Chapter Text
Tim’s hackles raise as the door opens. He’s not surprised—this meeting had all the hallmarks of an ambush from the beginning. Johnny Reed had agreed to this meeting all too easily. He’s seated across from Tim now, in a suit that doesn’t quite fit the way it should—pants too short, the shoulders sitting awkwardly, the tie just a little off-center—and his hair slicked back and shining in the low light. He turns toward the door with a predatory grin.
It’s not more back-up, like Tim had expected.
There’s only one man. Tall, bald, with a scar on his mouth—he looks like a bad henchman stereotype. He’s not what holds Tim’s attention, though. No, that’s the child he brought with him. The boy is muzzled. Tim can just see the bit shoved between his teeth through the gaps in it. He’s wearing a collar, too, made of thick leather. Even from this distance, Tim can tell there’s nothing protective about it. Just heavy, maybe even constricting. A leash is attached to it, disappearing behind him and presumably ending in the bald man’s hand.
The boy’s head barely comes up to the man’s rib cage. The shirt he’s wearing hangs off of him, exposing his shoulder and collarbone, which sticks out prominently. Beneath that, he’s wearing shorts, though they’re short enough Tim almost doesn’t see them at first. The rest of his legs and his feet are bare.
His arms are behind his back—bound, if Tim had to guess.
Tim’s blood burns, hands curling into the couch.
He wishes it had been more back-up. That would have been preferable to—this.
Reed beckons them over. “To convince you of my sincerity, and as a token of my friendship, I wanted to offer you a gift.”
When they reach the twin couches, the bald man shoves the boy to his knees, forcing him to kneel on the low table between them. The boy winces. Even after all the practice he’s had, it never gets easier to resist the urge to help.
“A gift?” he echoes. He can’t stop himself from scooting forward to get a better look at the boy.
He’s…
Tim hates himself for thinking he’s pretty, with his wild curls and bright blue eyes. His eyes are bright; they dart over Tim’s face, searching. His scent is tucked in tight. Tim can’t catch it, but…
He wants to.
“An omega,” Reed clarifies. “Unpresented, and untouched. Our house doctor verified it herself.” He sounds smug.
The boy flinches. He drags his gaze away from Tim and glares at Reed as he growls, low in his chest. There’s still too much pup in it for it to sound menacing, but Tim wants to rumble his approval all the same.
His scent leaks through. Tim resists the urge to wrinkle his nose. It’s sour with fear.
“Where did you find him?”
At the sound of his voice, the boy’s shoulders loosen. His growl quiets. Fascinating. Tim is tempted to keep talking. He’s also tempted to reach out and touch—to pull him close so he can scent him properly.
He restrains himself.
Tim is here to do a job—to help pups like this boy. Not take advantage of them.
Reed reaches over and pets the boy’s head, proprietary and possessive, like he’s an animal and not a person. Tim suppresses a growl. The boy twitches like he wants to pull away, growl resuming. The bald man pulls his leash taut, forcing him to still.
“Crime Alley. Can you believe we caught the bitch trying to do his own bidding?” Reed scoffs.
Tim curls his fists tighter. He must have been desperate. Packless, alone, hungry and cold… Someone should have helped him. But this is Gotham, so he’d been taken instead. And now he was being offered to him.
“How fortunate,” he murmurs.
They won’t live long enough to regret it.
Despite his name, Tim wasn’t a fan of dealing out death where other tactics could be used in its place. Intimidation, bribery, blackmail—these were the tools he used to keep the criminals of Gotham in line where he could. Child trafficking was one of the exceptions. This was the kind of crime that to be pulled out by the root, and then the ground salted and burned behind them.
He’ll make sure their deaths are quick. It’s better than they deserve, but— Tim’s never been a fan of torture.
Reed grips the boy’s hair, roughly yanking his head back. He pulls the boy’s shirt up to his neck, baring his chest and stomach to the room. The boy’s nipples harden at the cool air, and he shudders. Tears shine in his eyes. One rolls down his cheek, leaving a glistening path behind it. More of his scent leaks out. It’s still sour with distress, but Tim can make out more of it now; something sweet and spicy, with overtones of milk.
His lips part, like he can taste it in the air. He wants… he wants to kiss the boy’s tears away; to cup his breasts in his hands. They would fit almost perfectly in his palms. He can feel them now; soft and plush. They’re still developing—he bets they’re wonderfully sensitive—
No.
What the hell is he thinking? Tim suppresses a shudder, shifting slightly in his seat. He drags his gaze away from his tits. A splotch of purple catches his eye. There’s a bruise on his side. Tim has had his fair share of them, and this one looks tender and painful. It stokes the fire of his anger—Tim lets it, gladly embracing the feeling if only so he doesn’t have to think about the way his mouth waters, his fingers itch.
