Chapter Text
Timothy is not a puppy — really, he isn't! His mommy and daddy told him so, which means it's true. And only puppies whine and cry and chirp and nest — he especially isn't a nestling, his mommy makes sure of it. There is only one pillow on his bed and one blanket to make sure he doesn't turn out to be one, because nestling was just another word for incompetent. Mommy taught him that, and she doesn't want an incompetent puppy.
Of course Timothy agrees, how couldn't he? Mommy is always right, even when everyone else thinks she's wrong. A lot of people think Timothy is a puppy! No matter how much he tries to explain that he isn't, they still coo and talk to him like he's an itty bitty nestling. (It's honestly a little offensive to Timothy.)
Though what Tim can't deny is how soothing he finds the primitive noises his mommy hates so much. When Mommy and Daddy leave him at home, whether that be for a business dinner or to travel for a bit, Tim steals a few blankets from the hall closet and bundles up with them. It makes him feel guilty, but not as guilty as when he gets his tablet to listen to chuffs and croons and pretends like it's his mommy making those noises for him.
Sometimes, if he's feeling particularly naughty, Tim practices his own noises. Soft wines, quiet mewls, barely-there purrs. If his mommy or daddy ever found out, he's sure they'd be really really mad. Especially about the purring.
He's practiced other noises too, like trills and warbles and chirps. Though he doesn't quite understand what they mean. It still feels nice, a pleasant sensation against his vocal cords, and it soothes something in his head. The desperate and needy feeling goes away for a little bit, which makes him happy because Mommy and Daddy hate when he acts desperate or needy.
Though when that didn't work, he would get a glass of milk and heat it in the microwave, then drink it as he played the noises and pretend like he was one of the pups he's seen on TV shows, curled up in their mommy's lap, nursing while they made soft crooning noises at their pups like they were the only thing in the world.
Tim loved those TV shows. He wished his parents would let him be an actor sometimes just so he'd have someone who held him like that, called him “Tim" instead of “Timothy," even if it was fake.
But that wasn't going to happen, no matter how much Tim wanted it.
That didn't stop him from daydreaming though. Dreaming about a family that had an omega mama and a nest that Tim could crawl into anytime he wanted. And the omega would always be happy to see him, even if he'd been bad. Maybe even scent him or, at the very least, not make him wear those itchy scent patches that sting his sensitive skin.
Mommy and Daddy said it was best he gets used to them early on in life, no matter how much he complains about how red and puffy they are. They're like two, firm, red, stones stuck where his neck meets his shoulder. Any amount of pressure on them had Tim's eyes swelling with tears, which the scent patches only made worse. But he wouldn't dare complain again, Mommy made it very clear she wouldn't put up with him if he said another word about the issue.
-
Timothy is all dressed up in the little tux that his parents had tailored for him a year ago. The basic white button up is itchy against his delicate skin, and his black vest is too tight around his chest. It made his breaths shorter, making him feel trapped. And neither of them did anything to keep in his quickly fading warmth.
Mommy says it's only too tight because he's been eating too much. But then she ran her fingers through his hair and Tim could forget about the constrictive vest and rough shirt for a moment. It was only to fix his hair, he knew that, but he pretended it was for a different reason. Like it was an affectionate action.
The same way he pretended to like his daddy's work friends. They were loud and smiled too sharply and constantly bumped into Timothy or stepped on his foot. Though he didn't like mommy's work friends either. They always acted as if he was a little kitten and nothing more than an accessory to his mommy's outfit, which, in a way, he wasn't. Mommy only bothered bringing him if it would make her look good.
After hours of being dragged back and forth between both groups, Tim was having a hard time smiling and pretending. He was even having a hard time just standing up. It was late, if the moon-lit sky was anything to go off of, and Tim wanted to go home. To go to bed. To curl up under his blanket and ignore how chilly his room had gotten recently.
Though it wasn't entirely his mommy’s or daddy's fault, he chose to go out the night prior and chase vigilantes around the city, snapping pictures. If he had stayed in for a full night's rest, maybe he would be able to be a good son now.
Which he would've done, if he knew they'd be back or were taking him with them. They came home earlier than he expected, their work trip ended earlier than they anticipated and the Waynes had just so happened to be hosting a gala. And whenever the Waynes host a gala, Timothy becomes Mommy’s favorite accessory. Something about a “true heir” and the only blood related son of Bruce's being a “bastard.”
But Tim was so out of it, he didn't notice a pup, who seemed to be a little older than Tim, standing next to him, until he spoke up.
“You are Timothy, yes?” The older boy asked, looking down at the smaller pup.
Tim, startled, whipped his head over to look at where the voice emanated from. His blue eyes caught green ones.
The next Robin was talking to him.
Or, who his mommy would call, the bastard.
