Archive of Our Own

It hadn’t been the first time Bruce had disappeared.

It hadn’t been the first time Bruce had gone black during a stealth op without notice. Tim knew that, he knew that very well. His alpha was prone to making decisions wholly his own without consulting anyone.

The rest of the pack was adjusted to and even expected Bruce to drown them out, to abruptly cut communication, and then resurface a few days later with a twenty page report on the events and a few new scars.

Tim knew how it was, he was used to it. Gotham had been dumped in his hands when he’d been Robin enough times for him to have gotten used to it.

Darkseid had changed that.

Tim didn’t know if the rest of the pack had just forgotten or if they chose to ignore how deeply Tim had gone off the deep end when Bruce had “died”. He’d been right in the end and it had paid off with Bruce’s return but there’d been nights, moments where Tim had wondered if he really had lost it.

Omega hysteria. He’d heard whispers of it before in medical textbooks and between the nurses who had gossipped while Dana had lay in her hospital bed screaming.

He’d wondered if he was chasing threads of a conspiracy he was just telling himself made sense. But his gut had told him he’d been right. So Tim had thrown it all to the wind and dived in head first on what amounted to nothing more than a hunch.

And he’d been right.

So when Bruce’s comms, location, and beacon shut off while he was in the middle of trying to get close to a drug and weapons shipment being loaded onto a plane; something inside Tim started blaring.

It’d been a drop in his gut, like all his organs had plopped to his feet. It’d been the same feeling that rushed and knocked the wind out of him when the broken portrait of “Mordecai” Wayne sat at his feet.

Bat emergency alerts were sewn into every utility belt and suit. If Bruce were in danger and needed an extraction he could’ve pressed it.

If Tim tried calling Dick, Jason or even Barbara to tell them that he was worried about Bruce they would’ve told him the same thing.

Maybe.

Or maybe they would’ve taken his worry seriously, listened to him when he said that this black out didn’t feel like the ones Bruce had put him through before.

(No one listened to him the first time and Tim had tried desperately to believe the outcome would've been the same had he been an alpha or a beta)

But Tim had been burned once already before. His gut told him something was wrong and if that turned out to be true he’d just be wasting time trying to convince his pack to believe him.

Picking up a trail had been difficult. Cameras in the surrounding areas had been damaged from a massive electrical surge that happened the week before when Firefly flew into a power grid control center.

The plane that Batman had been investigating was one that was supposedly grounded by the airline yet was still lined up to depart.

The drugs that were suspected to be on board were Gotham specialties. Bootleg fear, pollen, and joker gas because Gotham’s rogues were more possessive over their formulas than an omega over their pups.

That made the case especially unique because drugs didn’t typically flow from the eastern United States. Gotham was a distribution site, they paid to have product brought to them where they could then sell or cut, package, and send upstate to New York.

Jason had told Bruce that much before he’d left. If they were taking the risk of bribing Gotham air traffic controllers and flying the drugs over the country rather than smuggling it across by car that meant there was probably a lot of money invested into the operation already.

Investment meant deep pockets and deep pockets meant people who made smart financial decisions. You don’t fly a plane full of drugs across the country unless you already have buyers lined up.

That meant the plane had to be going to the west, either California or Oregon because those were where the biggest drug hubs were.

Bruce would never let a plane full of Gotham toxins fly to a city that didn’t have hospitals or clinics equipped with the cures on hand.

Which meant he hadn’t had a choice in keeping the plane grounded.

Casting a search net over the entire western United States was a big job, one that would’ve taken more time than Bruce probably had.

Tim had only been made aware of the fact that Batman had gone dark three days after it happened when he returned from his own undercover sting. But Bruce had disappeared for longer than three days and a week would need to pass before anyone would even begin to suspect anything.

Which meant he had to hurry.

So Tim narrowed the search by flight patterns that occurred the day Bruce had gone dark. Figuring it out was a matter of consulting the FAA which was one of the few branches of government Tim could actually trust to do their job on occasion. At any given moment there were about 5,000 planes in United States airspace. One of them had carried his mentor and father.

Tim had narrowed it down to it being around a 70% chance that the plane had gone towards California. Further north than business would usually occur which was why Tim’s guess wasn’t higher. Perhaps Bruce’s presence had thrown off their plans and they’d needed to deviate from their original course? But had they been heading south or further north?

Loading a commercial Boeing in Gotham under the cover of the night was one thing, unloading in a place like California was likely a different issue. Jason had beef with most west coast drug lords to the point that he’d basically forced Tim to promise that if he ever stumbled across a few of them while he was with the Titans, that he'd hand them over to him.

Tim had lied of course because he knew what handing them over to Jason would entail so he’d gotten very good at picking up on west coast trafficking strategies.

Plane use was rarer than other forms of transportation for getting product across state lines but when it did occur it was usually with light aircrafts and a single pilot.

With the size of the score, they’d needed to unload it would’ve taken several planes and pilots who were participating. (Unloading into cars and trucks would’ve been discrete but it seemed that it wasn’t discretion they were pushing but rather quick delivery).

A small number of them flying in a cluster towards the destination would’ve been noted.

From there all Tim had to do was cross reference sightings.

Napa Valley residents had tweeted complaints towards their local sheriff's office about low planes flying over late at night. In the morning the sheriff had tweeted back that the local flight school had messed up with their location training for the ‘night flying’ lesson of the course.

Napa Valley didn’t have a ‘local flight school’ at least not ones with night flying in the curriculum. A plane had landed on the runway of a Napa Valley airport late at night. Within the hour, six single-passenger planes departed and arrived in Washington County, Oregon.

Well, five had. The fifth one arrived an hour later.

‘Emergency landing’ they’d claimed to the air control tower. That’s why they’d been so far behind their ‘classmates’.

Only there was nowhere for them to have landed between Napa Valley and Washington County.

From the direction they’d been going they would have had to have landed in the middle of the northern California wilderness.

…

Which was a highly remote area that was only accessible through a combination of hiking and mountain climbing. It was ripe with wildlife like black bears and mountain lions.

And was where Bruce had likely been dumped.

Shit.

In hindsight, it probably would’ve been a good idea to have told someone before leaving.

But Tim’s brain only had the audacity to let the thought occur to him while he was flying one of the spare batplanes lowly over the California mountain ranges.

Tim’s tech was useless with Bruce’s beacons still being off. All he had was a gut feeling and an approximate area to search. All their suits contained rebound signals, a device that when paired with a scanner served as a sort of echolocation.

It was very low-tech and rarely used. The last time Tim could remember pulling it out of storage was during the Cataclysm.

It was accurate and that was what Tim cared about.

He had a vague area to search so that was what he was going to do.

The issue was that the scanner was accurate up to a distance of 100 meters. That was probably the reason that Batman had outfitted more of their tech with it.

It also meant that Tim was stuck flying very close to mountainsides and treetops trying to find any hint of signal.

Tim was about twelve hours into his search when he did.

He was deep into the California wilderness, coniferous trees occasionally interspersed with large hunks of granite mountains. The sun was high in the sky but even without it Tim could see that flat land was rare. There was no way he could’ve landed the batplane close enough to where the signal was coming from.

Maybe that should’ve been the moment Tim activated his beacon, turned on an alert.

But Tim’s gut feeling as he settled the batplane down on a patch of semi level land had gotten worse because they were in the middle of nowhere.

Not close to any roads, plants, or underground facilities (thermals in the batplane had covered that).

Which meant that Bruce’s suit was giving off a signal but every other method he had to contact Tim, the cave, or anyone wasn’t.

There could’ve been a frequency jammer in place. Those were getting cheaper and were good enough to interfere with their comms and signals. Any rogue with a few thousand lying around was able to get their hands on them.

Bruce could’ve been hurt. Concussed even. If he was too injured or confused to send a signal that would explain why he hadn’t called for Tim.

The idea of Bruce having been so badly injured he was stuck in the wilderness for four days without food, water, or shelter did not paint a good picture.

But Bruce just being badly hurt was better than the alternative.

Tim slowed to a stop at the foot of a several stories high wall of granite and sedimentary rock.

Tim had been trained in free climbing. They all had, but just because he could risk it didn’t mean he was going to.

The last thing Bruce needed was Tim popping up injured.

Tim wasn’t certain that something bad had happened to Bruce (it was just a feeling and Tim’s feelings had never steered him wrong before) but given the information he’d gathered it was safe to say that whatever happened was very bad.

The rock plateaued at some points. It allowed for Tim to take short breaks while stabilizing the teeth of his grapple to his next target. Grapples were mainly meant to pierce mortar, concrete and brick around Gotham, they weren’t necessarily meant to climb the flat side of mountains. They usually just suspended you in the air for a brief period of time, guiding your momentum. They weren’t meant to hold your weight for extended periods of time.

Still, it got Tim to the top so he hadn’t really cared.

The signal was stronger and as Tim walked into a patch of dense, thorny bush and rocky hills he could sense something was off.

Tim was a detective through and through. He just knew when something didn’t fit.

There was a sign of some kind of scuffle having occurred the more he walked. Broken branches and bushes all littered the high grasses that brushed the knees of his suit.

Foliage was trampled over and flattened. There was evidence of some kind of disruption surrounding the area. Tim could smell it. The air was sweet with the scent of untouched plants and dry earth but there was also a lingering note of burnt low lead fuel.

It was a nose wrinkling sort of smell that cut through Tim’s nose. Tim cleared it away several times, hoping that he would be able to smell Bruce’s scent through the layers upon layers of blockers he had on him.

Any further thought about the cutting smell was thrown away the moment he spotted the bulky black lump propped against a nearby tree.

Tim’s scanner had started nonstop dinging in his ear.

Tim almost dropped the grapple he’d been holding in his rush to get to Bruce. He…wasn’t in good shape.

Tim could see even from a distant away how heavily he was breathing. Bruce’s chest was rising and falling, his head bobbing with every breath he took. Tim could smell a coppery note of blood as he fell to his knees beside Bruce, knocking away several used up flares.

Shit. Had he tried signaling for help?

Tim noted where Bruce’s cape was ripped off, tied around one of his thigh to stem bleeding from a large gash that Tim could see flies buzzing around.

Even from his other side Tim could smell the sour note of infected flesh.

Bruce was still panting, mouth open like he was a dog in the heat but his skin was dry.

Tim froze for a moment before he audibly cursed.

“Fuck.”

Heat stroke, or at least some heat illness. Bruce’s skin surrounding his mouth was a bright red, skin flaky and patchy. Tim prying Bruce’s cowl and undoing the security straps for his suit was followed by an immediate shaky sigh.

Bruce’s eyes remained shut even after Tim tugged the entire top half of his suit off leaving him naked and bared on top. Distress and smoky cedar wood notes.

Tim swallowed as he took Bruce in. (Bruce’s scent was distressed, his scent).

There was a yellow crustiness to his eyes that Tim did his best to wipe away as he scrambled through his supplies.

Shit. He hadn’t brought any of the emergency medi packs from the batplane. He hadn’t even checked if the batplane was stocked with medi packs before leaving.

That meant all he had was what was in his utility belt and bandoliers which he’d stuffed with a little bit of everything before leaving.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Tim did his best to wipe Bruce down off the dirt on him. He also popped open several of the emergency packs he kept on him. The water wood was tepid from being in his packs but Tim doubted Bruce would complain. Bruce’s mouth was slackened and Tim carefully pinched his jaw between two fingers, watching the ball of his throat as he gently poured in manageable sips of water. As he held him steady, Tim could feel the fast pulse of Bruce peating under his fingers even through his gloves.

Bruce was under the shade that much was good. Tim had removed his top and left his bare chest exposed to lessen the heat trapped between his suit and skin. Tim was slowly applying fluids and Bruce seemed lucid enough to drink. Tim could see Bruce’s eyes flickering behind his lids and did his best to clean them enough to let Bruce open them.

They were bloodshot. Horribly red and dry enough that Tim half worried that Bruce had gotten some infection in them.

Four days. Four days he’d been stranded.

Tim’s eyes locked on Bruce’s utility belt. The front was pried open. The alert signal was on.

Fuck.

Fucking jammers. Tim was going to get those banned if it was the last thing he did (Tim decided to ignore the fact that underground channels would just emerge in order to get them). That had to be it, there was no other thing that could interfere with it.

But Tim hadn’t seen one when he’d landed or climbed. There was no way to tell when he’d entered the range since he hadn’t had his comms up because he hadn’t told anyone he was going out to California.

So much for a fucking rescue.

“-im? T..im?”

Tim snapped to attention, gently cupping Bruce’s cheek as he met his gaze.

“Yes, yes B I’m here. I came for you, it’s alright.” Tim rushed to reassure him. Bruce’s eyes were glazed and hazy, Tim wasn’t even sure if he heard him.

Bruce made a dry croaking sound almost like a toad and Tim brought the half empty bag of water to his lips.

Fuck. Bruce needed medical attention. He needed the cave and Tim needed to send out an alert.

But if Bruce’s signal was jammed so was his. They either needed to get back to the batplane Tim had haphazardly parked or get out of range.

Getting out of range would be riskier. Tim knew that most jammers could have a radius that ranged anywhere from five to fifty miles.

With Bruce injured, Tim would need to support his weight most of the way. Tim could lift Bruce. He knew that. But carrying for several miles?

That was a test of both endurance and strength that Tim wasn’t sure he could make.

Getting down to the batplane was the better option. It was closer, Tim possibly had more medical supplies there, and if they were still in the range of a jammer Tim could fly them out and let Alfred know what was going on and to ready the medbay.

But Tim had scaled the mountain they were on to reach him. He’d have to balance Bruce’s injured body and hope that his grapple could withstand the weight. If it couldn’t then…

Tim knew his grapple. He knew all his equipment. He’d helped build and repair it more times than he could count.

Without even trying he knew it wouldn’t be able to withstand more than a few seconds of their conjoined weight.

Fuck Tim should’ve told someone. He really should've told or brought someone along with him.

Maybe they would’ve said he was being paranoid or recommend that he go back to seeing his therapist for his doom escalation thoughts, but at least he would’ve had a second person to fly the batplane up and lower a ladder down to them.

Mountainside was no go.

Bruce’s salvation was almost 100 meters away and Tim couldn’t get him to it.

Tim cast another look on Bruce’s half naked body. Deep bruises painted his back, the leg without the gash was propped awkwardly outwards like Bruce had been trying to keep it still.

A fracture then, a possible break.

Both Bruce’s arms were badly mangled, Tim could see where one of Bruce’s fingernails had ripped off, the nail bed crusted over and fleshy. His gloves had torn horribly like he’d tried to hold a rope that that was moving quickly.

Not rope burn though, something else, something more concentrated on the fingertips than the palm.

…

The broken branches.

Bruce’s ripped hands.

The fact that one or both of his legs was likely broken and his back was severely bruised like he’d taken a bad hit.

“Holy shit,” Tim breathed. “Did you jump out of the plane?”

One of Bruce’s eyes stared blearily at him.

“Holy shit you did, you jumped out of the plane you absolute lunatic!”

Tim couldn’t help but gape at Bruce. The pilot hadn’t dumped Bruce here, he’d jumped out. The delay that he’d reported hadn’t been falsified, the pilot probably had made an emergency landing to keep from freaking out at the fact that Batman had jumped out of his plane.

Tim had done parachuteless diving before, he knew the protocol. Aim from heavy forest or fresh snow. