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The hospital buzzed around him in never-ending distraction, beeping from machinery, the low drone of nurses and doctors talking, the click of his shoes on the linoleum. Next to Bruce, the social worker was quiet as she led him towards the pediatric wing.
Bruce hadn’t been this way in almost a year– quite a record for him with the amount of accident prone children he’d taken in and adopted. But since Cass and Jason had started to settle more into the Manor, injuries that required a hospital visit had dwindled. He hadn’t had the time to volunteer either, resorting to sending other WE employees in charge of the charitable contributions to check in on the staff and offer other resources.
They made it to the correct wing, passing by the common area where a handful of children were gathered, watching a colorful cartoon on TV. A few glanced their way, not interested enough to get up and see who the new visitor was. Bruce was grateful for it, the last thing that he needed at this moment was to pick up unfamiliar scents that might confuse the patient that he was visiting.
They didn’t know the child’s last name was the thing, and his parents hadn’t reached out to police to claim him. What had happened to lead up to this was a canister of fear gas that was attempted to be smuggled out of Gotham Airport had broken, causing chaos and a total lockdown that grounded flights for fifteen hours. When the dust had settled and the wounded were taken back into the city to be treated, a young pup had been found, mid-traumatic and premature presentation due to the effects of Fear on such a small body.
So Bruce had been called by social workers first. For his skill with the more ‘delicate’ cases. The child– Tim, only identified due to a Sharpied label in his shorts- had been feral since being brought in, unable to settle down without a pack or parent to hold him. And while Bruce was not the typical pack, he had the experience needed when it came to the young ones who got violent beyond what an average Gothamite foster family was able to handle. He’d found both Cassandra and Jason like that, just their small pack of two, and had made sure that they knew he had no plans to separate them, that he just wanted to ensure that they were taken off the street and given a place to thrive.
And now Cass was speaking in small sentences, and Jason was willing to leave a room without her in tow. They were Bruce’s pups as much as Dick was, as much as this Tim could be, if the match fit.
They made it to the room that the omega child was held in. A bright red card taped to the door determined the risk level of the patient and the social worker glanced at Bruce quickly, likely gauging his reaction before she was opening it and ushering him. Bruce had to duck slightly to avoid clipping his head on the top of the doorframe.
At first glance, the room was empty. Bruce tilted his head up and opened his mouth to inhale, catching panic-scent and sweat, hospital grade cleaner and the faint tang of a thrown away meal. The pup-omega scent was strongest in the furthest right corner, where a small bundle was shaking against the wall. Bruce frowned and stepped around a chair and the hospital bed, slowly approaching Tim.
“You can take it off,” the social worker shut the door behind her. “Your omega scent might help calm him down.”
Bruce peeled off his scent patches, and the child in the corner didn’t react at first, still curled into a tight ball, acidic scent screaming ‘go away!’ He crouched down closer to where Tim was and offered out one of his hands, crooning softly.
A whimper. The child shifted his head enough to bite into one of the soft mitts that he had on, fangs sinking into the fabric. Watery eyes trained on Bruce, unfocused with the glaze that came with feral pups.
Bruce let out another soothing croon, his hand resting gently on Tim’s shoulder. It took a moment, but the tension in the little omega’s shoulders loosened, him blinking rapidly as more tears poured out.
And then he lunged for Bruce, loudly keening as he was caught up in an embrace. The mitted hands kneaded at Bruce’s shirt, Tim attempting to grip the fabric for comfort as loud sobs wracked his form. Bruce leaned back to settle on his butt, carefully cuddling the child close as he rocked them gently.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re alright, I’ve got you.”
Tim bit at Bruce’s shoulder, dull baby teeth barely registering. He tried again, gave up with a hiccup and settled down, a hitching purr punching between each wave of tears. Bruce hummed softly and ran his pinky down the omega’s forehead and nosebridge, scenting Tim as he kept up his slow rocking.
“Mr. Wayne.”
“Hm?”
“I presume your lawyers will be handling the paperwork?” The social worker asked. “I don’t want to rush you, but we need the beds—”
“I understand.” Bruce interrupted. Tim had already been at the hospital for a week during his premature presentation, and while he did have the more complex scent of an omega, the base layer still screamed pup and sour milk desperation. He didn’t need the sterility of a hospital, just the comfort of a home and proof that there were other packmates who would take care of him.
