Chapter Text
“He cannot give us any more heirs! He is useless!” A voice hissed. It was familiar to Bruce, but he couldn’t place it, not with how fuzzy his head was. He couldn’t even open his eyes.
“You know that isn’t his-“
“I don’t care. Dispose of him.”
Bruce was dying, he was sure of it. His entire body was ablaze in pain, and he was missing something, someone. Something was wrong.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Beloved.”
—
Alfred had gotten a text on his personal phone from Bruce’s number. He did keep up with modern technology, mind you. He hadn’t heard from Bruce in months, though not from a lack of him trying. He texted and called him often, though all went unanswered. He kept the manor running, and in the last few years as his charge had been gallivanting across the world, they’d set up tours of the Wayne manor, for passive income, along with what came in from WE.
This text did not come from Bruce. That much was obvious.
‘He will arrive at the Gotham airport around nine pm on a private plane. He is not in good health. -T’
It was a worrying message. No one would deny that. And at six in the morning, no less! This left him with the entire day to stew in his unease, and to prep the manor. He called a few numbers to get all upcoming Wayne manor tours cancelled and tickets refunded. He wasn’t sure what ‘not in good health’ entailed, but he didn’t like the sound of it. He called Leslie, and asked if she would be busy around nine tonight, and explained what he knew.
Which led them to where they are now. They had to be prepared for anything, with how little information they had been given. Leslie had brought over multiple bags of IV fluids, both normal saline and others that were medicated, as well as several units of blood, and a small pharmacy’s worth of medications. Alfred already had anything they would need for bandaging, as well as most surgery tools and an operating room they may need–though he hoped they didn’t need to go that far. (Thomas had made sure the manor had those when he was alive, and it was easy enough to keep the materials up-to-date.)
Now they were at the airport, on the tarmac in the town car, anxiously awaiting as a small private jet pulled up to the hangar they were in front of. As soon as the jet was parked, they both shot out of the car, leaving it running as they hurried to the plane, waiting for the steps to be lowered. When the steps hit the ground they both basically ran up them and inside the plane. Immediately, they were hit with an overwhelming scent of blood mixed with the sweet vanilla espresso that was Bruce’s scent.
The plane was staffed with a handful of people dressed in uniforms that Alfred recognized. The recognition led to confusion. What had Bruce gotten himself into?
They finally reached said man, who was slumped over on a couch, and far too pale for either his or Leslie’s liking. He looked as if he had been haphazardly dressed, in sweatpants and a too large shirt that fell to his thighs. The boy, the man, that Alfred had raised, looked close to death.
“Bruce!” Alfred gasped, hurrying to his side. He pressed a couple fingers to his wrist, seeing Leslie do the same on the other side. It was easy to find, to their relief, though it was thready and weird. While they couldn’t see any blood on him, the scent of it was coming from Bruce.
“Bruce, can you walk?” Leslie asked, squeezing his hand. Bruce moaned in pain, which answered the question well enough. Alfred lifted his arm and ducked under it, and Leslie did the same.
Getting off the plane was a slow process, but they did it. The staff on the plane didn’t interact with them, besides a short nod in response to Alfred’s own nod towards one of them.
They all but poured him into the backseat and Leslie sat with him while Alfred got into the driver's seat. As soon as he was buckled up and Leslie gave him the okay, he took off as fast as he could without jostling around the two in the backseat.
About halfway back to the manor, after Leslie had successfully gotten vitals and was finishing up drawing some blood to run labs, Bruce slurred out some words.
“Pup. Where is- where-“ He got out, before falling quiet again with a pained expression.
Alfred’s brows furrowed, and he looked into the rearview mirror at Leslie, who looked just as confused.
Leslie had a horrifying thought creeping into her brain, and she hoped it was wrong. She lifted the shirt Bruce was wearing and slipped the waistband of his pants down a few inches, revealing a slightly swollen looking stomach, and what looked to be a hastily bandaged incision that was starting to bleed through. A, what looked like, Pfannenstiel incision for a cesarean section.
