Tim leans into the touch, allowing Jason to tilt his head to his whim, letting him reach whatever locks of hair he wishes. 

They lie there awhile, a quiet contentment falling over them. Eventually, between one braid and the next, Tim finds the bravery to ask, “where’s Dick?” 

Jason’s scent doesn’t change, doesn't sour or wilt, helping alleviate the worst of Tim’s worry. Surely if his big brother were in danger then he would have some sort of anxious-burning staining his pheromones. “He’s downstairs, got up a bit ago. He wanted us to sleep in.” Jason does not hesitate in his affection. He continues to card through the strands and undo the small plait he just finished.

“That’s okay?” Tim can’t help but ask. He knows, after all, the punishment his parents would enforce if he dared be caught oversleeping.

“Mhm,” he hums, shifting a bit against the pillow he’s leaning on. “We woulda woke you if there was something we had to get up early for. It’s all good.” He says it so casually, as if nothing is amiss. Tim doesn’t understand how he could be so unphased, as if there’s nothing he’s done wrong. He has to know Tim wet the bed. He’s sure Dick said something about him last night, though the details are blurry. “Did you sleep alright?”

Jason touches him so gently though, not at all like someone about to punish him. Tim nods into his hand, relishing in the way he’s scritching just behind his ear. “Slept okay.” He yawns, a small sound escaping his throat before he can snap his teeth closed. 

Jason hums again, half a purr. “Still tired?” At Tim’s sleepy nod, he continues, “Maybe we can take a nap later? After we play, of course.” He grins at him, lopsided and a bit silly looking, but just as genuine. 

Tim can’t help the way he brightens. That after all his mistakes, somehow Jason could still stand his presence. That even when he’s disgusting and babyish, he’s still someone he wants to hang out with. “Play?” He asks, far too hopeful. 

“Yeah!” Jason beams at him, looking akin to his brother in his radiance. “Dickie said we can practice tumbling outside. It’s supposed to be a nice day.” Tim doesn’t know what tumbling could entail but the way the omega’s scent flourishes melts away the majority of his bubbling worry. He can’t imagine it could be a bad thing when Jason smells nothing less than a prosperous cherry orchard. 

“We’re allowed?” He has to keep himself in check. Tim knows better than to get too excited, too greedy. He knows what Mommy would say if she witnessed such impropriety.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, easily and without hesitation. “I mean, as long as we tell dad or Alfred where we’re going then we’re good.” Of course they would need to keep tabs, ensure they’re not doing anything disallowed. Tim would expect no less. 

Despite the way it makes his tummy roil, like he swallowed a whole handful of worms, he has to ask, “What about schoolwork?” His backpack is laying untouched, another offense to add to the list. Maybe he’ll be spanked for that too, once they see all the incomplete worksheets and assignments. 

“It’s summer!” Jason scoffs, not a mean sound. “It’s time to play and have fun. We don’t gotta worry about school for another month at least.” Tim hopes that’s true, for Jason’s sake. He’d hate for the little omega to get in trouble. He can hardly bear the idea of seeing his friend bruised and bleeding, knowing he deserves the punishment but wishing it didn’t have to hurt so much. 

Tim’s voice is measured, the way his parents expect of him. “Mommy and Daddy expect me to complete my studies year ‘round.” 

Jason shrugs, jostling Tim from where he’s laying. He adjusts his hold, using an arm around his waist to keep him pillowed on his chest. “Yeah, I know you said, but they’re not here.” And Tim knows that. He does, he does. “B isn’t gonna make you stay inside and do stupid homework when we could be outside having fun. It’s not like we’ll be doing anything wild, just some somersaults and shit.” 

He knows better than to argue. “If that’s okay…”

“For sure,” he grins again, big enough to show off his gums. “Now, are ya hungry? I think Alfred made crepes today.”

Tim blinks. “What’s a crepe?”

“It’s- uh. Like a flat pancake? I dunno, but they’re really good!” 

“Okay.”

With a boop on his nose, Jason helps him up and out of the nest. After showing him the laundry basket of freshly cleaned and folded clothing, Tim is allowed to pick out his outfit for the day. When Jason says he’ll get dressed in his own bedroom, Tim has to fight the urge to ask to borrow another set of hand-me-downs. It would be so rude to Alfred to ignore all his hard work, but his clothes are so scratchy.

Even so, it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. It’s not as unbearable when his bottom isn’t horribly bruised. He’s sure there’s still some lingering marks but nothing as agonizing as he’s accustomed to. Normally the only respite he gets from layering wounds is when his Daddy is on one of his extra long trips, so this is a nice break. When he gets dressed the clothes still brush painfully against his rash, but even that is fading easier with the cream. 

He goes through his morning routine quickly, brushing teeth and going potty, not wanting to keep Jason waiting. He only has to stand around for a minute or two, embracing his teddy bear, when the omega comes back. 

“You ready?” At Tim’s nod, he holds out a hand. Intertwining their fingers, Jason leads him to the dining room, his other hand squeezing his stuffie.

When they make it downstairs Alfred greets them right away with a warm smile. He doesn’t see Dick or Mr. Wayne yet but Jason doesn’t seem to worry, scent remaining light and fruity. He lets the omega guide him to the table, thankfully allowing him to sit right beside him. 

Tim keeps his teddy in his lap while Alfred serves him a plate. His food is already cut up into bite sized pieces but when he looks at Jason’s it looks almost like a small burrito. Either way, it’s an unfamiliar food but Jason’s excitement rubs off on him. Alongside the crepes are pieces of cut up breakfast ham as well as a generous variety of fruit. It’s so much food and he can only hope he can make a large enough dent to show his gratitude. 

Jason digs right in, taking a bite so big he can hardly chew with his mouth closed. Tim ignores the knowledge that if he dared do something so impolite in front of his Mommy that she’d take away his plate and instead he takes a much more manageable bite. There’s something sweet and yummy folded inside the crepe. It’s a flavor he thinks he’s had at a gala before but knows his Mommy would never allow in the house. 

While Tim is busy chewing a strawberry, Alfred asks. “Would either of you care for some milk or juice?” 

Jason, without hesitation, asks for milk and Tim pauses. Unsure if he’s allowed to disagree, he looks to the omega. “It’s okay,” he whispers, so very soft. “You want some of that juice you liked?”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs back, refusing to allow the relief into his pheromones. Jason reaches a hand out, ruffling his hair before telling Alfred his decision. 

The beta smiles, no hint of impatience in his tone or expression, “Very well, dear ones.” Just like that, he serves up two cups. 

Tim eats slowly, hoping that’ll help keep his tummy from hurting too quickly, but all it does is make his small appetite more apparent when Jason scrapes his plate clean long before he’s even halfway through. 

“Not hungry?” Jason asks just before downing his second glass of milk. 

The shame curdles Tim’s tummy, ruining any chance of him finishing his breakfast. “No!” He blurts, awfully suspicious. “I am. I’m hungry. Sorry, it’s good, I’m sorry.”

Jason reaches his hand out again, but this time he rubs his wrist over his shoulder, his back. His scent embracing him when their chairs can’t get any closer. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay,” he says, voice heavy with something Tim can’t name, before lightening right back up. “I know I’m a fast eater.”

Tim can’t think of a rightful response before someone else speaks up. “You know that’s right.”

“Dickie!” Jason grins, all that weight seemingly vanished now that his big brother is here. “You’re back.” Not for the first time, Tim thinks there’s something he’s missing. He can’t figure it out before Dick is squeezing between their chairs, wrapping an arm around both of them in a position that can’t be comfortable but he readily leans into. 

“Missed me already?” Dick teases, all affection and warmth. Tim isn’t sure whether he just has impeccable control over his scent or if he’s actually that pleased to see them. 

“Nah,” Jason says, even as he openly leans into Dick’s scenting, raising his wrist to mark him back. Tim isn’t sure why he’d lie but Dick doesn’t look angry about it, simply chuckling like it’s an inside joke Tim isn’t privy to. 

Dick places a kiss on both of their heads before saying, “here, scooch.” Though he doesn’t actually give Jason the time to move over. He simply scoops him up, sitting down in the chair Jason had been occupying and putting his little brother in his lap. Jason nuzzles the older omega casually, as if this open display of familial intimacy is an everyday occurrence. It probably is, now that Tim thinks about it. He’s always heard that omegas are especially touchy-feely, even more so for nestmates like these two, needing constant physical reassurances to feel settled. 

Daddy always said it was a disgrace for omegas to give into such primitive instincts. But sitting here, Dick still scenting him even with his actual packmate in his lap, it doesn’t feel as bad as Daddy said. Maybe he’s naughty for leaning into the touch, but if he’ll be punished for it at least he’ll know what the comfort feels like first. 

