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Tim wasn’t Bruce’s kid. He wasn’t confused about where they stood: Tim was Bruce’s employee, and not even his favorite employee. Alfred was definitely winning employee of the month every time, and Tim was second-best employee of the month (Dick was more of an independent contractor.)
So when Bruce started smelling extra sweet and responding just a little slower to things, Tim had expected Bruce to go upstairs and make his nest. Bruce did, of course, telling Tim to get a snack from Alfred.
Tim traced his finger over the cold marble countertops and nibbled on his scrambled eggs and toast. It was getting kind of cold and gross as he finished the last bites, and Alfred was going to think he was ungrateful and picky if he didn’t choke it down.
He didn’t even know what he was waiting for. Tim wasn’t pack. This wasn’t his home. His house was waiting for him.
Alfred paused in his tidying of the already immaculate kitchen to check a text, chuckling when he read the message.
“It appears Master Bruce requires more blankets for his nest,” Alfred told him, smiling indulgently. “If you will excuse me a moment.”
Alfred slipped from the kitchen with his usual quiet grace, leaving Tim alone.
Tim sighed and considered his snack. He could throw it away, but Alfred would find out. Even if he didn’t find out, Tim would be worried that he had found out and held it against Tim without telling him.
Tim choked down the rest of the toast and eggs and put his plate in the dishwasher, then he finished wiping down the counter Alfred had been cleaning…
He considered sweeping, but he didn’t see any dirt on the floor, and what if Alfred was insulted, like he came back and found Tim acting like his house wasn’t clean?
Tim exhaled deeply through his nose and leaned on the counter. Normally, Alfred would drive him home after patrol. He’d spent the night a few times if patrol had gone super late, or like the time he’d hit his head and Alfred had insisted he stay in case he’d had a concussion.
Tim had had a concussion, but he also got to watch old fashioned TV with Bruce the next day. He didn’t remember any of the show, but he did remember the offhanded, thoughtless way Bruce had tucked Tim under his shoulder and scented him for a moment.
Of course, then he remembered Bruce having to step out of the room, reeking of grief. Tim couldn’t help but feel bad that one of the best moments of his life had been when Bruce forgot that Tim wasn’t his kid right before remembering that his actual kid was dead.
Now Bruce was in heat, and Tim was fishing for an invite into the nest. That was what he was doing; there was no way to hide from the truth anymore. Tim wanted Bruce to let him in the nest because only an omega’s pups got to be in the nest and be held and scented and loved, and Tim wanted that.
I want to steal love from a grieving omega during his heat. That was pretty low, even for Tim.
Tim pushed off the counter, picked up his school bag, and walked for the front door. Alfred was busy caring for Bruce since Alfred was actually pack. He might even be in the nest already, and Bruce probably needed him there for emotional support.
Tim wanting them to notice him was self-centered and stupid. They had a pack.
They were a pack.
There just wasn’t room in that pack, in that nest, for Tim.
Tim did not make a nest in his bed. It was just that he was extra cold, so he’d pulled the blankets off his parents’ bed. It didn’t smell like them.
The pang in his chest wasn’t disappointment about the blankets not smelling like his parents or not being included in Bruce’s nest…
Tears stung in his eyes. The denial in his head didn’t reach his scent. He smelled miserable and disappointed and lonely because he was miserable and disappointed and lonely, and no one was even around to notice.
He wanted his mom. She wasn’t very physically affectionate, but he thought about the time he’d broken his arm and she’d carried him to the car, all the while yelling at his dad for letting Tim climb on the garden wall. He remembered the worry in her alpha scent and the way she kept scenting him on the drive over.
Then the doctor had said he had a simple fracture and no concussion or internal organ injury, and all that worry had turned to cold anger. She’d barely talked to him the rest of the week that they’d been in town.
She left without saying goodbye.
Tim sniffled and rolled over, pulling the blankets up to his neck to cover his sad scent, because the more he smelled sad, the more he remembered that no one cared.
Footsteps down the hall had Tim jumping to attention. His hand slid to the knife he kept under his pillow—a long folding knife, not a batarang because that would be too suspicious. Who could be in his house without setting off the alarms?
His throat constricted with anxiety. Maybe it was a thief. They might be looking for the valuable relics his parents kept in the house, or…
But they were coming right for his room.
Tim slipped from bed, unfolding the knife and readying himself for a fight as they drew closer and closer…
What?
Tim recognized the rhythm of the footsteps as Bruce, but Bruce was in bed in Wayne Manor, so that didn’t make any sense. Did a random burglar just happen to walk the exact same way as—
The door flew open, and the scent of omega-heat heralded Bruce’s arrival even before he stepped into view.
Tim clicked on his lamp. “Bruce?”