It felt like her breath had been punched out of her, and she reached forward to press down on his abdomen, feeling for his fundus. Bruce yelled in pain, an agonized cry falling from his lips.
Immediately, the scent of blood flared up, filling the car, and Leslie froze as she couldn’t feel his fundus.
“Alfred, speed up.” She said, and started to murmur apologies to Bruce as she kept feeling, dread filling her more as she kept failing to find his fundus, or the rest of his uterus.
She finally pulled her hands away from his stomach, and saw the incision was heavily seeping with blood now, and that his pants were damp, with what she assumed was blood, by the scent.
What had been done to him? And… where was his pup?
“Alfred, we need to perform surgery on him immediately, when we get back.” She said.
—
Alfred had never been more relieved to put Bruce to bed. After a several hours long surgery with him and Leslie fixing the utter hack job that had happened inside Bruce when they had taken his pup and his uterus, they were exhausted. They had cleaned the younger man up, and he was a couple blood transfusions in now, and he was laying in his own bed, and given pain medication.
It was obvious the man had been pregnant, and based on the various things Leslie’s blood tubes had tested, he had probably been full term. Something had very obviously gone wrong. But they couldn’t ask Bruce, he could barely keep himself conscious for more than a minute. They would have to wait until he was healthier.
—
It was a slow recovery. Once Bruce was healthy enough to stay conscious and eat something, he explained what had happened. His labor had been progressing until the placenta detached from the uterine wall and he started to bleed heavily. He had to have a cesarean section, and his bleeding wouldn’t stop, and they’d taken his uterus.
Bruce remembered the cries of his pup. They were loud, indicating he had strong lungs. Other than the cries of his pup, he remembered pain. They had elected to not medicate him for the procedure.
He hadn’t been able to greet, kiss, or even feed his pup.
After he healed enough, his stomach had mostly flattened out, and his unused milk ducts had dried up, he decided to take back his parents' company. The shell CEO running the company had done an okay job, but it was time for them to get back to business. Newspapers, tabloids, and gossip magazines were all over it.
The days were hard, and the nights even harder. Bruce went to bed each night, feeling as if a part of him was missing. His pup, the child he grew, was taken from him. His heart ached for the loss of his child. It took a lot to get him up every morning, instead of wallowing and rotting in bed until he died like he wished he could do. At least he could fall back on his excessive partying alibis. His dark circles and lack of a happy face could be explained away by a hangover. His scent couldn’t, however, so he was heavily scent patched when he was out of the house.
This led him to the gala he had begrudgingly agreed to host tonight, as it had been a gala held by his family for years before he was even of age. Everyone who was someone in Gotham, and even some families from Metropolis attended.
He had been nursing his glass of fake champagne for a while now, greeting all of his guests. He was in full Brucie mode tonight, having stayed home all day for ‘gala preparations’. He had been saving up his emotional battery to make sure he appeared normal to the public at such an event.
He needed a breather by now, and took his glass with him as he went to step in the hallway. He was met with the Drake family and their pup, all of whom had unpleasant expressions on their faces. Their poor pup was crying, and neither parent was getting him to settle.
Bruce’s chest ached. His hand tightened around his champagne flute and he stepped forward.
“Oh, Janet, Jack! How nice to see you both. Is this little Timothy I’ve heard so much about?” He asked politely, and both Janet and Jack froze at his words, as if they hadn’t noticed him entering the hallway.
“Yes, Mr. Wayne. Sorry about him, he’s been so fussy tonight.” Janet apologized, waving a hand.
Bruce shook his head. “No, no apologies necessary! Do you mind if I try?” He asked, setting his glass on a table and holding out his hands. Jack seemed relieved to have the crying toddler out of his arms, and the speed in which the toddler was now in his arms could be read as a bit concerning. Nonetheless, Bruce felt something settle inside himself as Tim was in his arms, and his big, watery blue eyes looked up at him.
Tim was no longer crying. Bruce soothingly rubbed a hand up and down his back, and looked to the two parents, who looked almost dumbfounded. “I can keep an eye on him for a while if you’d like? Please, enjoy the party.”