Dick snatches a strawberry off Tim’s plate and tosses the whole thing in his mouth. There’s no reason for Tim to be upset by the action when he’s done eating. The omega’s easy familiarity helps ease some of his nerves anyway. It’s hard to feel jealous when their glowing adoration is so infectious. They’re not being punished for being so soft. Maybe Tim won’t be either, if he’s lucky. 

Dick rests his head on his brother’s head, speaking into his hair. “Did you tell him our plan for the day?” 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, shifting so he’s sideways in Dick’s lap, now fully facing Tim. “Tumbling. Gymnastics. Gotta show off, like always.” Jason snickers, looking at Tim like he’s somehow an accomplice. 

“Hey!” Dick outright squawks. “I am not a show off,” he says, poking at Jason’s ribs in a way that gets him squirming. He writhes in his lap and Dick has to stop scenting Tim to wrap an arm around his brother's waist lest he falls off the chair. With the little omega secure, he’s free to continue tickling him, jabbing all over his ribcage to keep him giggling. 

Tim can’t help but let out a laugh of his own to see the omegas so silly, so happy. He only realizes his mistake when Dick looks over, an amused smirk on his face, “oh, is this funny, Timmy? You look like you’re missing out, I think you might need a tickle too.”

Just like that, Dick reaches over and prods at his belly. Jason, now able to catch his breath, does the same. Tim stands no chance with both boys tickling him, giggling so hard his chest is heaving with it. 

He hiccups on a laugh, making his stomach suddenly cramp, and for a moment he’s terrified he’ll puke. “Wa- wait,” he cries out, “stop, st- op, stop,” and they do. Immediately and without hesitation, they pull back, allowing him a moment to breathe. He misses the touch already, leaning over without thinking it through. Dick catches him immediately, rubbing his back soothingly. 

“I’m sorry, puppy,” Dick says, “I should have asked before tickling you. I know not everyone likes it. I’m sorry I pushed past your boundaries.” Jason echoes a sorry of his own while Tim tries to make sense of their words. He doesn’t really understand what he means but he knows it’s wrong.

Brow furrowed, still cuddled to his side as well as he can in his own chair, “no, it’s fine. I liked it. ‘M sorry I told you to stop.”

“No,” Dick says, the firmest he’s ever heard him and Tim can’t help but shrink in on himself. “You never ever need to apologize for setting boundaries. You said to stop and you deserve to be listened to.” Tim hopes he doesn’t look as lost as he feels but it must be futile because Dick continues. “I’m glad you liked the tickling at first and I am so incredibly proud of you for telling us to stop when you no longer liked it.” 

Somehow he doesn’t think another apology will be well received so he simply mumbles, “okay.” 

Dick takes a breath, “okay. Okay, baby. I didn’t mean to get all intense. We have a good day ahead of us, whenever you’re ready.” 

“I’m all done, I’m ready,” he says, unsuccessfully shoving down the shame of leaving such a pathetically large portion untouched on his plate. He doesn’t miss the way they both eye his breakfast, but neither comment on it besides allowing him up. 

Any awkwardness Tim fears will suffocate the room is quickly dissipated by the brothers with their easy banter and lazy scenting. They make quick work of the dishes, Alfred having disappeared without Tim’s notice at some point. He doesn’t have the space to worry about it when he’s busy following after the other boys. 

With his teddy bear in his arms, he goes with them up to Dick’s bedroom to grab shoes. He keeps the stuffie in one arm as he pulls his shoes on, looking up in confusion when Dick reaches a hand out, holding a bottle of rash cream. He reddens immediately, looking between the two omegas and trying to decide what they want of him. If he’s allowed to go to the bathroom to apply it or if he’s lost that privilege. He knows better than to protest any sort of touching, so this must be his punishment.

He takes the bottle, not recognizing the label but assuming it’s simply a different brand than the other ointments he’s been granted. He hesitates more than he’s allowed, mortified at the idea of doing something so icky in front of his friends. 

Jason’s head tilts, “what’s wrong?” 

Tim clenches down on his teddy, hoping he’s not hurting the toy. “Nothing, sorry. Am I- I mean, do you want me to do it here?” He has to know. He doesn’t think Dick or Jason are cruel but maybe he’s wrong. Maybe they are willing to discipline him if he screws up enough.

“Do what here?” Jason asks, still staring like Tim is somehow the confounding one. 

Tim gestures with the cream, desperately wishing he’d understand without him having to spell it out. It’s embarrassing enough as it is. He risks rubbing his teddy against his cheek, needy for the tactile comfort. 

That’s when Dick’s eyes widen, “oh, Timmy no. That’s not rash cream. I should have explained, that’s sunscreen.” 

Jason continues when Tim does nothing but continue scenting his plushie. “Haven’t you ever used sunscreen? It’s to keep you safe from UV rays.” Tim is so sick of never understanding and for some inexplicable reason it makes him wanna cry. But he’s not foolish enough to do more than sniffle. 

“We wouldn’t make you apply rash cream in front of us, honey. You deserve your privacy.” 

“I’m sorry.” He says, again and again, he's always sorry. Maybe that’s all he’ll ever be. 

Dick steps closer, reaching slow enough that Tim could pull away if he wanted. He cups a hand on each cheek, cradling his face, “I promise, we are not trying to hurt you, trick you, or punish you.” He speaks slowly, with conviction. “I understand why you’re afraid and it’s valid. It’s okay to be scared, just please know we never want to do anything to hurt you.” 

Tim doesn’t have the words. He knows a lot of words, but they continue to evade him. All he knows is that he likes the way Dick holds him and even if he did end up hurting him, he’d let it happen. So long as he kept touching him like this after. 

“Okay,” he mumbles, leaning into his hands. 

“Here, I can help you apply the sunscreen. If you’re comfortable with it.” Tim agrees easily, knowing he’d do anything Dick asked of him. 

He looks over to see Jason using an identical bottle to rub the cream into his own skin. Dick narratives all his movements, applying the sunscreen in gingerly circles, head to toe. It’s cold and a little uncomfortable to be covered in so much lotion, but Dick is so gentle. He’s thorough, making sure to cover all the spots Jason apparently forgot to apply his own sunscreen. Behind the ears and back of the neck. 

When Tim is completely safe from the UV or whatever, he helps Jason finish up. Only after that does Jason help his big brother put on his own sunscreen. 

Once that’s all done, Dick gives Tim a scan over. He takes a visible breath before saying, “sweetheart, what do you think about leaving your teddy bear in my nest? It’ll be safe there until we’re done outside.”

Tim has to physically bite the inside of his cheek to keep from asking, you’re taking it away? He knows better. He does, he does. He just doesn’t have enough experience to reign in his pheromones, to keep from filling the room with the stench of spoiled milk. 

“I just don’t want it to get dirty. But if you’re more comfortable having it close we can grab a towel or something to put it on.” 

This time, tears well up before he can help it. He blinks, barely keeping them at bay. “Please,” he begs, tensing the same way he does before Daddy hits him, “please don’t take my teddy away. I’ll be good, please, please.”

“Hey, pup, it’s okay. No one’s taking your bear. I just want to make sure it stays clean. I’d hate to have to put it in the washer and you be without your comfort item for a couple hours.”

“No,” he gasps before he can choke out the word. “No, please. Dickie, I’m sorry,” the nickname slips out without his permission.

Dick’s scent swells in the room, strong enough to cover both pup’s pheromones. It doesn’t smell angry but Tim’s been wrong before. He just thought if he were to have renewed bruises that it’d be from Mr. Wayne, not his sons. 

“Oh my sweet, Timmy. I’m sorry I keep scaring you. You can keep your teddy bear. No one will touch it, okay? Remember what I told you, I’m going to keep you safe. You, Jay, and your teddy.” 

“Please,” he pleads, and he doesn’t know what for, just what not for. 

“Baby, can I hug you?”

Tim nods, nods again when Dick doesn’t move fast enough. He hears Jason ask the same question and he agrees just as quickly, desperate. They crowd in, hugging and holding him. Whispering reassurances. Their soothing honey-cherry strong enough to cover the worst of the milk and sunscreen mixture. 

/

Though it took longer than Tim expected, they’re finally ready to go outside. He has both arms wrapped around his teddy, though he knows even if he put up a fight he wouldn’t be able to keep hold of his stuffie. Dick hasn’t changed his mind yet though, going so far as to get a picnic blanket from Alfred when informing him of their outside playtime. 

The gardens are so big, even more vast than that of Drake Manor. Plenty of room to run and jump and hopefully this time Tim doesn't end up bleeding. 

Dick lays out the blanket, as well as putting down some water bottles and packaged snacks. “Okay, puppies, we’re gonna start with some stretches.”

