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Tim drifted, warm and pleasantly fuzzy, his nose pressed deep against the pack omega's throat where his scent settled strongest. A little thrill bloomed in his chest, quiet contentment washing through him.
There were hushed whispers nearby, but Tim was too hazy to care. There only thing capable of holding his attention was the long fingers carding gently through his damp hair.
He couldn't stop the sleepy little chuff that rose to the back of his throat. It earned a low chuckle from his omega.
Tim didn't particularly appreciate being laughed at but… he supposed he'd let it slide. Just this once. Especially when his omega answered by nuzzling the top of his head like he was a pup tucked safely beneath his mother's chin.
Much better.
His pack alpha was curled up at his side, his scent surrounding him in steady waves that settled somewhere deep inside him. Watching over him. Keeping him safe. Tim knew, without a doubt, his alpha would do just that.
Another contented chuff slipped free before he could stop it.
The alpha seemed to understand.
A deep rumble rolled through his chest, low enough that Tim felt it as much as he heard it. Warm and safe. A broad hand joined his omega's in stroking lazily through his hair.
Good.
Golden evening light spilled across his back, warming the blankets piled over him. If he could've stretched, he would've. Unfortunately, the stitches, and thick bandages, and the IV irritating in his arm made that impossible.
He knew—he'd already tried.
Apparently when rusty rebar had tried to become a part of your anatomy combined with the inconvenience of losing your spleen translated into a mandatory tetanus shot, broad-spectrum antibiotics, and an excessive amount of time being bundled into the middle of the pack nest.
Normally, Tim would've complained. Actually, he definitely would've argued. He did, however, have the distinct suspicion that something in his anti-sepsis cocktail rendered him entirely too malleable to put up much of a fight. Which was terribly unfair, really. He couldn't even muster the energy to lodge a proper complaint.
His other omega brother—who smelled like sun-warmed linen and summer afternoons—rubbed absent circles over the scent gland on the inside of Tim's ankle.
Tim made a valiant attempt to grab at him. His arm lifted approximately three inches before flipping back into the blankets with all the determination of an over cooked noodle.
His fingers fared no better, still numb and gummy from blood loss and whatever good stuff his beta grandfather kept under lock and key in the Cave saved for particularly… unruly packmates.
Duke seemed to understand anyways.
He carefully picked his way around everyone else nestled in the pile before settling near Tim's head. Instead of asking, he simply found the hand that wasn't tethered to the IV. His thumb traced slow, absent circles around the pulse point in Tim's inner wrist.
Good.
That was good.
Very good, even.
Tim nuzzled into his omega's throat once more, eyelids growing impossibly heavy.
"Sleep," Dick murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "You're safe now. We're not leaving you."
Normally, Tim would've objected. Instead he gave a sleepy huff against Dick's skin, melted bonelessly into the warmth surrounding him, and let himself sink deeper into the comfort of his pack's arms.