Bruce was more than happy to sit here and hold this baby. Honestly, Tim was probably tired. It was getting pretty late. The two hesitated, feeling awkward about putting their child on to the host of the gala, but Bruce waved them away again, and they finally agreed. They headed back into the ballroom, and Bruce stood there for a moment, looking down at Tim as he looked back up at Bruce. Then, Tim promptly set his head on Bruce’s shoulder and snuggled up to him. Tim’s powdery, milky scent wafted to his nose, the fresh scent of pup calming Bruce’s nerves. Tension leaked out of his bones.
He might cry, right now. He is crying right now, actually. Tears fell from his eyes, and he quickly swiped them away with his free hand, and hugged Tim closer to his chest.
They stayed in the hallway for a while, Tim fully falling asleep against his chest, and Bruce was reveling in the affection. This was everything he’d been begging the universe for.
He kept Tim in his arms as he walked back into the ballroom, and took a seat at a table in the corner, watching the rest of the attendees enjoy the party, drinking and laughing and dancing. He had a hand against Tim’s back, feeling his soft breathing, in and out, all over again. He could feel a quiet purr start up in his chest, and the toddler seemed to relax even more against him.
They sat like that until the gala was over. Actually over, as in, everyone had left, including the Drake’s. Bruce had spaced out, staring into space as time passed, and only when Alfred had cleared his throat, did he blink and come back to the real world. Tim was still in his arms. He looked around, and the room was empty of everyone else.
“The Drakes departed for the evening a while ago. They seemed quite inebriated.” Alfred said curtly, and Bruce nodded. He stood up, keeping an arm steadily wrapped around the pup in his arms.
“He can spend the night, I don’t mind. Do we still have my baby clothes in the attic?” He asked, and Alfred nodded. He set off to his own room, and to his en-suite to brush his teeth. Once he was done, he looked down at the child in his arms, frowning a little.
“Timmy, sweetheart, can you wake up for me?” He murmured to the baby in his arms, jostling him lightly. It took a moment, but the boy woke up, squinting up at Bruce.
“Hi, baby, can I see your mouth? Do you have teeth in there?” Bruce asked, bringing a thumb up to pull his bottom lip down to see how many teeth he had. Tim had a whole mouthful, sure enough, so they had to be brushed. He dug through the drawers in the bathroom until he found a new toothbrush, and wet it, and placed a small amount of toothpaste on it, and brought it to Tim’s mouth.
“This is probably a much bigger toothbrush than you’re used to, but I've got to take care of you.” He said while gently brushing his teeth. The toothbrush did look a little comical in the two year olds mouth, but there wasn’t anything that could be done about it tonight. Once they were done and he had helped Tim rinse his mouth, he took the boy back out to his room and his mess of a nest.
He grabbed the pair of pajamas he had tossed on a chair that morning and set the boy down in his nest. He was quick to get himself out of the stuffy gala clothes, and slid his soft pajamas on. He turned to Tim and started to help him out of his gala clothes. He didn’t even know they made little suits like this. He wanted to cry over it, it was so cute.
When he had him stripped down to his diaper, Bruce froze. They didn’t have diapers.
Alfred stepped into the room, and chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on Bruce’s face.
“Master Bruce, we have some old cloth diapers as a replacement for now. I procured a package of wipes, as well.” He said, walking closer to the bed and placing his findings on the edge of the nest. A cloth diaper, a package of wipes, and a pajama set that looked to be about Tim’s size.
Bruce nodded at the items, and guided Tim to lay down so he could change his diaper. Alfred assisted a little with securing the cloth one, since Bruce had no idea what he was doing with that. They got him dressed after that, and Bruce pulled Tim back into his arms, sighing almost in relief at the closeness of the pup. Alfred smiled fondly at them, and placed the wipes on his dresser, as well as a second cloth diaper for the morning, and bid them a good night.
Now left alone, Bruce looked down at Tim, who was probably about a minute from falling back asleep. He sighed, and crawled into his nest. He situated Tim next to him as he laid down, and pulled a blanket over them, and pulled the cord to his bedside lamp to plunge the room into darkness, besides the moonlight filtering in through the window.