Though Jason grumbles a bit, it seems to be in jest because his scent stays cherry-sweet. Dick is a patient teacher, guiding them through a series of multiple stretches. Only once they’re properly warmed up does Dick begin explaining what tumbling actually is and what particular movements they’ll be practicing. Jason is more than happy to show off his own moves as Dick explains the routine. 

But when Dick begins, god, he thought Jason was amazing. And he is, but Dick- when he moves, he’s flying. He’s nothing less than soaring as he flips through the air. It’s breathtaking in a way Tim could never hope to be but is so incredibly grateful he’s allowed to witness. 

He has the biggest smile on his face and Jason does too and for a moment, Tim thinks this is it. This is what it’s like to play with packmates. 

He knows that can’t be it. He doesn’t have that bond. But if this is the closest he can get, he’ll absorb as much as he can. He’ll etch it into his brain to play on rewind for all his future punishments. It won’t protect him but it’ll make the aftermath a little easier. And that’s enough, he thinks. It has to be. 

He knows better than to be too greedy. 

Chapter Text

Tim sits panting on the picnic blanket, teddy bear in his lap, sipping at a water bottle. He leans heavily against Jason, a little sore and so very tired but way too giddy to give up now. He didn’t actually know what tumbling meant before this morning and now that he knows, he never wants to stop. He thought Minecraft was fun, and it was, but being not only allowed to move his body but encouraged to do so is thrilling in a way he’s never had the privilege of before.

Jason gives him a lazy sort of scent marking as they watch Dick glide through the sky. His wrist rubs across his back, his shoulders, even over his hair. Jason’s chest isn’t heaving the same way Tim’s is but he doesn’t seem upset about sitting on the sidelines while Dick does flip after flip. In one round of rapid movements Tim swears he sees Dick flip four times in a row before his feet hit the grass. It’s nothing short of magical and he knows he’ll never be that good, but just to do one spin like that would be enough. Tim so badly wants to do something amazing the way these boys do. They make it look so easy. 

“Ta da!” Dick preens at them with the most dazzling grin. Jason rolls his eyes but his scent gives away his own obvious enjoyment, ripe cherries and honeycomb filling the air around them. With the changes of the breeze Tim can get a stronger whiff of their pheromones and it never fails to make his own sweeten. “You ready to try the cartwheel again?” He asks, bounding over with seemingly endless energy.

Tim nods, putting his teddy down on the blanket, right beside Jason. He stands up despite the slight dizziness that threatens to make him stumble. He hardly falters, managing to steady himself with only a little clumsiness. 

“You okay?” Dick asks, scent so vibrant that the honey is taking on a flowery sort of cadence. He doesn’t want to ruin it, so he says he’s fine. It’s not a lie, after all. They’ve fed him way more than Mrs. Mac is ever allowed to, so there’s no reason for him to give in. Dick seems to take his answer at face value, guiding him to the right position. This time he doesn’t even need Jason to also spot him, having learned the form well enough for Dick to lead him all on his own. He’s still a bit wobbly, but his legs were straighter that time!

Tim tries again and when he lands it, he can’t help his giggle, unabashed and louder than he ever allows himself. And it must be contagious because Jason and Dick begin laughing too. And it’s not a mean sound, non-judgmental, and everything he’s ever wanted to hear.

“Great job, kiddie! You’re picking up on it so quick,” Dick praises, only making the warmth in Tim’s body tenfold. He feels like he’s blanketed from the inside, soft and fuzzy and something he can’t quite name yet. 

Tim is bouncing on his toes, something he knows Daddy would scold him for, but he can’t stop. When he grins back, “thank you! Can we go again?” Dick looks just as pleased. He doesn’t seem about to punish him, instead helping lead him through another tumbling routine, so Tim doesn’t bother ceasing his overeager happy fidgets. He knows it’s unbecoming of a Drake, but Dick isn’t mad about it and he’d hate to get all sad now when no one else is. 

He doesn’t wanna ruin this too.

“Here, try it again, like this,” Dick instructs so gingerly. Even when Tim gets it wrong, he doesn’t hit him. He doesn’t even squeeze too tight when he adjusts his body to the right position, instead guiding him with light caresses and blatant scent marks. 

Tim is growing far too accustomed to the honey-cherry-pack-pack-pack scent engulfing him and he only leans in. He knows it’ll break him apart when it has to end, but for now he allows the greediness. He knows he won’t be allowed to wean off the abundance of cuddles and scenting, but maybe that’ll be better. It started all at once, this new routine, and it’ll end the same. 

It doesn’t matter right now though, not when Dick is showing him another seemingly complicated but surprisingly doable move. 

Once Jason finishes off his own water bottle he starts again on his own handspring demonstration. Tim isn’t foolish enough to believe he’ll actually be able to soar like that any time soon, but just being able to try is fun. He’d try any activity they’d ask of him if he gets to laugh this much. 

“Look, I bet I can do more cartwheels than you can, Dickie!” Jason’s scent gets a bit spicy with competitiveness and Dick meets him head on. Tim gets to watch them do spin after spin, moving rapidly across the grass. Jason does not in fact do more cartwheels than Dick but he ends up giggling on the ground all the same. His big brother helps him up, giving him a nuzzle for his good try. 

They do it again, only this time Tim gets to join in. He gets two whole cartwheels in a row before he slips. The grass is soft so he doesn’t get hurt, getting back to his feet on time to see Dick do a complicated flip through the air, ending in a dramatic roll across the ground. 

They play for a long time, only pausing for water and cuddle breaks. Tim makes sure his teddy isn’t too left out with plenty of scenting. He doesn’t think his teddy has ever smelled so sweet before, his milky pheromones taking on sugary, vanilla like notes. He doesn’t take the stuffie off the blanket though, not wanting to disobey Dick and get it all muddy. 

Tim does take one snack break though, after both omegas encourage it, finishing the entire granola bar they offer him. It doesn’t sit too heavily in his tummy when he’s able to run again right after. 

They jump and twirl and fly through the air and when Tim trips, he has two friends ready to help him back up. He doesn’t even scrape his knees this time. He gets so lost in the new games they teach him that he’s caught off guard when Alfred warns them about lunch time soon. There’s hardly time to get all worry-sick when Jason is goading him into another round of somersaults. He doesn’t get as dizzy this go around, leaving him giggling in the grass. 

Jason crawls over, landing half atop of him and snickering at the oof he lets out at the added weight. It doesn’t hurt, not even when Dick joins in and makes it a real puppy pile. They spread their scents all over each other, relishing in the closeness before Alfred summons them again. With instructions to go wash up, they gather up his teddy, the blanket, and leftover snacks. 

Tim makes sure to go potty and scrub his face, not wanting to look too disheveled when Mr. Wayne sees him. He knows both omegas said that the playtime was allowed, but that doesn’t excuse looking all icky. He wants to change his clothes but unsure if it’s allowed, opts not to. Neither of the older boys switched outfits so he doesn’t wanna be the odd pup out. 

Teddy in hand, he follows Dick and Jason to the dining room. It’s a good thing he’s behind them so they don’t witness the stutter of his steps when he sees the meal laid out before them. He’s only had it once before- shrimp scampi.

Tim hugs his plushie close, eyes flitting around the room for an exit, somewhere to hide. Any way out of this. He’d rather be hungry than sick. He’d rather be spanked. But he will be anyway if he dares turn his nose up at Alfred’s generous cooking. He knows better than to refuse. He knows the consequences intimately. 

He shuffles forward and he swears his tongue is already itching. Just the smell of the shellfish is enough to get his tummy roiling painfully. He regrets the granola bar, knowing the meager snack inside him will only worsen his rapidly increasing nausea. 

Mr. Wayne is already sitting at the table doing something on his laptop so blessedly he doesn’t seem to notice Tim’s internal struggle. Tim takes the empty seat between the omegas and for the first time, the proximity does nothing to ease his sickly sort of fear. Mr. Wayne closes his laptop, placing it down on an empty chair, full attention on the three boys, and Tim can’t. He can’t. He bites his lip, squeezes his teddy in his lap, and it’s not enough.

This has to be a punishment somehow. He knows he told Dick he doesn’t have any allergies but Mr. Wayne has to know. Maybe he talked to Mommy and Daddy, found the best way to humiliate him. Or maybe he, like Daddy, just has a sense for the most effective methods of correction. He probably has long since figured out all the right ways to hurt him. 

Or maybe Tim is just that unlucky, and in one meal they’ll discover how much of a screw-up he really is. Such a bad puppy he can’t even handle lunch without completely falling apart. 

While Tim tries not to cry, Jason and Dick are recounting the morning to their alpha, giggly stories of all their games. Tim can’t help the acrid betrayal coiling in his ribs, a noose around his lungs, that they could be so carefree when Tim is about to be punished. In front of the whole pack, Tim will be hurt. Maybe Mr. Wayne likes the audience afterall. Maybe Tim will be an example. He hopes his naughtiness hasn’t rubbed off on his friends too terribly. He’d hate for them to be disciplined alongside him, knowing it’s all Tim’s fault.

