Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim stared at the back door of the house as the last light flickered out for the night. It was so cold. So cold. Snow melted under his paws and started to freeze again, the wind snatched every fleck of warmth from his body, and things were only getting worse.

A storm was rolling in, and he’d barely survived the last one. All alone, no skulk to protect him, no home to go back to…

He shuddered again and pressed himself closer to the tree in a vain hope it would protect him from the wind. The effect was negligible at best.

Tim was going to die if he didn’t get warm.

Tim was also going to die if the wolves caught him.

At first, Tim thought it was kindness that his dad had thrown him out the door instead of taking him to a shelter or foster care. Shifter pups weren’t safe. He would have been skinned or trafficked or worse if he’d been caught by the humans.

Instead, he was staring down the barrel of a slow, merciless death. Maybe that’s what Dad wanted to happen, Tim thought bitterly.

Not that Jack was really his father. The shifter blood must have come from someone else since it didn’t come from Jack or Janet Drake. After his mom died, Tim had managed to keep the secret for about three months. Then his dad caught him in his shift and tried to shoot him, forcing Tim to reveal himself.

The spring had been chilly, but summer hadn’t been so bad. He’d made his way into the mountains and lived off small game and berries.

He’d found this house while he was foraging one day, but he’d run off as soon as he caught the stench of wolves. He didn’t know much about being a shifter, but he knew they’d eat him if they caught him on their territory.

But they might not.

The thought had been nibbling at a corner of his mind for months, consuming him more and more the colder the wind blew and the slimmer his meals became. Now, it was almost all he could think about.

They might not, they might not, they might not.

He was too cold to be hungry anymore, but he hadn’t eaten in days, and he hadn’t eaten in days before that meal. Tim knew he was weak, and if he had the strength to be honest with himself, he could have faced the ice-cold truth that he was dying.

He’d seen the wolves the last few days as he lurked downwind and watched them.

There was an older man who could shift, but Tim had only seen him out a few times.

The next oldest was the leader, a huge black wolf who could eat fox Tim in one bite and human Tim in three.

The youngest wolf had black fur except for his white socks and the white tufts on his forehead and tail. He’d seen the boy in his human form too a few days ago. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than Tim.

Earlier today, there had been a new wolf he’d not seen before, black with a white fur collar. He was bigger than the younger wolf but smaller than the all-the-way-grown grownups, and he’d wrestled the younger one like they were just pups. While Tim had been snooping, he’d noticed a new car with a bumper sticker for a university. Someone home for Christmas break?

Tim had been desperately hoping it was later in the year than that, late January or early February, only a month or two from spring and warmer weather. If it wasn’t even the New Year yet…

It was that realization that had him staring at the house longingly so late at night. He couldn’t survive the rest of the winter. He could either die now, or die later.

But maybe they won’t.

Tim didn’t wait, but he lost time. Between closing his eyes and opening them again, he’d fallen without noticing.

Tim shuddered as he lifted his snout from the snow. One way or another, the cold ended tonight.

The wolves had cleared the woods a good distance from the house. For security or a bigger yard, Tim didn’t know. His skin crawled under the gaze of imaginary eyes as he trudged through the snow that was already up to his belly. If a predator did see him and decide to snatch him up for a snack, he’d be a patch of red in the stark white field of snow.

At first, he tried to hop through the snow, then he tried to plow his way through. Both were exhausting, and progress was terrifyingly slow. His fox form had such small legs, but if he used all his strength to shift human, he knew he wouldn’t be able to shift back for a few hours. He’d be dead by that time, and he needed to be small to get through the dog door.

By the time he reached the foot of the stairs to the deck, Tim was exhausted, sweaty, covered in snow, and colder than ever. Was the sweat actually freezing on his skin, or was he just paranoid? He didn’t have time to worry about that.

The snow must have melted slightly at some point, causing a thin layer of ice to free under the snow on the boards of the deck. Each stair took him several tries to get up, and one bad attempt knocked him down two steps.