In the cloak of the night, he wondered, who would do such a thing to their pup? To forget them? To leave them somewhere? What if Bruce was someone else? What if they wanted to kidnap, or hurt Tim?
The thought made his throat constrict with a growl that he pushed down before it could come out, not wanting to scare Tim.
–
The next morning was simple. Tim was a fairly easy toddler. Alfred made him waffles, which the boy was ecstatic about. After breakfast, the boy had toddled over to Alfred and hugged his leg, giving him a rather concise ‘thank you’. Alfred had nearly cried.
Bruce took the boy to bathe him from the syrup that had gotten all over, and dress him for the day. Their time was coming to an end, unfortunately. After getting him ready, he took the boy back downstairs, and Alfred was already waiting for them, a small bag with Tim’s gala clothes inside. Bruce’s demeanor wilted, but he knew it had to happen. He couldn’t keep the boy from his real parents.
The drive over to Drake manor was short, and Bruce held Tim in his lap. If they weren’t his neighbors, he’d have sent Alfred off to pick up a carseat. Both he and Alfred walked up to the front door, and Alfred knocked. It took a moment, but Janet Drake answered the door, looking surprised to see them.
“Oh, Bruce! I’m so sorry! Please, forgive us!” She apologized as she saw he was holding her son.
“It was no issue for me to watch him overnight, Janet.” Bruce assured her. In fact, he wanted to keep him forever, but he couldn’t have that. “As it was explained to me, you and Jack enjoyed the party as I had instructed you two to do. I figured it was probably better for him to just stay with me for the night.” He explained, and Janet flushed a little, in embarrassment. She opened her arms for her son, and Bruce handed him over, his jaw tightening a little.
“Thank you for keeping an eye on him. We really do appreciate it.” She said.
Bruce waved a hand. “It was no problem. Actually, I know you and Jack go off to digs often. If you don’t mind, I can watch him for you while you’re off doing that?” He asked. She raised an eyebrow almost skeptically, which was fair, considering his whole… Brucie thing. He chuckled bashfully.
“I’ve always had a soft spot for children, being an omega. Plus, I’ve been cutting back on all my partying. I actually wasn’t drinking last night. I’m thinking of settling down.” He said, keeping his words carefully vague. He knew Janet would probably tell that to someone, and it would end up in the tabloids soon. Whatever. He didn’t care, as long as he could hold Tim close to his chest again.
Janet seemed to soften at his words, and she nodded. “That’s very generous of you, Bruce. I’m sure we will take you up on that. We’ll be in contact, okay?” She said, and Bruce nodded. Alfred handed her the bag with Tim’s clothes, and they exchanged a quick goodbye.
—
They did end up taking up Bruce on the offer, and within a month, the boy was there to stay for a couple months. Once it was official, Alfred had brought him the paperwork to become a foster parent. It hadn’t been something Bruce had thought of, but he had agreed, and met all of the qualifications as quickly as he could.
About a year after that, during one of Bruce’s months-long stints of watching Tim(that seemed to be getting longer and longer), they decided to go to the circus.
Tim was very excited about it. The now three year old was running about the manor, spouting all of the things he knew about elephants. Bruce had been very shocked by how smart Tim was when he started to take care of the pup, but he quickly grew used to it.
“Timmy, sweetheart, we can’t go to the circus if you’re not dressed!” Bruce said with an eyebrow raised. Tim stared back at him with wide eyes, almost as if he had forgotten, and made a mad dash back to his room. Bruce followed him, a smile on his face. He liked having a child in the house, but the short stints of time where Tim was back with Jack and Janet were hard for him. He supposed, he was a foster parent now, so he could take in a foster or two. Though, that wouldn't work well with his night life…
Bruce met Tim in his room, where the toddler was ripping through his dresser. Bruce knew what he was looking for, as they had pulled it out earlier that morning, knowing the boy wanted to wear it. He plucked the elephant shirt off the top of the dresser, as well as the pair of shorts that went with them.