Tim liked “the next Robin" more than “the bastard" though.
Oh, the next Robin said something to Tim. More specifically; the next Robin asked Tim a question!
The Next Robin Asked Tim A Question!
Just the thought would have had Tim fan girling but the actual action of it happening? He thought his heart would explode.
“You have the ideal appearance; black hair; blue eyes. Hmm… Yes, you will do just fine,” Robin-in-tr— Damian Wayne said to him. “Come along Timothy.” He requested (demanded?) before turning sharply on his heels and stalking off into the crowd, only pausing and looking back when he noticed the younger boy hadn't followed after him.
Tim was still wrapping his head around the fact that the [next Robin] was talking to [him]. He must be dreaming, but, even if he was, he wouldn't want to miss whatever is it the vigilante-in-training wanted to show him. So, with a deep breath, he stepped forward and quickly pattered after Damian who started walking again once Tim had started to follow.
They weaved through other Gotham elitists, some cooing at the pair while others didn't bat an eye at them, too busy networking or drinking or gossipping. Tim could never tell the difference. But they soon reached the edges of the crowd before finally leaving them behind as Damian led Tim down a hallway to the private area of the house.
“Are- where…” Tim hesitantly tried to ask, though he was so nervous his voice couldn't be heard over the instrumental music flowing through the halls. He gulped and tried again as he was led further into the estate. “I don't think we're supposed to be outside the ballroom.” Tim managed to get out, voice only slightly wavering.
“It is alright, Timothy. You have no need to worry, this shall be your home soon.” Damian responded ominously before coming to a stop outside a large, closed, wooden door. It looked exactly like every other door in the hallway. Dark but with detailed carvings.
Doors in Drake Manor were all white and didn't have any artistic details.
Before Tim could question what the older boy meant, he was twisting the doorknob and pulling open the heavy wood door, the hinges slightly squeaking under the weight. Damian’s posture was straight as he entered the room and beckoned Tim to come in as well.
Not sure what else to do, Tim stepped closer to the now-open door, almost immediately getting his with a plethora of scents. It left him dazed for a second before a hand tugged him further into the room and the door was returned to its previous shut…ness?
Tim really wasn't sure, with all the scents that were attacking his nose and making him even more tired than he already was. He could faintly hear Damian speaking but couldn't make out the words. His head just felt so fuzzy and the room was starting to tilt… or maybe he was starting to tilt. There was something soft against his hands, then his face, and he melted into whatever it was. He looked around a little, everything was blurry, but he seemed to be laying down in something. It was so nice and plush and soft… Mommy would never have something like this at home. Tim loved it.
Though he hoped his Mommy and Daddy wouldn't be too mad about his nap, especially in front of the Wayne pup. Despite what his mommy thought about Mr. Wayne and his children, she still wanted to appease him for some reason.
– —
When Damian had requested a sibling, no one expected him to go and find one for himself. Yet here they were, in the middle of getting Bruce ready for his charity speech, when the youngest of the Waynes came into the office with a small pup trailing after him.
“Seeing as my request for a younger sibling has gone unanswered, I have chosen one myself. This is Timothy Wayne, our pack’s newest pup.” Damian introduced as he tugged a disoriented Timothy further into the room. “He has the correct appearance and I've heard both his mother and father boast about how well he does academically multiple times this evening, as well as at several other events.”
Jason, Dick, and Bruce stared at him for a moment, shocked at his statement and the pup that had slowly sunk into the fluffy rug on Bruce's office floor.
“Baby bat, you can't just take puppies.” Dick broke the silence first and walked closer to the pair. “Especially not ones with families. That's the neighbor's pup, Timothy Drake.”
“Not for long. He will soon be Timothy Wayne,” Damian declared before puffing out his chest slightly. “They are unworthy parents anyway. Father could do much better than… them.” He sneered, taking a small pause to glare in the direction of the gala. “Timothy is on the slim side, I have no doubt Pennyworth will be able to plump him up enough to be of acceptable size.” He observed as his father and siblings tried to process how to handle the younger boy kidnapping an even younger kid.
Timothy let out a content sigh from his spot on the floor, where he had promptly decided to take a nap. It was quite late and he was a small pup so it made sense he'd be tired. That didn't make resisting the urge to coo at the little pup any easier though, if anything it made it harder. He looked so cute in his little tuxedo. Dick turned to Bruce.
“I'll go take him back to the Drakes.” To which Bruce nodded and watched Dick scoop Timothy up before helping him with the door, waiting until Dick was out of the room before talking to Damian.
Dick was glad he didn't have to be the one to finish that discussion, Damian was stubborn and it was always a lose-lose situation when debating with the soon-to-be baby alpha. Though he was not glad to have to tell the Drakes what had happened.
– —