By the time he reached the top, he felt like he’d summitted Everest. His muscles burned, and his lungs and throat were raw from panting in such low temperatures. He almost collapsed on the deck to take a brief rest, but he wasn’t sure he’d get up if he did that. He was so, so close.

Tim forced himself to place one paw in front of the other and followed the trail of much, much bigger pawprints toward the door.

He didn’t know why the wolves had put a door like this on their house. It would be too small for the adult wolves, probably just barely big enough for the youngest wolf.

It was the perfect size for Tim.

Tim pressed his nose to the door and pushed—and the flap budged. Tim stumbled back with a hysterical sense of relief. It hadn’t occurred to him till that exact moment that the door could have been blocked at night to keep out pests like raccoons and Tims.

Tim backed up, his path luckily packed down by the big heavy paws of the wolves. He crouched his front and wriggled his butt like he was stalking prey. Summoning the last of his strength, Tim sprinted toward the door, then…1, 2, 3!

Tim flung himself into the air and crashed into the doggy door. The flap opened, and Tim crashed to the tile floor inside the house.

It’s so warm.

Tim let his body shift at last into his true form. The tiles were frigid against his bare skin, and he was still damp from the snow, but the air was so warm.

He could have lain there forever, but he forced himself to get up. The wolves finding him naked on their floor the next morning would not be starting their relationship with the best foot forward.

Tim groaned and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look around the room.

It was a small room, maybe ten feet long and six feet across. On one side of the room was an ancient looking washer and dryer, and on the other side, one of those panel wall things he’d seen in fancy bedrooms in old fashioned movies.

Tim perked up once he realized the purpose of the panels. The wolves had solved a problem Tim never had quite come up with a solution for.

Every muscle in his body seethed as he picked himself up, but he was too excited. Please, please be what I think you are.

Tim was in luck, more luck than he’d had in a long time.

Behind the panels was a bench with cube shelves for storage. Inside each cube was a cloth bin with a name on it: Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Jason. In the corner of the laundry room was a small hamper with dirty clothes in it, but when he looked in the cloth bins…Yes!

Each bin had a set of clothes inside. The first one, Alfred, had fancier clothes that he was pretty sure belonged to the older guy. Bruce must have been the big wolf. His tee shirts were huge. Dick’s clothes would be way too big too, but in Jason’s bin, Tim found sweatpants, a tee shirt, socks, underwear, and a sweatshirt all two sizes too big.

Actual tears of joy and hysterical relief ran down his face.

He pulled on the clothes, and even though he had to tighten the drawstring on the pants comically tight to keep them from falling off, he couldn’t have been happier.

Tim used one of the dirty shirts in the hamper to dry his snow-damp hair. The wet only made the cold worse. Incidentally, he was also rubbing one of the wolves’ scent all over himself. That could help or hurt his cause; he didn’t know which.

Once he was as dry as he could get and covered with warm clothes, Tim faced a dilemma.

He hadn’t really thought farther ahead than this. He’d assumed that even waiting for dark, he’d be caught right away and dealt with as the leader saw fit.

I could steal a car, he thought with a stupid rush of glee. The thought was funny, but Tim didn’t know how to drive at the best of times, and with half a foot of snow already covering the roads and more falling faster and faster…these were not the best of times.

A totally different thought hit him: they’ve got food.

The hunger he hadn’t been truly feeling for days hit him like a truck. Now that his body got the faintest amount of warmth, it was on to its next priority: eating.

Tim hesitated. If the wolves caught him eating their food, they would get mad. If they got mad, Tim was dead.

But maybe they won’t.

Tim took a deep breath and opened the laundry room door, pressing deeper into the wolves’ den.

Chapter Text

Tim knew where he should go, he really did. He’d watched through the windows long enough to piece together a lot of the layout of the house.

Every night around sunset, he noticed the whole pack milling around in one of the rooms toward the back of the house; he figured that was the kitchen or dining room.