Reed none-too-gently cups one of the boy’s breasts. The boy flinches. The bald man keeps him from pulling away the way he so clearly wants to.
“As you can see, he’s still quite… underdeveloped. With him being so close to presentation, we haven’t had time to train him up yet, but—” Tim makes himself look away, look at Reed and his wide, terrible grin, “—you strike me as a man who enjoys getting to take a bitch down a peg or two, am I right?”
He is, but not in the way he thinks.
Reed lets go of the boy. The boy slumps forward, shirt falling to cover his torso. His shoulders shake with silent sobs, more tears rolling down his face.
Tim can’t stop himself from reaching out this time. He curls two fingers under his jaw and tips his head back. The boy’s eyes open, startled, a sheen of tears leaving them glassy. He swallows. Tim feels his jaw move. And then…
He leans into Tim’s touch, slowly blinking his tears away.
Tim’s breath catches. He hooks his fingers into the collar. He doesn’t even have to tug; the boy moves all on his own, settling on the couch cushion next to him. The bald man passes him the leash. He clutches it loosely in his free hand.
Once the boy stills, Tim tilts his head back to expose his delicate, slender throat. The collar blocks his scent glands but it’s no matter. Tim tucks his nose right at the edge of it, the tip just brushing the boy’s skin.
He breathes in deeply; taking in that spicy-sweet scent directly from the source. He savors it. His mouth waters, his teeth itch. Distantly, he knows he’s on the edge of going too far—that his foot is on an invisible line there will be no going back from crossing, but… He doesn’t care. Especially not when the boy’s scent grows even sweeter, losing some of that sour edge of terror.
Tim pulls away slowly, allowing the boy’s head to fall back into something more natural. His expression is—dazed, almost, like Tim had licked him and not just sniffed him.
It’s cute. Sweet.
But Tim is all-too-aware that they aren’t alone.
“Well, would you look at that.” Reed’s voice drips with something smug and excited that makes Tim want to snarl. “He’s given my men nothing but trouble, and now he’s docile as a lamb. You’ve a master’s touch.”
Ugh. The flattery makes Tim feel… slimy. He doesn’t let on, instead reluctantly turning away from the omega to look at him coolly. “I find, when it comes to omegas, they simply have to be handled the right way.”
Like they’re people, preferably.
He tucks the leash under one of the boy’s knees, and gives his thigh a reassuring squeeze. At first he worries he might have overstepped; might scare him, instead of comfort him, but—
The boy just sighs softly, shoulders loosening a little.
He leaves his hand there.
“He’s agreeable then?”
Tim hums. That’s one way to put it. Even if he wasn’t, Tim wouldn’t be leaving here without him, but… yes, the boy is ‘agreeable,’ much as it pains him to admit it.
He slips his hand from the boy’s thigh, letting his attention focus, and sharpen, on the other six men in the room. “I’ll be taking him. However…” He stands, adjusting his cuff links as he does, sending the signal to his guards to dispatch whatever extra back-up Reed brought with him. “You really should do better research before you try making bargains with people.”
Tim is fast. He always has been. That speed was only honed further under Batman’s tutelage, and further still under Ra’s. He draws his gun, the one with the silencer, and takes out the five guards—starting with the bald man.
Two of them manage to get a hand on their weapons before they fall. They don’t get the chance to draw them.
He stalks towards Reed. The man cowers, scrambling back. He draws his gun, thumb on the safety.
It’s too late.
Tim grabs his arm and twists, forcing him to drop it. Reed lets out a high, pained whimper; his projected scent now dripping with terror.
“I don’t bargain with traffickers,” Tim growls. “And I sure as hell don’t let them move around my territory.” Even Damian respects Tim’s boundary lines these days—death and undeath only heightening Tim’s possessive, protective instincts.
Tim pulls the trigger one final time. Blood sprays onto the couch, adding a dark stain to the fabric. The air is thick with the lingering scent of fear, coupled with the acrid stench of piss and the copper tang of blood. It’s a scent he thinks he’ll never grow used to.
He needs to search the bodies; particularly Reed’s. His cellphone will have important information on his contacts, and his location record will help confirm Tim’s independent data on the group’s activities. However…
The bodies aren’t going anywhere, and the pup is more important.
He sits back down, angling himself to face the pup. The pup is still on his knees, so the position leaves him slightly taller than Tim. His eyes are wide again, his shoulders tensed. Tim is willing to bet that his heart is racing.
Poor pup.