Bruce’s face glistened and his eyes were glazed. He was fully in heat. Tim didn’t know a lot about omegas, but he knew that omegas wanted to be in their nest or at least in their territory during their heats. Why would Bruce even be in Tim’s house?
Bruce scented the air, his nose wrinkling with disgust. Tim folded the knife and put it away sheepishly. He didn’t think his room smelled that bad, just kind of like axe-body spray and maybe a bit gloomy.
“Tim.” Bruce frowned. “Why are you here?”
“Wh—you mean in my house?” Tim blinked in surprise. He lived here. He always came back here after patrol. Maybe this was some kind of omega-heat-confusion thing?
Bruce tilted his head. “You should be in my nest.”
Tim’s heart swelled and his eyes glistened. That was…it was everything he wanted to hear, but—he remembered the moment Bruce had realized what he was doing, scenting Tim.
Tim bit his lip and shook his head, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Bruce, I’m not…”
“I know you’re not, that’s why I’m here to get you,” Bruce said simply.
Tim wanted to. So so badly, he wanted to go back to Wayne Manor and play pretend as Bruce Wayne’s newest kid, but he wasn’t, and the second that Bruce realized that would just hurt more for both of them.
Bruce picked his way through Tim’s messy room until he was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at Tim.
Bruce chirped, an omega sound to call a pup.
Tim swallowed around a lump in his throat, but he shook his head. “I’m not your pup, Bruce.”
Bruce frowned. “Yes, you are.”
Tim’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re in heat, B. It’s making you—”
“I know who my own damn pups are,” Bruce interrupted. He chirped again, more insistently.
Tim hesitated. Bruce really wanted Tim to go with him. There was an edge of distress in his scent that was getting worse the longer Tim refused to go back to Wayne Manor.
Tim whined without meaning to. He wanted to go with Bruce. More than anything, he wanted to believe that Bruce really felt this way and actually wanted Tim to be in his nest because Tim was pack.
He just wants me because I’m small and kid-shaped and he misses his kid.
…Tim…Tim realized that he could live with that.
It might be terrible and selfish, but even if Bruce realized later that he actually didn’t want Tim, Tim could handle the rejection if it meant having a memory of being treated like Bruce’s actual kid.
Like he was actually pack.
Bruce walked up to him and picked Tim up, and…Tim exhaled deeply and let himself melt against Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce smelled like a parent, sweet and strong and protective. The stress in his scent was melting away now that he had Tim in his arms, and Tim just couldn’t help but pray there wouldn’t be a turn a few hours later when Bruce realized Tim wasn’t in any real danger.
Bruce carried Tim back to the car idling in the driveway. Alfred stepped around the side of the car and opened the door for Bruce. Normally, he would have opened the door for Tim too, but Bruce wasn’t letting go of him, so they were apparently going to be sitting together.
“Master Tim,” Alfred scolded lightly. “You should have told me if you wanted to go home. I would have told you how fruitless the endeavor would be.”
Tim sniffled and nodded, trying not to show in his scent or face how much that little comment affected him, because maybe he was hearing wrong, but it sounded to him like Alfred knew Bruce cared about Tim. At the very least, Alfred could have told Tim even before talking to heated-up Bruce that Bruce would want Tim in his nest, which meant that maybe the wanting Tim was real.
Maybe.
Alfred drove them home, and Bruce wasted no time carrying Tim all the way back up to Bruce’s room. Tim wasn’t sure Alfred meant to get pulled into the nest too, but he hadn’t been able to escape fast enough. Bruce had dumped Tim in the nest and pulled a blanket over him, then he’d left and returned a few minutes later with Alfred in-tow.
“Yes, yes, just get here soon,” Alfred was saying to someone on the phone. “He fetched Tim himself, but thank you for offering. Yes. Of course, we will see you soon, Master Dick.”
Tim fought the urge to grin, but the warm and fuzzy sensation was almost enough to make him think he was in heat. Bruce wanted him, Alfred knew it, even Dick did. That had to mean it was real, even if it was only on an instinctual level.
Bruce swept Tim up into his arms and purred, rubbing his scent on Tim. Instincts Tim rarely noticed were purring right along with Bruce. Was this what having a pack was like all the time? Tim turned his head so Bruce could scent him more thoroughly. He might actually melt.
“My pup,” Bruce purred contentedly.
Tim didn’t know what to say, so he just nuzzled under Bruce’s chin. This was okay for him to do because Bruce wanted him to act like that. Bruce wanted Tim to act like his pup.
Bruce wanted Tim.
It wouldn’t last. Bruce would come to his senses when his heat was over and Tim would go back to his cold, lonely house, but at least for a few days, Tim wasn’t alone.
Tim, for the first time in a long time, had a pack.