“This is what you’re looking for, baby.” He said, and Tim looked up at what Bruce held out, his eyes widening in wonder.
“Yes! Thank you, maman!” He said with a big smile, and Bruce’s heart squeezed at the word. He let Tim change himself, as the kid loved to be independent, he just wanted to make sure his clothes were not inside out and his shoes were on the right feet. Tim had started to call him maman a couple months into Bruce watching him. It made his heart hurt, because Tim wasn’t his. He was a temporary guardian, even if he did watch the pup more than his own parents. It wasn’t even that Tim didn’t refer to his own parents as his parents. He called them mother and father, which seemed oddly formal for a three year old, but both Janet and Jack seemed satisfied with that. He also knew the toddler didn’t speak much to either of them. They knew he could speak, and they had seemed shocked when Bruce said Tim spoke often to him, and especially in French. It made something churn in his gut; something was wrong there, but he didn’t have any proof. Either way, he couldn’t discourage the boy from calling him maman, he couldn’t. He was raising this boy, more than the boy's own parents were. Hell, he was the one potty training him.
Once he was dressed, they headed back downstairs and to the garage, where Alfred awaited, packing the trunk with a bag of things for Tim, filled with snacks, a couple toys, a set of backup clothes, and some pullups and wipes. He was mostly potty trained at this point, but going out to events like this were still hard on him.
“Circus! Circus! Circus!” Tim cheered, and Bruce hummed as he picked the boy up as they approached the car.
“That’s right, Timmy, we’re going to the circus. Time to get in the car, okay?” He said, and opened the back door to place Tim into his carseat. Tim went willingly, knowing Alfred wouldn’t move the car unless he was safely buckled up. That was a lesson Tim had learned the hard way, when Alfred was supposed to bring him to an indoor playground one day. Bruce had come home to a crying Tim that day. But, consequences!
The drive wasn’t terribly long, as the circus wasn’t in the city, but just outside of it. They spent the first couple hours stopping at a handful of food stands and playing the games that had been set up. Tim was having the time of his life.
When it was time for the circus show, they filed into the big tent, and Tim cheered when Bruce announced that he had gotten them front row seats. They took their seats, and he bounced the toddler on his knee as he squirmed around, excited for the show.
The show started with the normal fanfare, the acrobats and animal controllers coming out to greet the crowd. Tim watched it all raptly, cheering and clapping when appropriate. He cheered especially loudly when the elephants came out. Bruce was glad he had bought a stuffed elephant for him at one of the stands earlier.
The second half was the acrobatic show, the heavily advertised Flying Graysons coming out when they were announced, and Tim screeched when he saw the young boy, the Grayson couple's son. The boy hadn’t realised kids could be a part of the circus, too! Maybe Bruce should buy him a shirt of The Flying Graysons before they left.
But that’s when things went wrong. Midway through their act, the older two of the trio, the parents, took a leap, and their lines didn’t stop their descent.
Bruce saw it happen, the moment their confident fall became fearful, terrified. He was thankful for his quick reflexes, and he put his hand over Tim’s eyes, using that grip to pull the boy’s head to his chest to cover his ears. He made it just in time, as he pressed one of Tim’s ears to his chest and his hand sealed over the other one right before they met the ground. He flinched heavily when it happened.
It was a horrifying sound, and screams sounded from around him, and from the child down in the ring with them. He turned around, eyes wide, to see his parents dead on the ground, blood pooling around their bodies.
He couldn’t sit here. Bruce couldn’t sit here and watch this. He flinched as the death of his own parents came to the forefront of his mind. He handed Tim to Alfred and jumped the fence separating the stands from the circus ring. He ran to the young boy, standing there in shock, fat tears rolling down his face, and pulled him into his arms, turning him away from the sight.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, pup. You’re not alone, I’m right here. I won’t leave you alone. Don’t look, please don’t look.” He whispered to the kid, holding him securely, one hand coming up to grip his nape, and the boy shuddered into a sob, arms coming up to grip onto Bruce’s shirt. He pumped calming pheromones into the air, unable to keep himself from crying.