Vigilantism was never Tim’s intended path. He looked up to heroes, idolized them, even pretended to be among their ranks as a child, but it was never something he had seriously considered until there had seemed to be no other option. Even now, as Revenant, he’s here because he’d seen a void that needed filling; taking on a job that seemingly no one else wanted or had known needed doing in the first place.
Still—just because he hadn’t pictured his life turning out this way doesn’t mean he hasn’t enjoyed parts of it. He’s always been clever and enjoyed basking in the results of that cleverness, and solving cases had been a good outlet for that.
The real draw, though, the thing that keeps him going, night after night, is the difference he makes.
It’s the way, when he puts on the gentle, reassuring smile he perfected as Robin, the pup relaxes, slightly. It’s knowing that he’s safe, that Tim has protected him.
That Tim will keep protecting him.
“I’m going to take your muzzle off,” he says gently. He holds his hands up, letting the pup see them, but he doesn’t reach for it. Not yet, not until the pup gives the okay.
It— It hurts to see confusion in the pup’s eyes. It hurts more when the realization hits, and the pup’s eyes get misty again as he nods.
Tim is careful, fingers following the straps back to where they’re fastened behind his head. He unlatches it, feels them slacken, and gently tugs the muzzle from his face. Like this, he can see the way the bit is biting into the sides of his mouth. He eases that out as well, heartstrings tugging at the soft whimper that gets.
The muzzle’s straps leave imprints on his skin, too. Tim smooths his fingers over them. The pup leans into his touch, eyes going heavy lidded.
Tim breaths out slowly. Carefully. “There we are,” he murmurs. The pup really is so pretty, with his red cheeks and full lips. With his face cupped in Tim’s hands, it would be so easy for him to lean in and kiss him. He should feel sick at the thought. It bothers him that he isn’t. Something to dwell on later, when the pup has been taking care of. “Have you got a name, puppy?”
“Jason,” he says softly.
“Jason,” Tim repeats, committing it to memory. “You can call me Tim.” Should he give the pup his real name? Hm. Maybe not. Maybe he should have introduced himself as a representative of Revenant, or as Revenant himself, but…
Well.
It’s not like he can turn Jason over to the police. Even if he wasn’t close to having his first heat, the state of Gotham’s foster system is a fucking tragedy. He knows of a few safe families, but… the idea of sending his pup to one of those, even knowing that he wouldn’t be harmed—
His pup?
Tim gives himself a mental shake. Another thing to think about later. For now— “What do you say we get that collar off of you, hm?”
This time, Jason doesn’t hesitate to nod.
“Alright. I’m going to use some wire cutters on that lock.” He could pick it, but Tim wants it off sooner rather than later, and he’s sure Jason would agree with him. “Stay still for me, okay?”
Jason nods once.
Tim had hidden a variety of tools on his person before coming to the meeting. He’d been half-expecting an ambush, so he’d come prepared. He gets out the wire cutters. Jason stays beautifully still, barely even breathing as Tim snips the collar away. He drops it on the floor alongside the muzzle.
He rubs Jason’s biceps. There’s a little give to the flesh of his arms. He’s obviously underfed, but there’s a little more fat on his body than Tim had expected. Tim wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves; that he could touch Jason skin-to-skin. “I’ll have to move behind you to untie your arms. Is that alright, puppy?”
Jason nods again.
Tim gives his arms a little squeeze, and then stands. He keeps one hand on Jason as he moves to sit behind him, letting it linger even as he starts to test the ropes. There is little give to them. Tim hums, displeased; the closest thing he will allow himself to a growl.
Jason whimpers, tensing.
“Shh, pup,” Tim soothes him immediately, smoothing his hands up Jason’s arms to settle on his shoulders. He rubs gently. “It’s alright. I’m not upset with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Jason relaxes under his touch, though there is still the slightest tremble in his frame. “I just… I think I’m going to have to cut these ropes away.”
Jason exhales shakily—and then he nods, the barest dip of his chin. “Okay.”
What a brave pup. Tim has to stop himself from kissing the back of his neck. What is wrong with him tonight? The pup can’t see him, so he allows himself to frown as he takes out his knife. He’s careful to avoid the pup’s skin as he cuts. The ropes are thick and scratchy, but they give under his blade. He casts them to the side.
Jason drops his shoulders, pulling his arms around to his front.
“How do your arms feel? Any numbness, tingling?” Tim asks, ignoring the urge to draw him into his arms. The pup may have welcomed his touch so far, but he doesn’t want to scare him. More than that, he doesn’t want Jason to look back at these memories later, when he’s clear headed, and have any reason to doubt Tim’s intentions.
(Even if maybe he should.)
“No,” Jason whispers.
Tim hums, pleased. “Good,” he says. “I need to do a couple more things in here, but I promise I’ll be quick.”
“Okay,” Jason says again.
