Chapter Text
Tim was sick.
It wasn’t actually that bad – just a common cold he had picked up at school. ’Tis the season, after all. Someone had come in with a cough, something, something, domino effect, now his entire class was sick.
His parents would usually just let him take care of it himself, if they noticed at all. Tim was a good pup; he didn’t bother his busy parents with trivial things like not feeling well. They weren’t home for most of the year, so it wasn’t exactly difficult. He would just pop a couple of paracetamol, put on a mask, and go to school as usual.
But his parents weren’t around anymore – and he found it rather difficult to bring himself to care when his new mom was hugging Tim close to his broad chest, a steady purr vibrating through the pup’s entire body and lulling him toward sleep.
And that’s really what he was, right?
Neither of them had said the word before, but Tim could feel the still-fresh strands of the bond curling around his heart, turning his chest giddy and warm with a fragile, growing anticipation.
B was taking him somewhere. Tim tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt full of lead, weighed down by the scent of mother-safe-sleep surrounding him.
A questioning whine slipped from his throat before he could stop it. His body immediately went rigid with panic as he realized his mistake.
He was acting too needy.
What if Bruce got annoyed? What if he decided he didn’t want to be Tim’s mom anymore? Would Tim have to go back to Drake Manor alone?
He didn’t want that.
No no no no-
His spiraling thoughts cut off abruptly as the omega in question buried his nose in Tim’s damp hair, inhaling deeply, before rubbing the underside of his chin over Tim’s scalp, covering the pup’s sickly-sweet scent with his own.
He smelt of tart cherry and aged bourbon – rich, decadent.
But beneath that first deceptive note of luxury was something far more primal. Something that smelled like home.
It made Tim’s muscles loosen despite himself.
Like Wayne Manor during a storm. Like a soft breeze through an old forest. The grounding scent of oak and ozone that had Tim curling closer, chasing the steady rhythm of Bruce’s heartbeat.
Bruce felt like safety to Tim’s feverish senses.
But as nice as this all was, Tim was now fairly certain they were heading up the stairs to the second floor of the Manor – which wasn’t right.
Today was Thursday – Tim remembered checking his phone that morning – which meant he had school. Which, in turn, meant he was supposed to be outside meeting Alfred, who would drive him, just like he did every morning.
Tim was beginning to piece together how he’d ended up like this, now that the initial scent-drunken haze from Bruce’s sudden proximity was starting to fade.
He’d woken with a sharp, ringing headache and a dull, full-body ache that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to gather his bearings, Tim had dragged himself out of bed. He’d trudged to the bathroom, splashed his face with cold water, then chugged a full glass to soothe the dryness clawing at the back of his throat.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d felt just put-together enough to make his way downstairs for breakfast, dressed in his Gotham West Middle School uniform.
Alfred stood at the stove, frying sunny-side-up eggs and bacon, while Bruce was already seated at the head of the table, a cup of steaming coffee in front of him – its scent curling through the air, rich and tempting.
God, Tim could use some of that right about now.
Fixated on the blue Superman mug, Tim didn’t notice Bruce’s sharp and intent gaze on him, the Gotham Gazette folded back in his hands as he studied his new ward with an unreadable expression.
“Mornin’,” Tim greeted, aiming for something close to well-rested as he slid into the seat to Bruce’s left.
Bruce responded with a quiet hum – the infuriating one that made everyone feel like he knew something they didn’t – his eyes never leaving Tim.
The omega kept staring for another long moment, those piercing blue eyes unblinking, until Tim began to fidget under the attention. A soft whine slipped from him as a cramp twisted in his side.
That was all it took before Bruce stood abruptly, abandoning both newspaper and coffee, and circled the table to stop behind Tim’s chair. Before Tim could even begin to question it, Bruce’s hand was at the back of his neck scruffing him gently.
Tim’s body reacted instantly, rocking forward as his thoughts dissolved into a warm, pliant haze.
The only thing that kept him from collapsing onto the table was Bruce’s other hand, steady at his forehead, checking his temperature.
Bruce hummed again, softer this time, before gathering the loose-limbed pup into his arms and shifting him easily so Tim’s head rested against his shoulder, nose pressed to the omega’s scent gland.
“Would you like me to bring yours and the young master’s breakfast up to your room, Master Bruce?” Alfred inquired, ever composed, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Bruce nodded carefully, mindful not to jostle the pup in his arms.
“And a pot of chamomile tea with honey. Thank you, Alfred.”
Then he turned toward the stairs, a low purr building in his chest – quiet, steady, and unmistakably pleased at having his most skittish pup so close.