“Timmy did so good! He caught on really fast to all the moves. He’s like an expert at it now.”

Tim hears his name and he nods along, knowing he ought to keep appearances up. Mommy always says he needs to keep a good face. He doesn’t know yet if Mr. Wayne is the sort of daddy who likes crying or if it’ll only piss him off more, but it’s time to find out.

Mr. Wayne doesn’t sound cruel, but he doesn’t need to be when he’s talking to his sons. It’s only Tim who’s getting in trouble, afterall. “That’s great! I’m glad you kids got to have some fun.”

Alfred serves Tim’s plate, as he has at every meal. And for the first time, it feels like an indictment. There’s so much pasta that it’s touching the vegetables, contaminating them. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to eat his carrots and green beans when they’ll only taste of yucky shrimp. It’s all cut up already, preventing him from procrastinating. 

Everyone begins eating like nothing is wrong. Like this is no different than the pancakes or crepes. And maybe to them, it is. They don’t, afterall, have to worry so heavily about inevitable punishment. It’s just Tim. It’s always Tim.

He takes a bite of carrot and his stomach immediately protests. He knows he’s not swollen yet but it feels like it. It hurts to swallow. He feels the lump the whole time it goes down. It’s as if his stomach acid is splashing inside him, threatening to come back up. 

Everyone is still talking and he wishes they’d shut up if only so he had less stimulation. It’s so much. But at least the focus isn’t on him yet. They must be waiting. It is inescapable, of course. 

He eats all his vegetables, every speck, ignoring the way his body reacts. It’s as if his stomach too wants to retaliate against him, threatening to make all the veggies reappear before he even has a bite of pasta.

He doesn’t want to.

Tim looks to Dick and to Jason and they’re eating so easily. He feels something akin to jealousy and he hates himself for it. He doesn’t want them to be afraid. But Tim is so sick of it. 

Someone says his name again and he tries to respond, but if he dares say a word then he’ll lose the fragile control he has over his belly. He has to do this. He has no other choice. Alfred served him his meal and good pups eat. They are grateful for what they are offered and don’t dare complain when they’re a little itchy.

But shrimp are so spicy. 

It aches. He takes a bite of pasta and even though there’s no shrimp on his fork, it burns the whole way down. His teeth are too sensitive, seeming to itch alongside his tongue, the inside of his mouth, his lips. His face is hot all over and he doesn’t know how to breathe right. If he breathes through his mouth he only irritates the rawness of his skin, and breathing through his nose isn’t enough. It isn’t enough. He’s burning inside out, all over. He wonders if the rash cream will work on his face too, if he’s allowed. Mommy hates it when he gets all blotchy. 

He takes another bite.

They keep saying his name. It sounds like Dick. Or maybe Jason.

“Timmy, are you feeling alright?” 

He can’t focus on them. He has to see his punishment through. It’s the first real obvious discipline Mr. Wayne is enacting and he can’t dare cower away now. Maybe if he clears his plate it’ll be enough. Maybe he won’t need a spanking too if he could just do this.

Someone touches his arm and he flinches. He can’t see who it is, can’t see anything other than his too-full-plate and all the reasons there are to hurt him.

Every bite is agony and he doesn’t know how to ease it. 

He’s running out of time. Tim is sure everyone else is almost done by now. He bets Jason is on his second helping already. He hopes it doesn’t hurt the little omega to chew, to swallow. It aches so terribly, burning away at his mouth. He doesn’t know how he manages to swallow past the seemingly endless swelling but he does. He has to.

There’s a hand on his forehead and he can’t. He wants to shake them off, but if he loses concentration for even a moment then he’ll lose his nerve. There’s only so much pasta left. It’s getting more and more painfully obvious that he’s avoiding the shrimp. He has to do this. A Drake never weasels out of their consequences.

He stabs his fork into the ittiest bittiest shrimp on his plate. His hand is trembling so terribly he fears the shrimp will slide right off. There’s so many things being said around him and he can’t comprehend any of it. 

He puts the shrimp in his mouth.

He bites down. 

He can’t finish chewing. 

Tim knows better than to disobey. But his body doesn’t.

He throws up. Right there, onto his plate, onto his lap. 

He spews and sputters and spits up on himself like a baby. All the food he just consumed displayed before him, ready to eat again. It lands all over the pasta, just as orange and green as it was going in. He retches.

It’s so loud.

He doesn’t want to. Please, he doesn’t want to. 

He has to. The fork is still in his hand, somehow not yet fallen away from his slackened grasp. He has to do it again. He knows he does. Daddy wouldn’t let him leave the table until it was all gone. He has to.

Tim is weak and he stabs a bite of what might have been a carrot. He doesn’t get the chance to bring it to his mouth. 

Tears streaming down his face, someone takes the fork away.

He sobs, wanting to beg for another chance, wanting to beg for it to be over. It hurts so much and they haven’t even hit him yet. Everyone is talking and he only catches bits and pieces and even that is too much. Some is touching him and he doesn’t recognize their hands. They’re trying to pick him up, take him away. Maybe the Wayne’s really do have a bad room like his parents do. It’s probably full of paddles and belts, all the things Tim hates most. 

He writhes, knowing he’s not supposed to but not knowing what else to do. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

He can’t contain himself, he gags on a sob. Or maybe he’s sobbing through the gags. All he knows is it can’t stop coming out. He’s all dirty, the ick is just spilling down his shirt. Onto his lap. Onto his teddy. His first friend, his best friend, covered in vomit. Ruined. He ruined it. He wails and keens and makes all those awful noises Daddy hates.

He soiled it all. The food, the plate, the table, all of it, everything. He wishes he knew Alfred’s last name if only so he could apologize properly. 

God, it hurts. 

His lips, his tongue, his teeth, his cheeks, everything, all over. It’s so much. It feels almost fuzzy, like the outside of a kiwi, and it still hurts. All prickly and ouchie like he tried to bite a cactus. And he knows it’ll stop eventually, it always does, but god, he wants it to stop now. He knows he’s greedy and selfish and an awful, horrible little boy but please, he just wants it to stop.

Someone grabs him again, gently, but he cries out nonetheless. He can’t breathe. He can’t, he can’t, please, he can’t, please, pleasepleaseplease-

More than just the shrimp comes up, more vomit spewing out of him, and it burns. It hurts so badly, and he’s crying. It’s so loud, everyone’s so loud. They must be yelling at him. He deserves it, he’s been so bad. He’s being so bad. Everyone’s talking over each other and someone is touching him, his forehead, his neck, his scent gland. It’s so much, he coughs, gags, and more bubbles out of him like drool, staining his shirt. 

All over his teddy.

His bear, dirty. Inexcusably destroyed. And now someone is touching it, taking it. He finally built up enough transgressions for them to take away his teddy bear. Forever and ever it’s gonna be gone and it’s all Tim’s fault. It’s all his fault the shrimp was too itchy, too spicy. 

He hears crying, though it might just be his own echo. They won’t stop talking. The whole family all yelling and shouting and screaming. All because of Tim. They won’t stop touching him and it’s not undeserved but it’s torturous. 

“-he’s already messy just let him keep it-”

“-the quicker we wash it the quicker he can have it back-”

“-get Jason out-”

“-he’s not breathing, he could be going into anaphylaxis-”

“-Jason needs to leave now-”

“-do we have an epi pen-”

“-he’s having a panic attack, he won’t breathe if we punish him-”

“-it’s not a punishment-”

“-give him back the-”

“-he’s not breathing-”

Tim is too warm, he’s wet and he’s dripping and he wrecked that too. Someone is grabbing at him again and he knows it’s not allowed but even the belt would hurt less than this. He wants to bite at the hands touching him and he knows he can’t and he shouldn’t and his instincts are howling-

He snatches the stuffie away from whoever was trying to steal it and drops out of the chair. He yanks away from the grappling hands and slides through his mess, crawling under the table. He collapses in a ball, his teddy, covered in vomit and stinky, protected by his arms and legs. He covers it completely, as if his little body could be enough to stop them. But if he’s already being bad, he might as well make it worse.

Tim doesn’t think he’s ever cried so terribly before, wailing and whining and whimpering. Horrible, hurting sounds. He hears a voice above it all, commanding the way an alpha would, except it’s Alfred who says, “enough! All this chaos is making it worse.” Just like that, he silences the pack. 

Tim isn’t a part of their pack though, so he continues to sob. Loud and so very unforgivable. 

“Master Bruce, take Master Jason and go call Dr. Leslie.” There’s protest, but they must submit because the swelling, overwhelming pheromones in the room lessens, just a bit. “Master Dick, go fetch a change of clothes and an alternate stuffed animal.” 