Tim gets up. He makes sure to keep is body angled between Jason and the corpses. It’s silly. He can’t shield Jason from all of them… and honestly, he’s probably seen worse by now. But it makes him feel better; soothes his protective instincts. He takes a picture of each man’s ID and pockets their cellphones—after powering them off and removing the batteries—and checks for any other interesting or useful items.
He finds some keys, but nothing else that really catches his eye.
Tangentially, he’s aware of Jason moving. Stretching, he realizes—adjusting to his new freedom of movement. Tim smiles to himself.
He’s spent years training to move silently, but he makes sure to make a little noise when he rejoins Jason. The last thing he wants to do is scare him any more than he already is. “C’mon, puppy. Let’s get you out of here.”
Jason nods once, falling into step beside him. Again, Tim is careful to keep his body between Jason and the sight of the corpses. He’s also careful to avoid any bodily fluids—both to leave less traces of himself, but also to protect Jason’s feet.
Hm. He’ll need to send someone to collect the evidence of Jason’s presence as well. Revenant doesn’t have the sway with the police that Batman and Nightwing do; if the cops think he’s pup-napped someone, he’ll have even more trouble with them than he already does.
On the catwalk, he takes a moment to peer over the railing. The bottom floor is still empty. Good. His men have done their jobs, then—or Reed really did just show up with that small retainer. Tim doesn’t care either way. All that matters right now is that there’s a clean exit for him and the pup.
Jason draws closer to him. It’s not hard to read the fear in his body language. Tim thinks he’d be able to spot it even without his training. He chances laying a hand on his back. Jason flinches, nearly causing him to withdraw, but just as quickly, he leans into it, chasing the comfort Tim is offering. His chest squeezes.
“It’s alright,” Tim murmurs, trying to reassure him. Jason looks up at him. “This was a private meeting. I insisted on it, and I had my people sweep the area. It’s just us now, pup.”
Jason nods. He stays close, at least until they reach the stairs. Tim does withdraw his hand then, heading down first—just in case he’s wrong. He’s not. The bottom floor of the warehouse is empty, silent. He chances putting his hand on Jason’s back again.
Jason doesn’t pull away.
Tim stops in front of the door. The warehouse is cold enough—outside will be even colder. It’s tempting to just pick Jason up, but… Tim doesn’t dare. Instead, he pulls his jacket off and wraps it around Jason’s shoulders. Jason’s hands come up to hold it there automatically, his head tipping back so he can stare at Tim with wide eyes.
“I don’t have anything for your feet,” Tim says, apologetically.
Jason blinks at him, like he doesn’t quite understand what Tim is saying. But, rather than respond or question him, Jason just pushes his arms through the sleeves. Tim has never thought of himself as a particularly large man—truly, at five foot eight, can’t even claim to be one—but his jacket swallows Jason. Granted, it is also made to go over his body armor, but still. The hem falls just past the shorts Jason is wearing, and the sleeves utterly envelop his hands.
It’s cute.
Jason is so tiny. Tim’s not sure he even crests over five feet.
“Thanks,” Jason mutters.
Tim puts his hand on Jason’s back again, and opens the door. He’s pretty sure it’s dropped a few degrees since Tim was outside last. His mouth tightens. He’s glad, now, that he’d taken his car instead of his bike. It’s parked a little ways away. He keeps a sharp eye for potential ambush as they walk. He finally spots his people, positioned on the roofs of the buildings adjacent to the warehouses. He makes a quick hand signal out of Jason’s range of vision—a silent command to sweep the place of evidence. He trusts his people to know what to remove.
The car is a discreet little sedan Tim has made a few modifications to. Part of him would prefer something flashier, but he channels that energy into his bike. The car is better for stakeouts and long-term missions.
“It’s up to you where you sit,” he tells Jason.
Jason picks the backseat. Tim isn’t surprised. Jason still glances at him, like he’s waiting to be scolded for his choice. When Tim remains silent, he climbs inside. Tim shuts the door behind him and rounds the car to slip into the driver’s seat.
The engine purrs as he starts the car. He turns the heat on full blast.
As he pulls out onto the street, Tim glances at the rear view mirror. Jason’s eyes are still wide; they hold Tim’s gaze for a moment before slipping away again. He imagines the pup is confused, scared—Tim’s jacket helps to hide his scent, covering him in his instead. It makes the possessive part of him purr.
“I’m going to take you to my place,” he says conversationally. “I’ve got a first aid kit there. We can get some cream on that rope burn, and— I think I saw a bruise on your side? We can treat that too. Then… Food, I think, and some warmer clothes. If you feel up to it, we can talk, but if you’re tired, that’s okay too. I’ve got a spare den I can set you up in for the night.”