Then, if no one went outside to run around, they moved toward the room at front of the house and stayed there, so Tim expected that was the living room.

At night, the upstairs lights would flicker on and then flicker off one by one. He didn’t think any of the bedrooms were on the ground floor.

Getting near the bedrooms while the pack slept would probably end with his throat getting ripped out, especially since the pack had a pup to protect. He also knew better than to get caught near their food, really, but…

There were three doors down the hall to the left; one went to the garage and the other two were probably a closet and bathroom. Down the hall to the right was an open doorway leading right where he expected the kitchen was.

Tim dug his nails into the palms of his hands, fighting the temptation, but his mouth watered at even just the thought of food. Real, human food. Anything that wasn’t scrounge up plant scraps or a rodent.

I shouldn’t, he thought as he did.

The living room would be the best place to sit and wait. He could be patient and show that he wasn’t going to take things that he wasn’t given and go where he wasn’t wanted.

They already don’t want me here.

His chances of survival were low at best, laughably so. Even if he survived, the wolves would want him to earn his food, which would be easier if he wasn’t starving.

If he died, at least he wouldn’t die with an empty stomach.

In reality, the justifications didn’t matter. Good idea, bad idea, all he could think was that he would willingly die for a chicken tender.

Tim felt along the wall till his fingers found the light switch. He took a deep breath and flicked it on.

The kitchen stayed dark, and a light on the porch lit up.

Tim swore and flicked the light off before the wolves could notice. Now that he was committed to his short-sighted plan, he wanted to at least see it through.

The next switch controlled the hall, the next lit up behind a closed pantry door, and the next seemingly did nothing. He turned that one back off just in case and tried the last switch.

Finally, light flooded the room, revealing an meticulously tidy kitchen.

Tears of relief prickled in his eyes. It was so normal. For the first time in months, Tim was clothed in real human clothes, stepping into a real human kitchen, reaching for an apple from a real human fruit basket.

The apple’s juice ran down his chin, and he had to grab a paper towel to stop it from dripping onto the borrowed sweatshirt.

He found himself fighting a hysterical giggle at the novelty and familiarity of cleaning himself off. Even if the wolves tore him to shreds, in this moment, he felt human.

Tim devoured one apple, then another. He’d never eaten the core of an apple before, but the thought of wasting food made his stomach churn. With his hunger slightly dulled by his snack, Tim washed his hands and started hunting for something more substantial.

He opened the door to the fridge slowly so he wouldn’t rattle any bottles in the door, but it was a struggle to contain his excitement.

The fridge was orderly and packed with leftovers and ingredients and all the goodies a little fox could wish for. Tim stared into the depths of the shelves for so long the fridge dinged twice to let him know he’d had it open too long, so he reached in and grabbed a container at random, closing the door before it could ding at him again.

Tim grinned to himself as he examined his prize. Some kind of soup!

Tim put the container in the microwave with the lid askew so it could vent but wouldn’t splatter all over the place. While the soup warmed up, he searched the kitchen for a spoon.

Finding the silverware wasn’t hard, but Tim paused with his hand hovering over the spoons.

There were knives in the drawer too. Tim could hide one up his sleeve without being too obvious.

What next, though? He was trespassing and stealing. If he stabbed a homeowner, even a wolf, while committing a crime, he was pretty sure he’d go to jail forever, and that was assuming he somehow managed to kill the whole pack before they killed him.

That just wasn’t going to happen. Even if he had been strong enough to take on a whole pack of wolves, he just…he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Either they let him stay or they killed him. He didn’t want another option where he went to jail or foster care or back in the cold. All those options would be the same thing as being killed, just slowly.

No, he would stay where it was warm, or he would die.

Tim stopped the microwave before it beeped and pulled it out with a wadded-up dishtowel to insulate his hands.