Cass would be pleased. She was Jason’s age from what they had figured out, and the two of them often squabbled over who was the younger and therefore should be ‘babied.’ With Tim in the mix, the boy would get much needed attention and hopefully the other two children would get to focus their energy on something other than play fighting.
Bruce stood up, knees creaking as he kept Tim close and held up in his embrace. “I presume that I’ll see you in a few days for the home visit?”
“Of course, thank you Mr. Wayne.”
Discharging Tim was a quick affair, Bruce opting to leave the safety mitts on as to not have to deal with potential self harm or a tantrum. The hospital was kind enough to provide Tim with a scented blanket from the room he’d occupied, and a generic Wayne Teddy Bear that somehow had lost an ear over the course of the week.
When the car was brought around, Bruce chose to sit in the back with Tim. The pup went silently into the carseat, bottom lip trembling but no sounds escaping as he watched Bruce buckle in next to him. Bruce kept his scent as steady as he could, pushing out what he hoped was something calm and kind.
The drive passed smoothly. Occasionally Tim would let out a small keen, easily fixed with Bruce brushing a hand over the child’s hair, or by taking one of the covered hands and squeezing gently. The further that they got from the hospital, the less agitated that Tim appeared to become, the reality that he was not being left behind sinking in.
The hazy fog did not clear from his eyes yet. Bruce knew it would take more time than a drive, Tim’s instincts protecting him even now. It made him willing to be picked up again when they reached the Manor, Bruce propping Tim against a hip as he entered through a side door that let out into the family kitchen over the grand front door.
Jason was at one of the prep counters, coring an apple, still in his Gotham Academy uniform. The twelve year old glanced up from his snack, blinked rapidly between Tim and Bruce. Stuffed half an apple slice in his mouth before offering the bitten other half.
“So when you said errand…”
“Oh hush chum,” Bruce took the offered slice. He held it up to Tim, who delicately licked the unmarred side before frowning and burying his face into Bruce’s neck, right over his scent gland. “Is Cassandra nesting?”
Jason jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the family nest. She raided Dick’s room too. He called while you were out, said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. Alfred said I gotta let her mope a bit.”
Ah, that would upset her. Dick hadn’t missed a night at the Manor in a few months now. Like Bruce, Cass liked her pack close to home where she could check on them in the middle of the night when bad dreams clawed at the edges of one’s mind.
“And how long has that been?”
“Like an hour. What’s the pup’s name?” He smells sick.”
“Tim was pretty ill,” Bruce said. “Early presentation and packless. He’ll likely be staying with us for a bit, at least until he’s out of the ferality.”
Jason shrugged, stuffed more of the apple in his mouth. “Cool.” He said around the mouthful as he reached up and pressed his wrist to Tim’s shoulder, scenting him. “I’m gonna go find Alfred.”
The boy went towards the door that would let out to the greenhouses, and Bruce deeper into the Manor. The family den was closer to the center of the home, the literal hearth back when the Waynes had first built the building back when Gotham was still young. It had gone through quite a few renovations to be modernized over the years– currently retaining a conversation pit modded into their nest– and it was by far the pack’s favorite room in the Manor, even above the Batcave.
Cassandra was in the center of the large nest, bundled in several blankets, Bruce’s Gotham U sweatshirt peeking out from the swath of fabric. She was already looking in their direction when he’d entered the room and her face brightened as she saw the child in Bruce’s arms.
Bruce stepped into the pit, feet sinking into the plush, pillow covered ground. He stumbled when Tim squirmed, managing to turn it into a mostly graceful sink into a kneel next to his daughter. She was still watching silently, but once Tim wiggled free, she pushed the blankets off her to hold open her arms and catch him.
“Hello Cassie.” Bruce scented her briefly, Cass too busy nuzzling her face in Tim’s hair. She peeked at him and smiled softly, nimble fingers picking at the velcro keeping Tim’s mitts on.
“Dad..” She freed the boy from the first mitt, smoothing Tim’s hand open. “This is not an errand.”
“I’m sorry.” Bruce said sincerely. “I wasn’t given much warning. I should have talked it over with you kids.”
Cass nodded. She freed Tim from the second mitt, throwing both out of the nest. “It’s…” she swallowed, clearly planning the next words, “okay. This time, because he’s ours now.”
“That’s right,” Bruce murmured. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, Cass purring at the affection. “We’ll take care of him now.”