If Tim wants to build trust with Jason, then he needs to make sure he communicates his intentions clearly and follows through on the things he says.
It takes a long time for Jason to respond. When he does, it’s nothing more than a simple, “Okay.”
He doesn’t know if Jason believes him, but he’s not fighting him—at least for now. Tim can work with that.
The car lapses back into quiet. This time, Tim lets it stay that way.
It might be smarter to take Jason to one of his safe houses rather than his main residence, but Tim has no idea he’s going to be staying with him, and he’d rather be close to his gear. The apartment building he lives in is nothing fancy—certainly nothing like the penthouses and suites his parents had lived in when he was a child—but Tim likes it. He bought the entire building not long after he first moved into Gotham, and though he also owns a brownstone that might make a better headquarters, there’s something charming about this place.
He keeps a hand on Jason’s back as they walk inside. Eric, the night shift clerk-slash-guard, is reading a newspaper by his desk. He gives them only a brief glance when they walk past.
Here Tim faces his first problem: the elevator is still broken. He’d been so busy with the trafficking ring he’d put off calling the repair company. First thing tomorrow morning he’ll arrange for someone to come by and look at it.
They take the stairs slowly. Jason is slightly breathless by the time they get to Tim’s floor, so once they’re inside, he ushers him toward the couch. Once he’s settled, Tim heads off to get the first aid kit.
The new Robin, Dick, has only been patrolling for about six months, but Tim has already started keeping things on hand for him. Nothing extravagant—just spare clothes and medicinal supplies that are more suited for a pup. They’re going to come in handy tonight, too.
He brings the kit out and sets it on the coffee table, but he doesn’t open it yet. Jason could probably use something to drink—he hopes Jason doesn’t mind grape Gatorade. He has some bottled water as well, but… the pup probably needs the electrolytes.
He takes it back into the living room, and kneels on the floor before holding it out.
Jason’s eyes widen. It takes him a moment to move, and he hesitates before taking the bottle from Tim. His fingers fumble with the cap—clumsy, shaking. Tim almost takes it to open it for him—and does kick himself for not at least loosening it—but he restrains himself. He knows better than to offer something and then take it away, even if just for a moment.
The cap finally does twist off, though, and Jason immediately raises it to his mouth. It’s on the tip of Tim’s tongue to remind him to take it slow—but he doesn’t have to. Jason drinks in small sips, taking a few breaks to let the liquid settle in his stomach. When he finally puts the cap back on, about a fourth of the bottle is gone. He keeps hold of the bottle, twisting it in his hands. There’s apprehension in his face, and probably his scent, too, but Tim’s jacket is still keeping that contained.
Tim wants to nuzzle him—to rub their cheeks together, scenting him properly, so he knows he has an alpha looking out for him.
He doesn’t. Doesn’t let the grimace escape onto his face, either. Seriously, what is wrong with him? He’s never had this much trouble keeping his distance from a victim before.
“Alright,” Tim says gently. He thinks he’s used his Robin voice more tonight than he has since… well. Since he was Robin. That makes him feel—something, which he quickly pushes down. “Other than the bruise on your side and the rope burns… are you injured?”
Jason shakes his head. “Nn-nn. Just some bruises.” He pauses. “And, um… I did hit my head once. It still hurts, but… I’m not, like, dizzy or nothin’.”
“Alright. I’d like to do a head injury evaluation anyway. I’ll just feel over your skull, and then use a penlight to evaluate your pupil dilation. I’ve got cream for the rope burns, and for the bruise—” He hesitates for a moment. The last thing he wants is to make the pup uncomfortable by making him lift his shirt, but… Better a little discomfort than to miss a serious medical issue. “I’ll need to check and make sure nothing is cracked, and there’s no internal bruising.” He pauses again, checking to make sure he hasn’t overwhelmed the pup, and then he finishes with, “As long as there’s nothing serious anywhere else… I have some painkillers you can take.”
Jason takes a moment to parse through his words, and then he nods. He surprises Tim by tipping his head forward, allowing Tim access to his head.
Something warm spreads through his chest. As a vigilante, Tim is often given people’s trust. It’s still not something he would say he’s used to by any means, but he’s grown more accustomed to it over the years; learning how to manage the weight of that responsibility alongside all of his other ones. But this… Jason’s trust feels weightier to him. Maybe because he isn’t wearing the mask. This pup isn’t offering his trust to Revenant—he’s offering it to Tim.
It’s a good kind of weight. He’s going to do his best to be worthy of it.