Tim wanted to just pour the soup down his throat, but he wasn’t an animal right now. Instead, he sat down at the counter and tucked in with a spoon for the first time in months.

Tim’s nose wrinkled at his first bite. The taste was good, but it was too cold.

Back in the microwave for another few seconds.

When the soup came out the second time, it was too hot. Just a sip left the tip of his tongue burned.

Tim huffed and went to the freezer for some ice cubes, opening the door and pulling them straight from the bin instead of using the noisy ice dispenser.

Tim dropped the ice cubes in one at a time into the soup and stirred them till they’d melted.

Finally, the soup was just right.

Tim ate the whole container, even though his stomach started to hurt at the end. Really, there was way too much for just one serving, but Tim didn’t want to put the half-empty container back once he’d already started eating from it. He should have just poured it into a bowl, but he’d been too excited.

Tim rinsed out his dishes, but the dishwasher was clean, so he left them in the sink.

Was it time?

Tim took a deep breath and wandered out toward the front of the house. The wolves were still sleeping. He had some time to himself.

I could run.

But he couldn’t. It was just too cold, and he was done fighting. This was a surrender.

The living room was a wide, cozy space. The embers of a dying fire glowed behind the grate, casting just enough light for him to make out the two couches, the antique-looking armchair, and the coffee table.

Next to the doorway he stood in was a set of stairs that led the way up to the second floor, and across from him was the front door.

Tim found himself looking for a Christmas tree, but to his surprise, he found pumpkins on the mantle instead.

Oh god, it’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Tim’s sense of time had been completely infected by his wishful thinking.

I never would have made it.

Tim tried to hold onto that thought as he shuffled into the room. He didn’t need to fight because he couldn’t. No other options remained.

Well, there were some options. He could sit on one of the couches, or he could sit on the armchair, or he could curl up next to the fire and let the warmth soak into his bones.

He knew what he wanted.

The fire was burning low, but he found a pile of split wood beside the fireplace. The screech of metal as he pulled back the grate to toss a couple more logs in would probably wake someone up, but that wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it was, but that wasn’t the end of the world either.

When Tim went to settle, he realized that a huge dog bed had been placed just close enough to feel the warmth without being a fire hazard. Tim pulled the bed a little closer, retrieved a throw blanket from the back of the couch, and wrapped it around his shoulders.

He settled in front of the fire, sitting a bit too close. The heat burned, but it was wonderful.

Tim smiled, and he waited.

Upstairs, a door opened.

Chapter Text

Someone walked quietly down the hall upstairs, the soft scuffs of socked feet on wood getting clearer as they made their way down the steps.

Tim pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and pulled his knees to his chest, staring into the fire. The glowing embers rippled with flames that had just started to lick up the bark of the wood he’d added.

“Jay?” a deep voice called softly, gently.

Jason’s clothes were the smallest, Tim remembered. He thinks I’m the pup.

The footsteps stopped at the base of the stairs, and the wolf inhaled sharply. Even through the thick scent of the pack seeped into every fiber of the house, it would be obvious what Tim was and who he wasn’t.

He hoped they killed him quickly. Or that they wouldn’t kill him. Anything so long as they didn’t throw him back into the snow.

“Who are you?” the wolf asked, a hard edge of suspicion in his tone.

Instead of approaching Tim, he marched to the front door. The lock rattled as the man checked it, then he crossed the living room again to look in the kitchen.

Tim was surprised, finding himself alone. If he wanted to run, he could, but Tim didn’t. He would live, or he would die, and at least the suffering would be over. Until it was over, he would be warm.

The wolf returned to the room and stopped, silently observing Tim. Tim sat still, finally breaking the silence with a stifled yawn. He was tired now. Would the wolf let him sleep here, in the warmth? He could curl up on the couch and stay out of everyone’s way. No one would even have to notice him.

“Are you alone?” the wolf asked at last.

Tim nodded. Then, not sure the wolf had been able to see, he added, “Yes, sir.”

“Where is your pack?”