And then it’s quiet. Not silent, Tim is crying too hard for that. But the yelling has stopped. No one is touching him.

His teddy doesn’t smell good anymore. And the fur isn’t so soft when it’s covered in throw up. But it’s his and it’s here and no one has taken it away yet. Even when he’s done eating, his throat and mouth are all raw feeling. He feels like an open wound. Maybe he too will be infected. 

He goes to nuzzle his teddy but all he does is cover himself further in partially digested mush and bile. It’s the only comfort he has though. So he pushes past the disgust and cuddles his plushie, gasping into the sticky fur. 

There’s a creak and then Alfred is there, squatting at the edge of the table. He lifts the tablecloth, getting an unobstructed view of Tim in all his pathetic glory. He can’t stop shaking and he doesn’t know if he ever will. Even with his eyes open he can’t see the expression on the beta’s face, can’t face the utter contempt he must behold.

“My boy, it can not be comfortable under there,” Alfred says. His voice is soft but Tim knows it’s a trick. He does nothing but continue to weep. Alfred is not so easily deterred by a sniveling, squealing puppy. “You are not in trouble, dear one. If you come on out we can get you right and tidied up.”

No, he wants to say, but even as he tries the word just can’t seem to squeeze through the tightness of his throat. 

As defiant as Tim may be, there’s nothing he could do if Alfred decides to drag him out by the ankles or hair. He hopes he doesn’t tear too much. 

Alfred must pump out his scent further because he gets a ragged breath of something herbal before he’s overcome by spoiled stench again. “You have to come out sooner or later, Master Timothy. If you want to get ahead of that rash then we should act now.” 

“Pluh- please, no,” he warbles out, sounding nothing more than a tiny nestling. “Please, no, no.” He’s hardly coherent, babbling into his stuffie’s fur. He doesn’t know if he hopes Alfred understands him or not. He doesn’t know what’s worse, being seen as an incoherent, stupid puppy, or the naughty little boy that he is.

Alfred tuts and Tim braces himself, “none of that. I have no intention of harming you. Now come out so I can check you over.” There’s something to his tone that makes Tim‘s heart jackrabbit in his chest even more bruisingly. He’s suddenly more terrified of the further consequences of his disobedience than he is of what he’s already wracked up. 

Despite the way his body quakes, his teddy clutched to his chest, he hobble-crawls out from under the table. 

Alfred does not smile, but his scent doesn’t change either. Stays light and airy and familiar in a way Tim can’t place. He’s still gasping, each heaving breath only irritating the tingling of his mouth further. “There, I am going to check you over before we head to the restroom.”

Tim knows he should pay attention but it doesn’t matter. Alfred is the pack beta. He could do whatever he wants to Tim and it wouldn’t make a difference. 

Tim is sorry, but apologizing won’t save him. 

Alfred touches him, doesn’t bruise him. He pokes and prods and feels around and it doesn’t feel the same way it does when Daddy touches him. 

He’s not sure if whatever he finds is passable but either way he’s allowed to go to the restroom. Alfred washes his hands, puts on a pair of disposable gloves, and begins taking off Tim’s clothes. He pulls a plastic bag out of a drawer and places the soiled clothes inside. He doesn’t narrate the way Dick or Mr. Wayne does, but he doesn’t pinch or otherwise embarrass him more than necessary. 

Tim keeps hold of his teddy bear even when Alfred instructs him to sit on the potty. He must have wet himself at some point during the chaos of getting sick. It’s like his body is hellbent on getting him in trouble. His rash feels just as raw as it did the first day he showed up on the Wayne’s doorstep. Maybe it’ll never go away.   

Alfred gives him medicine in a cup and when Tim chokes it down he gags. He spits a bit of it back up but hopefully he swallowed most of it because he doesn’t think his body will allow him to try again. 

He’s not scolded for it. Instead Alfred putters about the bathroom while Tim sits helplessly, unsure what his next punishment will be but knowing it’ll be mortifying. 

Alfred starts the bath. There’s no bubbles. Tim knows better than to wish for anything more. He then pulls out a basin and fills that too with water. 

“Alright, Master Timothy. Both you and your companion there are going to receive a bath.” Tim’s scent turns even more putrid before his tongue can form the words to beg. “The bear shall soak in the pail while you get cleaned up in the tub.”

Tim knows he has no right to protest, he just can’t help himself. “Please, mine-” he hiccups. “My teddy, please.”

Alfred does not budge. “It will be right beside you. Finish up, we need to cleanse the fluids before your rash worsens.” 

Tears streaming down his face, he gives a kiss to the least icky looking part of his plushie, knowing he couldn’t get much grosser. 

He can’t do it. So Alfred slowly removes the teddy from his hold and dunks it into the water. He pressed the bear down, letting the water soak through. It looks like it’s drowning.

Tim sobs.

Alfred has to help him into the tub. His knees are so weak he’d collapse if the beta wasn’t supporting him. 

He sits limp and complacent the entire time Alfred washes him. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t offer any of the undeserved affection that Dick does, nor does he touch the way Daddy does. He shouldn’t be surprised and he shouldn’t be relieved. 

He has to wash his hair. There’s too much mess. 

Tim can’t stop crying.

His teddy bear is sitting inside the basin on the floor. It’s out of Tim’s reach but at least he can watch the way the water turns a murky brown. 

There’s a knock at the door and Dick enters the bathroom. His honey scent floods in bitter-burnt and Tim’s tummy flops on itself like he just tried to do another somersault.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he greets. This time when he smiles it looks nothing like any of his grins before, his eyes dull. And Tim did that, he did that to Dick. And he’s so sorry. He’s so incredibly, very, super sorry. He wants to say as much but Dick is continuing. “I know it’s not your bear but I thought you’d like to hold onto my little kitty plush here. She’s just as good a cuddler as your teddy bear.”

He holds out a soft looking cat stuffie, a warm tan color with dark brown feet, ears, and tail. There’s a little smile stitched onto her face and Tim wants to cry. 

Alfred took his teddy away. He’s drowning his teddy. There’s no way he’ll be allowed to ruin another stuffed animal. 

But he wants. He’s so very greedy, selfish and undeserving. He’s all the things Mommy and Daddy tried to beat out of him and he doesn’t know how Alfred’s punishment is going to fix him. 

Alfred is still busy scrubbing away all the yuck sticking to his skin, which allows Dick to step closer. “Here, I’ll put the kitty on the counter for you. I also brought you some of Jason’s old jammies. I thought they’d be cozier for you to wear.”

Tim does sob, once, twice. And he chirps, his pupish instincts begging the pack omega closer. To give him all the unearned but so very yearned for snuggles.

Dick whines, a sound Tim had never heard him make before. It’s such a small thing, and suddenly Dick doesn’t look as big and strong when he’s making those pup-like noises. “I’m sorry, Alfred’s gonna take care of you, alright? Dad is talking to the doctor right now and someone needs to stay with Jason.” His voice wavers and he visibly takes a deep breath. “You are safe. I promise, I’ll come back as soon as I can. I love you, Timmy.”

Tim can’t come up with a verbal response. He does not know the words necessary to convince Dick to choose him over his own brother. He doesn’t think there are words that could surmount such a feat. 

For the first time, Dick leaves him behind. 

He shouldn’t be surprised and yet he wails. He keens so loud, the sound ripping out of him like a knife. He yelps and yips and makes all those little puppy sounds but Dick doesn’t come back. 

Alfred’s scent pumps out further yet it does nothing to stifle the stench soaking into the room like a new coat of paint. All-encompassing, he thinks he too will drown in it. 

Chapter Text

No matter how many deep breaths Alfred tries to guide him through, Tim still can’t get a lungful. His chest heaves with each wracking sob, resistant to all of Alfred’s persistent instruction. Tim is entirely unhelpful for the rest of the bath, crying too hard to wash himself. 

Alfred takes care of it, ridding him of the evidence of his disobedience without so much as a displeased pinch. While Tim wails, desperately keening for an omega he now knows does not want him, Alfred dresses him. He doesn’t get rash cream this time, the privilege mustn’t be allowed anymore.

He’s sure the clothes he’s allowed had once belonged to Jason. They’re so much softer than anything his Mommy buys him. 

Even with the nicer fabric they still rub painfully against his rash, irritating the already sensitive skin. 

As soon as the new sweater is on Tim is shoving two fingers in his mouth and biting down as hard as he can. His body can’t stop all the helpless noises spilling past, calling out for someone who walked away. Tim knows all about unanswered pack calls, this is territory familiar enough that it should be comforting. Yet the devastation threatens to overcome him just as severely as the first time he was left behind. Dick isn’t even his, they’re not nestmates, and yet he whines all the same. 