Tim takes his gloves off before he slips his fingers into the boy’s curls. They’re tangled, but not matted. A little oily, but still so very soft. Jason’s eyes fall closed, leaning into Tim’s hands with a soft sigh as Tim gently, so gently, massages his head. It’s— Tim feels so full right now, full of something nameless but pleasant. He can’t recall the last time his inner alpha felt so pleased. It makes him want to rumble.
He lets his fingers linger far longer than they need to—gently working tangles out of Jason’s hair until, finally, he has to pull away. There are other things he needs to check.
When Jason sits back, Tim can see the disappointment on his face—the way his mouth twists a little, an accusing glint in his stare.
Tim swallows any apologies. “No bumps,” he says instead, reaching for a penlight. He hardly needs to touch Jason for the next part, but… He cups his face anyway. Jason lets him, even leaning into it. Tim clicks on the light—Jason grimaces, hissing softly as Tim shines the light first in one eye, then the other. “Pupil dilation is normal.” He pockets the light, and strokes Jason’s cheek with his thumb before letting go. “Now, I need to check your bruises.”
Jason tenses, shoulders hiking back up toward his ears, his grip tightening on the bottle. He’s biting his lip again, hard enough that the skin around his teeth turns white. Tim wishes he could take the words back, but he knows he can’t. He needs to make sure that Jason doesn’t have any broken or cracked ribs. The last thing he wants—that either of them want—is for him to end up with a punctured lung.
After a moment, Jason finally exhales slowly, lowering his eyes. He rolls up the sleeves of Tim’s suit jacket to free his hands, and then bunches his shirt up beneath his chest.
Good pup, Tim nearly coos. He bites the words back.
Jason’s ribs just show through his skin, though not quite as prominently as Tim might have feared. There’s a trail of faint, dark hair leading from his belly to his groin, and the way the muscles in his stomach jump—
Tim almost wants to sink his teeth into him.
He recoils mentally, pinching his thigh. No. Bad. This is a terrified, hurting pup, no matter how sweet and enticing he smelled earlier. Tim breathes in slowly. Stay calm, stay—well. Clinical is out the window at this point. But calm. Calm he can do.
He reaches out slowly, giving Jason time to see the movement of his hand. The first brush of his fingers against Jason’s skin still makes him flinch, sucking a sharp breath between his teeth.
Tim stills. He doesn’t even think about it; the low rumble tumbles out of his chest without conscious thought.
Its effect on the pup is immediate. He whines, a helpless little keen that has Tim scooting closer immediately, settling between Jason’s knees as his rumble grows louder, deeper. He settles both hands on Jason’s waist. The pup is so small under his hands—he half expects his fingers to meet at his back.
They don’t, of course.
“It’s alright,” he soothes.
Tears spring to the pup’s eyes. Tim’s heart aches. It aches more when Jason raises his hand, pressing his palm over his eye, like he can stop the tears from falling now that they’ve started.
“You’re alright.” He rubs his thumbs over Jason’s skin, trying to offer what comfort he can. “It’s okay to cry, pup.”
Jason sniffs, the sound loud in the quiet. “I—I—”
“Shh, puppy.” Tim keeps one hand on Jason as he rises to settle on the couch beside him. He cups the back of Jason’s head with the other hand, and with both, he tugs him forward. The pup’s arms come up automatically, wrapping around his neck. His shirt falls, covering Tim’s hand. Tim should move it, he thinks, distantly.
He doesn’t.
Jason sobs. He buries his face in Tim’s shoulder; the skin there growing hot and damp as Jason’s tears leak through his dress shirt. Tim doesn’t care. He holds Jason closer, tighter, winding his arm around Jason’s waist so he can press him more firmly against his chest. The alpha in him wants to whisk the puppy off to his den where he can scent him properly, and then wrap him up in softness and warmth. Jason would be safe there, and then Tim could go back out and find the rest of the trafficking ring and tear them apart.
The thought nearly turns his rumble into a growl. He turns, burying his nose in Jason’s curls. This close, he can smell Jason again. Pain-fear-anxiety-hope-grief. There’s no trace of anyone else on him. Well—there’s Tim’s scent, from his jacket, and a lingering hint of the traffickers, but that’s all surface level. There’s no deeper scent, no claim. Just Jason, alone. It’s not a surprise that he’s packless; Tim had already assumed as much, but assuming and knowing are two different things.
Mine, he thinks, with a sort of vehemence that surprises him.
Jason’s not— He’s not Tim’s.
He’s always had this problem. There are victims from his Robin days he still checks in on, now and then—not that they know that, which he’s aware makes him sound like a creep. People he talked down from suicide, people he sat with through fear toxin episodes, people he helped find shelter on the worst nights, people he was (temporarily) taken hostage with. His memories of that time are often… fragmented, broken. There are names in his old Robin files that meant nothing to him at the time, but they’re still—
They’re his, in a way. Not his pack but his people. He keeps an eye on them.