Tim’s nose wrinkled, but he held back the pedantic gripe about a group of foxes being a skulk, not a pack. “They don’t want me anymore.”

The wolf hmmed thoughtfully and resumed his silent vigil. After another few minutes, Tim heard him approach, stopping a few feet behind Tim.

“Look at me, pup,” the wolf said.

Tim didn’t want to, but he raised his head and uncurled enough to look behind him.

This must be Bruce, the leader. He was even bigger than Tim would have guessed from his clothes and his wolf form, looming over Tim like a predator.

Tim felt very, very small.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked him.

“I—” Tim shuddered, tears welling in his eyes as he tried to choke out the words.

He needed to get a hold of himself. He’d been fine till now! Why couldn’t he calm down?

Because he’s so big, because he could beat me and throw me back outside, because he could kill me slowly just for fun or he could shift and eat me alive or he could just drag me to the door and lock me out in the cold and let me freeze till I’m dead.

“What’s your name?”

“Tim,” he whispered. Every plea and bargain he wanted to offer wound themselves into a tight little ball lodged right in the middle of his throat.

“I’m Bruce.”

“I know,” Tim whispered. When Bruce’s brows knit in suspicion, he added, “Your—the bins. They have names.”

Bruce nodded, but the suspicion lingered. “Did someone send you here, Tim?”

“No, sir.” Tim picked at a loose thread in the seam of the blanket. Why was it so hard to meet those eyes? He wanted to look anywhere else.

“Hunters sent a pup in here once,” Bruce told him, slowly pacing in front of the fire. “They thought he would open the doors and let them in to slaughter my family. So let me ask you again, pup. Are you alone?”

He thinks I’m here to hurt them. He thinks I’m a trap.

“I—I—” The tears spilled silently down his cheeks. Why couldn’t he answer? He needed to answer this, but he couldn’t force the words.

Bruce stalked forward and knelt in front of Tim, still towering over him even in this position. One massive hand came up and gently took Tim by the chin, forcing him to meet the wolf’s eyes.

“You smell like fear,” Bruce said softly.

“It’s—” Tears ran down Tim’s cheeks and blurred his vision. “It’s cold.”

Bruce cocked his head. “What?”

“It’s—please, I didn’t—it’s so cold, please don’t make me go back out there.” Tim choked down a sob.

Once when he was little, he’d broken a cup. He’d cried at the loud noise and the way his dad swore. The words his dad snapped at him still echoed in his head.

Stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about.

He needed to make his case for the wolf not killing him now before Bruce gave him something to cry about. Bruce hadn’t even done anything yet, but Tim still couldn’t stop crying.

Tim had thought about this, about what he could offer the wolves. He could cook and clean and only eat a tiny bit, he could sleep in the garage where the wind couldn’t get him even if it was still freezing. He would do anything, he just needed to say something!

Bruce leaned forward, and Tim yelped and scrambled away, but his back hit the coffee table, and there was nowhere to go when Bruce grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him—

Into a hug.

Tim inhaled sharply and froze, waiting for the wolf to pick him up and throw him out the door, but Bruce just sat and pulled Tim into his lap.

What’s happening?

What was happening was Tim’s hands coming up to Bruce’s shirt, tentatively at first, but Bruce didn’t snap at him or push him away.

The winter wind must have blown his caution far, far away. Tim grabbed onto Bruce’s shirt and held on as tight as he could. All the stress and fear and dread that he’d been carrying since the day his dad abandoned him came out in desperate, chest-racking sobs. Tim tried to muffle his cries against Bruce’s shoulder because people were sleeping, and Tim was being so inconsiderate, but he just couldn’t.

His dad would have been so mad. All Bruce did was run his fingers through Tim’s hair.

“You’re okay, pup. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Bruce whispered.

“Bruce?” a voice called from across the room.

Tim hadn’t even heard someone approaching, but when he turned around to see who it was, he saw a young man, too old to be the pup. Bruce’s college student?