Tim stands before Alfred, knees trembling as he chitters around his fingers, his throat itself quaking with the force of his pack calls. His pupish instincts bullying him into crying out, I’m here, I’m here, where are you, are you here? 

There’s no response outside of Alfred’s gentle crooning, his beta purrs unable to soothe the bone deep betrayal constricting Tim’s entire being. He fears he’ll bleed out from the sheer force of it if he can’t find some way to calm down. He chomps down on his fingers and lets Alfred maneuver him at will, even takes the offered stuffed kitty despite whatever consequences it may lead to. 

He nuzzles his ruddy face into the fur, knowing he’s ruining the plushie with his snot and tears but unable to keep from taking the comfort with open, greedy hands. He can’t stop bawling no matter how much Alfred tries to soothe him. He pumps his herbal scent into the air but it’s not enough to cover the stench Tim leaves in his wake.

He must realize it’s a lost cause because with a hand on his shoulder, he leads Tim out of the bathroom and down the hall.  He’s talking, saying something about, “not in trouble, little one,” and Tim can’t find it in him to pay attention. There’s no chance he’ll end the day without a freshly bruised bottom and so it doesn’t matter whatever lies he spews. None of it matters. If Dick won’t choose Tim, despite all his promises of safety and love, there’s no way Mr. Wayne or his butler will tolerate him any longer. 

Tim only tunes back in at the mention of a doctor, and an integral fear makes him pause. Tim halts in the middle of the hallway, instinctively looking for an escape route, and Alfred almost trips over him because of it. It only makes Tim tense, waiting for the hit. Alfred doesn’t bother scolding him, must know the doctor can do so much worse. 

This is it, Tim has finally screwed up enough that they called in reinforcements. Those are some of the worst punishments, when Daddy would make his friends deal with Tim’s naughtiness. Maybe this time they’ll break something unhealable. 

The beta leads Tim to a sitting room, less lived in than the other rooms Tim’s been in since staying here while somehow also being less sterile than any given area of Drake Manor. He is guided to one of the plush armchairs and he can’t help but think that it wouldn’t make a very effective time-out chair. 

The doctor is standing beside Mr. Wayne and Tim wants his Mommy with a wretched sort of anguish. Even if she did the same kind of punishment as this, at least he’d be home. At least he’d be with her. 

But Mommy doesn’t even know Tim is in trouble. The most attention she ever pays to him is when his behavior needs correction but now she can’t even do that.

Dick walked away from him. He’s all alone, without even his teddy bear for solace. The kitty is nice, a kindness he clearly does not deserve, but it’s not the same. He tells himself he needs to be grateful but it’s awfully hard when they’re all talking about him like a dog they found at the pound. 

Alfred says that Tim is non-responsive when he tattles to the doctor lady. But Tim knows he means naughty. 

She’s a beta, he can tell right away. Her scent is even more subtle than Alfred’s. Nothing like Mommy or Daddy’s when he’s allowed the rare hint of their pheromones. It’s flowery, reminding him a bit of Dick’s scent that morning, when he was so very happy. The doctor is smiling at him, but he doesn’t think she’s happy. 

Tim pulls his sleeves further past his hands, trying to engulf himself. The hand-me-downs are so much cozier than his own jammies. There’s not much comfort to be found though, not with his teddy bear still being punished. He really did lose his teddy this time, the plushie being left to drown in the basin. Tim should have known better, of course his bear would have to be punished before being thrown away. He just hopes his teddy isn’t too scared. 

It’s all Tim’s fault. He never should have shown Dick his only toy. Then Alfred never could have taken it away. He practically handed the inevitable punishment over on a silver platter. He doesn’t know if Daddy would be disappointed or approving. 

He doesn’t understand why, but it somehow must be part of the retribution because he’s still allowed to cuddle the kitty plush Dick left behind even with all three grownups surrounding him. The kitty smells honey-sweet, a nicer scent than Dick had when he dropped it off. He sniffles, nuzzling the cat once again and wishing it was his bear instead. 

He needs to be thankful that he’s allowed to hold anything at all after how awfully behaved he’s been, and he is. Dick gave it to him, after all. His last gift. But he knows better than to be too attached. If he’s not permitted to keep his very own stuffed animal then there’s no way he’ll be allowed to keep the kitty. He’s lucky as it is that he can clutch the plushie at all. 

Must be a ruse. 

He’ll have to be more careful to keep it clean. He knows he’ll end up a sniveling mess if he has to watch another stuffie be drowned. It hurts enough to deal with his own punishment let alone be forced to watch the plushies be hurt in his stead.

Maybe they’ll relish in ripping it from his hands. He hopes that Mr. Wayne lets him hold the kitty through the spanking. He knows he won’t be able to keep it, but having something to hug would be more than Daddy ever grants him. He knows he doesn’t deserve such thoughtfulness, hasn’t done anything at all to earn it, but maybe he could. He’ll do whatever they ask of him, so long as he could have this one thing.  

Uncaring of his dilemma, the doctor finally addresses him. “Hello there. My name is Dr. Leslie, it’s nice to meet you. Bruce tells me that you prefer to go by Timmy, is it okay for me to call you that, or would you prefer another name? Any answer is fine.”

Her voice is gentle, though it does nothing to ease Tim’s incessant trembling. He’s still overcome by hiccupy sobs, unable to ease the panic even after all of Alfred’s breathing exercises. He knows the doctor wouldn’t want to deal with a whimpering whelp but he doesn’t know how to stop. 

Tim nods his head, barely refraining from rubbing the kitty’s soft fur against his face again. It’s not his own to destroy. Alfred had wiped his face more than once but Tim is sure he’s still yucky.

“That’s okay, I’ll call you Timmy for now and if you want me to change that you only need to say so. Did Bruce or Alfred tell you why I’m visiting today?”

Tim knows why. Getting sick means punishment, she’s here to dish it out. Mommy and Daddy have never asked a doctor to discipline him before but maybe he just made Mr. Wayne that angry. 

He’s not sure if that’s the answer she wants though, and when he doesn’t decide on time she says, “No? That’s okay. I’m here to give you a check-up, do you know what that is? It’s okay if you don’t know.”

This time he does shake his head.

Dr. Leslie takes his answer in stride, despite the way Mr. Wayne’s pheromones get a bit heavier in the room. His cinnamon scent is so strong that it stings against his nose, making Tim sniffle. “That’s quite alright. I’ll walk you through every step,” she explains. “I am going to be checking different parts of your body to make sure you are healthy and that there are no side effects of your allergic reaction that we need to worry about.” 

Tim tries to focus, he really does. But it’s hard when the rash burns against his clothes and his mouth still feels all tingle-stingy. His head throbs in tune with his heart and he knows the doctor just asked him a question but he already forgot. His first check-up and he’s already screwing it up. 

She touches him and he flinches hard enough to hurt. She pulls back, and her face does not drop but she gets a bit of tension around her eyes that makes him brace himself. 

He knows Mr. Wayne called her in to punish him, but maybe she doesn’t like such obvious fear. When he’s been so very bad and Daddy’s friends have to take care of it, they have their own preferences. It's as much a gamble as it is horribly effective. Tim thought he would have learned better by now. 

When she doesn’t touch him again right away, he takes the chance to get a real look around. This must be the discipline room. It doesn’t seem much different to the other sitting rooms he’s glanced in while here, but that’s probably the point. He looks and he doesn’t see a proper time-out chair but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. He sees a side table and he bets that’s where the implements are being held, just like his Daddy has at home. 

He doesn’t know what he dreads worst- a belt, a wooden spoon, a paddle, or maybe something Tim’s never had before. Maybe he has an implement so effective that it’s a one and done punishment. Maybe that’s why Jason and Dick don’t understand Tim’s worry, they no longer have to deal with the consequences. They’ve been hurt enough already. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Dr. Leslie says, scent warm. “Next time I will tell you before I try to touch you so that you have some warning, how does that sound? If you want me to stop at any point you can say no and I will stop.”

Tim doesn’t understand. Asking her to stop is just asking Mr. Wayne to punish him. It doesn’t make sense, why would he need another reason when Tim has already been such an awful pup?

Tim nods, despite his confusion, hoping that’s answer enough. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to force words past the swollen vice of his throat. 

It must be a tolerable enough reply because she smiles at him again, all pinchy around the eyes. “Okay, Timmy. If you are comfortable with it, I’d like to check your breathing.” Now that he’s comprehended what she said, he nods again. There’s something he doesn’t recognize in her hand and he can’t help but hope it’s not her chosen implement. But with both Mr. Wayne and Alfred watching over the exchange, there is zero chance he could deny her anything without worsening his consequences. She moves slower this time, talking through the process before she actually makes contact.