The urge to watch them, to protect them, never felt anything like this, though.
He’s rocking Jason. He doesn’t know when he started, but the motion feels… right. If not for the way Jason’s whole body shakes with the force of each sob, Tim might not even know he was still crying. He’s nearly silent, other than the occasional sniffle. Tim’s whole chest hurts. He holds him tighter, closer, wishing that there was something more he could do, but… he knows the best thing he can offer Jason right now is a safe place to cry.
It takes a long time for Jason’s sobs to subside. He shakes, after, trembling weakly against Tim’s chest while Tim murmurs reassurances in his ear. Eventually that stops too, leaving Jason slumped in his arms. His breath flutters against Tim’s neck. His rumble deepens.
It’s been such a long time since Tim has been close to someone like this. He really needs to start spending more time with his friends—they rarely ever go more than five minutes in each other’s company without touching somehow.
For now… He lets himself hold Jason for a little while longer before he finally turns, nosing at Jason’s temple. His mouth twitches when Jason grumbles at him.
“C’mon, pup. I need to look at your bruises,” he says, trying not to smile.
Jason lets out a soft, plaintive puppy whine that makes Tim huff, fond and amused and utterly charmed. He’s so tempted to let Jason stay right where he is, but—
No.
Bruise first.
He noses at Jason’s temple again, putting a little sternness in his voice when he says, “Pup.”
Jason sits back with the most adorable pout on his face. Tim can’t help smiling at him, swallowing a laugh when the pout deepens.
“I’ll be quick,” he promises.
Jason huffs, disgruntled, but he leans back against the couch. He lifts his shirt again without having to be told—Tim resists the urge to nuzzle him, even if he thinks Jason might let him. Might welcome it. He keeps up his rumble instead.
The bruise is yellowed around the edges, though still purple toward the center. Tim does his best not to cause any unnecessary pain as he prods it, looking for breaks or cracks. Jason’s quiet, pained noises still tug at his heartstrings. He soothes them as best he can with quiet rumbles and gentle pets to his other, uninjured side.
When he’s done, he settles his hands on Jason’s waist—loose, casual, lingering even though he knows he shouldn’t. His rumble finally slows to a stop as he says, “I don’t feel any cracks or breaks. Did— Were there any injuries to your back?”
Jason shakes his head. “No. They— The, um, the boss said they were supposed to keep me as uninjured as possible. Any punishment had to be careful not to leave a mark.”
Tim wants to frown, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want Jason thinking it’s directed at him. Reluctantly, he lets go of Jason in favor of leaning over so he can reach the first aid kit. He’d stocked it recently, so it’s filled to the brim with everything Tim needs and more. The first thing he grabs is a bottle of puppy’s chewable Tylenol, and then a tube of medicated cream.
He checks the dosage before handing Jason the pills. Jason examines them a moment before taking them, washing away the taste with the Gatorade. When he’s done, he holds out his arms without Tim having to ask. Tim can’t help but smile. What a good pup.
He’s liberal with the cream, squirting a thick glob onto his hand and letting his skin warm it before he works it into Jason’s arms. The rope had been rough, scratchy, and tied too tightly. Jason’s arms are still reddened. No blood, though, not that Tim can see. There’s a part of him that can’t help think that the marks are beautiful. Oh—there’s no grace in them, no artwork to the pattern that had been tied, but… the red against Jason’s skin…
It tugs at something deep in his belly.
Tim carefully doesn’t grind his teeth. Jason is trusting him to take care of him, not—lust over him.
Ugh. Maybe he needs to get laid.
Jason’s eyes fall half-lidded as Tim works. His breaths turn slow and even. If not for the slight glimmer of his eyes under his lashes, he might think the pup was sleeping.
Tim again takes more time than he needs to care for Jason’s rope burn, letting both of them indulge in the touch. He wants Jason to be able to stay like this, calm and relaxed, for as long as he can. When he does finally stop, Jason makes the most adorable croon, blinking up at him in confusion like Tim had just woken him from a long nap.
“Hush, pup,” Tim soothes him, smiling reassuringly. He doesn’t think he’s smiled so much in ages. “I’m going to get us something to eat.”
Jason blinks slowly at him, and then hums in acknowledgment, eyes falling half shut again. Adorable. Tim keeps a pile of spare blankets in the living room—he gets one of them now, choosing the softest and fluffiest of the pile to bring back to Jason. He drapes it over him.
It warms him to see the way Jason nuzzles into it, sighing contentedly.
It’s tempting to join him, but he doesn’t. The pup needs to eat.
And, probably, so does Tim. He didn’t stop for a mid-patrol meal tonight.