“Dick.” Bruce sounded relieved. “Come here, I need you.”

Tim whimpered, but Bruce said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Surely that meant he wasn’t going to have Dick throw him out, right?

Bruce just shushed him as Dick came closer. The younger wolf’s eyes were wide and curious, and Tim could see the moment he caught Tim’s scent.

Dick seemed more confused than angry. “B, where the hell did you get a baby fox?”

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, then paused and looked down at Tim. Tim averted his gaze. Even if the wolf had been nice, he probably wouldn’t like that Tim had snuck in through the dog door that was for his pups.

After a moment of consideration, Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know. Come here, hold him.”

Tim tightened his hold on Bruce’s shirt, but Bruce simply slipped out of it and stood up. With his shirt off, it was even clearer just how strong the wolf was.

Tim bit his tongue to keep from whining as Bruce stood up and Dick took his place. No one could do anything to him if the leader didn’t let them, and Bruce said he wouldn’t let anyone, but what if Dick got mad after Bruce left? Or what if Bruce was leaving because Tim was too annoying?

“It’s okay, puppy,” Dick soothed. “You’re okay.”

“Stay here.” Bruce patted Tim’s head like he was a good dog, and he went back upstairs.

Dick fixed the blanket back around Tim’s shoulders and draped an arm around his shoulders, sitting beside him instead of pulling Tim into his lap. Despite his nerves, Tim leaned into Dick’s side. The wolves were so so warm.

A few minutes later, Tim heard two sets of paws scurry down the stairs. A moment after that, two new wolves were sniffing Tim’s face and neck and arms.

Tim curled up and buried his face between the blanket and Dick’s shoulder, his heart climbing up his throat.

“You’re scaring him!” Dick cried indignantly. “I just go him to calm down! Shoo!”

A hand patted Tim on the head again, and Tim knew before he peeked out from under the blanket that it was Bruce.

Bruce smiled at him before shifting his attention to Dick.

“Alfred and I are going to search the territory, make sure there aren’t any hunters—”

“There aren’t!” Tim cried. “Please, I promise!”

“Thank you, pup,” Bruce said, but he wasn’t looking at Tim. “You and Jason stay here and look out for Tim.”

Dick nodded. “Be safe.”

The younger pup laid down on Tim’s other side and laid down, almost instantly going to sleep. At least, he appeared to. The pup’s ears and nose twitched, giving away that he was still keeping watch.

They didn’t believe Tim, but they didn’t seem too angry either. Tim sniffled and curled back up against Dick. All he could do was hope that Bruce and Alfred weren’t too mad at him that they had to go run around in the middle of the night in freezing temperatures for nothing.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Dick promised. “Even if there are hunters, Bruce and Alfred are really strong. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

Tim fell asleep to the crackling of the fire and distant howls carried by the wind. He was warm, full, and exhausted.

When he woke, his face was buried in black fur. He raised his head and found himself slumped over Jason’s shoulder.

Around him, three other wolves were curled up. Bruce and Alfred must have gotten back sometime between the middle of the night and what was probably the early morning based on the soft light seeping through the sheer curtains. Dick must have also shifted sometime after Tim fell asleep.

He couldn’t help but notice that no one could have gotten to Tim and Jason without stepping on one of the bigger wolves.

Tim yawned. He was still tired, and he shouldn’t be poking around the house when no one else was awake.

After a moment of hesitation, Tim shifted into his fox form. He’d be stuck like this for a while, but he was going back to sleep anyway, and everyone else was already shifted.

Tim wriggled his way free of the sweatshirt and curled back up against Jason’s side to go back to sleep.

Jason stirred, yawned, and opened one eye.

Tim froze.

Tim thought Jason was going to leave. Instead, he bit the throw blanket from last night, dragged it back over Tim, and settled back down.

Enveloped in warmth, surrounded by a pack—a family—Tim closed his eyes and fell back asleep.