She touches his neck, his chest, his back— he waits for the pain. She looks in his mouth, his throat, even his scent glands— he waits for the pain. He waits and he waits and-

Dr. Leslie has so many questions. Several of them she directs towards the grown-ups but sometimes she wants Tim’s attention and he never knows what the right answer is. Neither Mr. Wayne nor Alfred give him any inclination either, so he tries to think of the answers that they will be happy with. But judging by all the adults frowning, he’s not getting their questions right at all. 

Does his mouth hurt? His throat? Is he having trouble breathing? Can he follow her breathing, like this? Is he still nauseous? How many times did he throw up? Any bleeding? Any dizziness? Is he cold? Why is he still shaking? Why won’t he stop?

Even with all her pestering, she doesn’t say anything about the stuffie in his arms. He’s thankful for it, despite himself, even if it’s likely a trick of some sort. 

After she’s stopped poking and prodding at him, she says, “it sounds like you had a scary time earlier. Have you ever had a bad reaction while eating food before?” 

Tim dares to look at the pack alpha. It’s a mistake and he can’t help but utter, “I’m sorry.” He is, he is, he just doesn’t know how to make them see that. Alfred put him in the chair so he doesn’t think he’s supposed to kneel but he doesn’t know how else to show them. Or maybe it’s a test and he’s supposed to just know. But Tim never knows, he’s just a dumb puppy.

Dr. Leslie makes a scoffing sound, though her scent doesn’t change at all. Is she laughing at how stupid he is? 

“There’s no need to be sorry Timmy, it’s not your fault at all. I just want to make sure that you’re healthy. Food is not supposed to hurt you at all. If it does, you don’t have to eat it.” 

Tim doesn’t know what possesses him to blurt out, “Supposed to eat it, needa be grateful no matter what.” 

Mr. Wayne speaks up before the doctor gets a chance to answer. “No. Not here. We will never knowingly give you food that hurts you, Timmy. And even if it doesn’t, you don’t have to eat it. I never want you to eat food that makes you feel bad, even if it’s just a little bit.” 

His voice leaves no room for argument and Tim can’t help but shrink further into the chair. He’s not yelling yet but he doesn’t need to, Tim knows when he’s being chastised. Mr. Wayne continues, uncaring of the tears welling up in Tim’s eyes. “I know that you told Dick that you didn’t have any allergies, did you not understand what he meant? It’s okay if you don’t understand something, you can always ask one of us to explain it to you.”

Tim thinks this may be the cruelest lie Mr. Wayne has said yet. Mommy and Daddy would never let him question them, it’s a direct line to a bleeding bottom. If he questions him now it’ll just add another offense to the ongoing and seemingly endless list he’s building. It’ll hurt so badly against his rash. That’s probably why Alfred didn’t let him put on cream, so that Mr. Wayne’s hand doesn’t get all icky when he spanks him. 

“Do you know what allergy means, Timmy?”

Before Tim can force his mouth to form the right words, Dr. Leslie snaps, “Quiet, Bruce, you’re overwhelming him.” The alpha steps closer and Tim whimpers, making him pause in whatever rebuttal he was about to spew. “If you are only going to distress my patient then I must insist you step out.” 

Mr. Wayne comes up close to the doctor and for a second Tim fears he’ll hit her too, but instead they have a conversation so hushed Tim can’t make out any of what they’re saying. He nuzzles the kitty plushie and he wishes so badly for this to be over. It’s all too much. He just wants to go back to the nest. He wants his teddy back. Even if it’s only the afternoon, he’s ready for naptime already. Better yet, bedtime altogether. 

Then Mr. Wayne leaves. Alfred too. They finish their whispers with Dr. Leslie and they leave. Just like Dick did. They must have told her all the ways they expect her to hurt him. Maybe she’ll use her belt on him, or one of those medical instruments she used before. He’s sure they’d bruise easily. Daddy likes when it leaves marks.

“I’m sorry for snapping at Bruce before, but it seems like he was overwhelming you a bit with all of his questions. Now that your overbearing pack alpha is gone, how are you feeling? It’s okay if the answer is bad.”

It’s another test. She knows Mr. Wayne is not Tim’s pack alpha. Tim isn’t a part of the pack, he’s nothing more than a sleepover guest who stayed too long. “‘M’kay,” he mumbles, before remembering himself. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m okay, I mean.”

She doesn’t pop him on the mouth for being rude, she doesn’t even frown. She just moves on like Tim didn’t mess up right in front of her. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

He doesn’t know what she wants from him. “I’m sorry.” He’ll do whatever she asks of him, if only he could comprehend what that was. He’ll be obedient, anything if it means he can go home. He’d rather be home alone than deal with this. Then at least he’d know he won’t be hurt for a few days. However long until Mommy and Daddy are supposed to come back from their trip.

She’s not touching him yet. “What are you sorry for?” 

For making his teddy be drowned. For throwing up all over it. All over the food and the table. All over his clothes. For wetting himself again and again. For being such a disgrace. So unworthy to be a Drake. Such a bad puppy, so ungrateful for everything he’s been given. Always yearning for more, needy for what he doesn’t deserve. 

Instead of verbalizing the nauseating swirl of confessions inside him, what comes out is, “Got sick.”

She doesn’t take his admittance as permission to punish him. She must be waiting, wanting to let him stew in his own guilty-sick. “You can’t control how your body reacts.” Tim doesn’t understand. He’s so tired of it, he wants to scream. He doesn’t know how much left there is for him to not understand. 

Tim does not snap. He’s well-trained. Though his tone is still something his Mommy would tut at. “Supposed to be better.” 

“Timmy, do you know what an allergy actually is?” He doesn’t know why she continues with this ruse. He already knows what the endgame is, but if Mr. Wayne wants him to play along then he will. Anything to lessen the punishment. He can only take so many hits. 

Tim does know what an allergy is. He does. Mommy said it’s when his body just can’t help but be naughty, and that a true Drake pushes through the discomfort. He must ignore the itchy-burning-agony and eat everything he’s served.

So he nods, hoping she doesn’t ask him to elaborate. 

Dr. Leslie hasn’t moved from her own chair since Mr. Wayne left. He looks for any of the indicators Mommy and Daddy show when they’re about to blow up but he can’t find any. Her brow is creased but her scent stays light, refreshing in a way. She doesn’t clench her fists or tense her shoulders. He had spent so long learning all the signs he needs to protect himself and now it’s as if he’s once again illiterate. “Sometimes our bodies reject certain foods, and that can make you sick.”

It doesn’t matter. No matter what Tim is feeling he knows what he has to do. He swallows down the rising bile and forces the words out.  “Needa push through.” It’s the only way. Dr. Leslie has to understand that. 

Except, instead of accepting his answer, she continues the game, “Timmy, I need you to understand that allergies are not something we can simply ‘push through.’ Sometimes, that can actually make it worse. I would hate for you to force yourself to eat shrimp and it to make you feel more sick, not better.”

No, no, she’s wrong. She’s lying! Tim knows better, he knows when he’s being fooled. “Mommy and Daddy said I have to.” Mommy is so smart, maybe even smarter than this doctor. She would know. 

“That’s not okay of them to ask you.” It’s mean how gentle her voice is, her scent too. It’s cruel of her to play pretend so well, as if she could actually mean what she’s saying. “Parents are supposed to protect you, not do something that purposely hurts you.”

Tim’s scent pulses out fierce, a burnt edge that makes even himself snuffle. “They’re helping me.” He doesn’t snap. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t, he can’t, he’s not supposed to, not allowed-

She doesn’t rise to the challenge. “Allergies do not help you. Helping you is giving you yummy food, not something that will make you feel ill.”

She’s wrong. She has to be, it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“Do your parents help you when you have an allergic reaction?

They make him finish his food. It’s Tim’s fault he’s sick and it’s his job fix it. They’re helping him be a worthy son, a good Drake.

So Tim nods. 

He squeezes the kitty plushie at the sterilization of Dr. Leslie’s scent. The flowers taking on an artificial sort of note.

“Do they help you when you’re sick?”

Mommy did once. That one day, the best day. No matter how icky Tim felt, that was his happiest day, being scented by his Mommy. This morning had been nice though, before Tim had to go and ruin it. Maybe it could have been his second happiest day, if only he hadn’t gotten his teddy taken away. He didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye before Alfred made him walk away.

He nods. Because if he’s good then maybe Mommy will do it again. He just has to follow their rules and maybe she’ll scent mark him, like Dick does. He hasn’t earned it with Dick though, so he’ll have to stop. There’s no way he’ll be allowed to continue the overindulgence of affection when he’s been so disobedient. 

“Okay, thank you for answering my questions, Timmy.” Her scent hasn’t gotten any sweeter and Tim doesn’t know how he’s supposed to breathe properly when his chest is nothing short of a noose. “It seems to me that while your allergic reaction was relatively mild, able to be subdued by the medicine, your panic made the symptoms appear more intense.”

So it really is Tim’s fault. Irrefutable proof.

“When you began crying, I’m sure your sudden emotion made your chest feel tight, almost like you couldn’t breathe.” This is why he’s not supposed to cry. Tim knows better, and yet he keeps making the same mistakes. “That’s good news, it means you didn’t go into anaphylactic despite Bruce’s worry.” 

She continues, explaining something called coping skills and other lies to pull him into a false sense of security. Tim knows all about this and yet he shrinks into himself all the same. He'd sink straight through the cushion if he could. 

When he’s about ready to chew through his fingers, she starts a new line of questioning. “One more thing before I let you go. Bruce tells me you’ve been having a little trouble staying dry at bedtime.”

He reddens immediately, knowing this was coming but somehow still entirely unprepared. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I don’t mean to.” He’d stop if he knew how. He’s been trying to stop, but his body just keeps betraying him. He’ll never drink water again, none of that yummy juice, if it means he’ll stop wetting the bed.

“You’re not in trouble,” she croons. “I just thought I could try to help you, is that alright?” 

He doesn’t know why she’s asking but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have a choice. “Mhm, sorry.”

She waves his apology off but does nothing else to reprimand him. “Nothing to apologize for.” She smiles and he hates her a bit for it. “I wanted to talk you through some options for helping the rash get better.” Tim clenches the stuffie bruisingly tight. “Do you know what a pull-up is?” 

Tim thinks about lying but somehow he thinks she’d be able to tell. At the shake of his head, she continues. “It’s a kind of undergarment that’s absorbent so that if you do have an accident you won’t soak through your clothes.”

His head shoots up, cheeks heating at the same time his scent burns. “Wait, isn’t that- do you mean diapers?” 

Of all the punishments he foresaw coming, he shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s mortified all the same, tearing up just at the thought of being so blatantly babied.

She doesn’t meet his tone, keeping steady, “They do sound similar, however pull-ups are more independent. Unlike diapers, they slide up and down like underwear, allowing you to be able to take them on and off all by yourself. No one has to touch you or your private parts.” Tim’s not sure what gives him away but she asks, “Do you know what your private parts are?”

Tim can’t answer. He can’t. 

Dr. Leslie doesn’t scold him even when he must seem so stupid. A complete imbecile of a pup. When she explains what they are, he knows this has to be part of his discipline. Maybe she really will hurt him the way Daddy does. 

“Has anyone ever touched your private parts, Timmy? Especially in a way you did not want or agree to?”

Tim doesn’t understand. Of course he doesn’t want to be spanked. But he has to, it’s the only way to make it better. He has to be a good pup, obedient. To be good is to be hurt. And Tim so very much wants to be good. 

When Daddy touches him, it’s to help him be better. 

So he shakes his head. 

She must take his answer at face value because she moves on. “If you are okay with it, I can recommend some pull-up brands to Bruce for you to try. They’ll be absorbent enough to help your skin stay dry even if you have an accident, which should help keep your rash from worsening. That, as well as plenty of cream, should help ease the pain.” 

Because Tim is completely incapable of behaving, he argues, “But diapers are for babies. ‘M supposed to be a big boy.” 

She must have excellent self-control because she doesn’t lash out. “Having an accident does not mean you are a baby. It just means you need a little help. And that’s what we want to do, help you.”

It’s humiliating to even talk about and he realizes that must be the point. Just another layer to punishment. Mr. Wayne just can’t seem to run out of them, endless consequences for his endless naughtiness.

So he agrees. He’ll wear the diapers. 

That’s when the real discipline begins. 

She straightens in her seat, her pheromones carefully neutral in a way that makes Tim’s already sensitive teeth lay on edge. “Now, if you consent to it, I would like to examine your rash to ensure it’s not an infection. If so I would have to prescribe a special ointment to help the healing process.”

Oh. 

Tim’s finally run out of time. 

At least this is familiar in its terror. 

Dr. Leslie continues explaining the process as if Tim is a bad enough pup to not remember how to present himself. 

This time, when he pulls off his clothes, Dick isn’t here to put them back on him. He sees her put on disposable gloves and he can’t help but wonder how disgusting he must be if she can’t even bear the thought of touching without a barrier in between. Even Daddy doesn’t think that lowly of him. He gets into position, clutching the stuffed kitty against his face so he doesn’t have to see. He’ll hold on as long as she allows him. 

It’s the most familiar scenario he’s been in since coming here and he cries all the same. Big ugly sobs burst out of him, hardly muffled by the stuffie’s fur. Daddy hates it when he’s too loud, but Dr. Leslie keeps her voice gentle, hollow reassurances of doing so well, and almost over. He can’t even smell the lie when she’s reining in her pheromones so thoroughly. 

She touches him, but she doesn’t use her fingers or her mouth. She doesn’t make Tim touch her back. He doesn’t understand. His clothes are off, his undies are off, and she’s not doing the same sorta things Daddy does. 

It must be because she’s not a daddy. She must have a different way to discipline him, different from Daddy’s special punishments. He waits for her to do it, but then she says, “Okay, Timmy. You’re all done. You can put your clothes back on now.”

She didn’t do it. He was ready, crying but ready, he was presenting himself, and she still didn’t do it. Tim isn’t sure how he failed but selfishly, he is thankful for it. She doesn’t have to tell him twice before he’s scrambling to put his clothes back on. He wipes the tears away and waits for her approval. 

“You do not have an infection so you can continue to apply the rash cream as Bruce said you’d been doing. That along with pull-ups and possibly a waterproof bed mat should help your rash go away.”

Tim thanks her, voice embarrassingly wobbly, knowing he needs to be polite if he wants her to release him. He’s still attempting to ease his sobs when she calls Mr. Wayne and Alfred back in. He just can’t catch a break.

Mr. Wayne smiles and it looks far too similar to the bearing of teeth to soothe his hiccupy cries. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Tim mumbles a pathetic ‘m fine, enough for Mr. Wayne to say, “Okay. I’m going to have you go with Alfred for a bit while I talk to the doctor. Dickie and Jay are nesting in the den, you are welcome to go join them.”

Tim can’t find it in him to argue. He knows Dick doesn’t want him anymore but if Mr. Wayne doesn’t know that, he can’t risk alerting him. He’ll do what he asks, be the obedient cub. 

Mr. Wayne smiles at him, moving foward like he’s about to touch him. He’s not sure if the alpha simply thinks better of it or if his flinch is too unbecoming, because he aborts the gesture. 

“Come along my boy, let’s go find the omegas.” With a hand on his shoulder Alfred leads him away. He knows that by leaving it’s giving Dr. Leslie the perfect opportunity to tattle on him, but there’s nothing he can do to protest without getting in even more trouble. 

Tim is not allowed to go to the den until he goes potty. Somehow he has earned back the privilege of rash cream. Alfred lets him close the door and doesn’t even offer to apply it himself. The few moments alone, with only the kitty for company, does little to ease the clench in his chest. He makes quick work of finishing up and washing hands, eager to get to the den. Even if Dick doesn’t want him anymore, at least he won’t have to be alone. 

Before he’s even through the threshold of the door he hears Jason trill. His body lurches forward before his brain can make sense of it. 

Jason warbles, beckoning him forward the way only omegas can do. Tim’s pupish instincts latch onto the call immediately, leading him towards the newly made nest engulfing the entire sofa. Jason opens his arms, revealing a ruddy face with red, glassy eyes and a sniffling nose. Tim can’t help but fear the cause of Jason’s tears. Maybe Mr. Wayne punished him after all, taking advantage of Tim’s time with the doctor to discipline his son. Though Tim hardly hesitates, Jason chirps, eradicating any worry that the pack call isn’t to him. 

With such explicit permission, he crawls right in. Alfred watches from the doorway as Jason pulls him into his grasp, flopping back onto his big brother. Dick huffs out a breath at the added weight but doesn’t actually protest Tim’s presence. Tim doesn’t understand, but he’s too tired to care. Not when Jason is scenting him so thoroughly. His cheeks are damp as he nuzzles him, pressing those little glands anywhere he can reach. 

Tim looks to Dick, to see if Jason’s affection is forbidden after all. Surprisingly, Dick smiles at him, a small thing but there nonetheless. While Jason is busy rubbing his wrist over Tim’s clothes, marking him, Dick leans forward and presses a kiss to his head.

It’s only then that Tim finally gets it. 

Dick did walk away. But now he’s letting Tim come back to him. Tim must have done something right because Dick is scenting him again. Just like with Mommy, if Tim follows the rules, he’ll be granted the designated comfort. He should have known, the rules didn’t change, just the methods to receive his reward. 

If Tim could just learn their rules then maybe he’ll earn this affection again. It could be achievable, if only he can memorize the right expectations.