Something simple, he thinks. From what Tim has learned about the ring and how it operates, they likely already started Jason on an appropriate dosage of vitamin supplements, given to him via regular meals. Unappetizing meals, but meals nonetheless.
Soup should be gentle enough on his stomach, even if he’s not used to eating. It’s quick, too, so it doesn’t take long before Tim has a bowl ready for him. Jason has fallen into a doze. Tim gently nudges him awake. It’s gratifying that Jason doesn’t flinch or startle, just blinks hazily at him before realizing Tim is trying to offer him food. He doesn’t let go until he’s sure Jason’s grip is secure.
“It’s hot,” he warns.
Jason still burns his tongue when he takes his first spoonful—not that he seems to care. The soup disappears just-shy of too quickly from his bowl. Tim takes it gently when he’s done, taking it with his own bowl back to the kitchen. Then he returns again.
“C’mon, pup,” he says, guiding Jason off of the couch. “I’ve got a spare toothbrush you can use. A spare den, too. I’ll get you some nesting materials and pajamas while you brush your teeth.”
Jason follows him to the bathroom. Tim gets a spare toothbrush from the cabinet drawer, the brush still wrapped in plastic. He passes it to Jason, and then leaves him to it.
Despite having a few outfits in Dick’s size, Tim can’t resist the temptation of getting one of his own shirts for Jason. It is one he hasn’t worn in a while—and one he accidentally shrunk in the wash, but… It still smells like him. The pants he gets are ones he’d purchased in Dick’s size. He has some for Damian and Bruce, too—though that was fairly easy, since they were about the same size. Steph usually just steals from him, and so does—did Cass.
He brings them back to Jason in a bundle and offers them to him. “Clothes,” he says, a little unnecessarily. He leaves again once Jason takes them.
Tim always keeps spare nesting supplies on hand. Or—well. Not always, but at his nicer safe houses and his main residence, he tries to have extra nesting stuff just in case. It’s nothing extensive or overly expensive, just enough to make the spare bedding less sad and offer comfort if anyone is going to be sticking around for more than a day or two.
It takes him three trips to move them all to the spare den, where he lays them out on the nest frame. Then he steps back, eyeing the piles critically, looking for any gaps in his offerings. Cushions, padding, blankets, pillows, a couple of covers to choose from… Hm. That will do, he thinks. It’s hard to tell, the way his instincts protest. All they want him to do is take Jason to his room, his nest. But, even if Tim was planning to keep him—which he isn’t—he still wouldn’t start Jason in his nest. Jason needs to have his own space.
Faintly, he hears Jason padding down the hall. He turns, finding Jason standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I was just getting out some nesting materials,” Tim says, gesturing to them.
Jason’s eyes look glassy again. “Thanks.” His voice is small.
“Of course, pup,” Tim says gently. He reaches out slowly, giving Jason more than enough time to avoid it. He doesn’t, allowing Tim to brush his knuckles over Jason’s cheek. “Goodnight, pup. If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall.”
He won’t be going downstairs to work tonight—probably not for the next few nights, though he’ll probably still patrol at least.
Jason nods. He looks over the nesting supplies, something almost overwhelmed in his expression. Tim gives him privacy, space, heading back to the kitchen where he does the dishes, few as they are. After he sets them to dry, he goes through the fridge and cabinets. Jason will be staying with him through his heat, and then for a little while after as Tim searches for a safe place for him to go, so he’ll need to go shopping sooner rather than later. Once he’s drafted a grocery list, he turns out all the lights and retires to his den.
He checks in with Pru first. She informs him that they’d removed the evidence as instructed, as well as found and searched the trafficker’s vehicles, where they’d found a few more things of note. As soon as the scene had been thoroughly investigated, they’d tipped the police and left. The evidence was en route to his underground base. In turn, he informs her of Jason. Loosely; he keeps the boy’s name out of it. Just tells her that one of their victims was at the scene and he’ll be staying with Tim for a while.
“Huh. That mean you’re gonna be keeping him?”
“No. Just keeping him safe for a while, that’s all.”
Pru hums. Tim doesn’t like the sound of it. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, boss.”
Tim scowls. “Don’t call me boss.”
Pru just laughs.
Tim hangs up. He barely remembers not to toss his phone onto the nightstand—he doesn’t want to make a big clatter and upset Jason. He still sets it down more roughly than it probably deserves before pulling out his tablet instead. He’d hidden a body-cam on his suit. He uses the footage of that to grab a still of Jason so he can run it through a facial recognition program, narrowing the results to missing children and children in the foster program. It will still be a while before he gets results, though, so he sets it aside to let it run.
And then, for the first time in a very long time, Tim goes to sleep before the break of dawn.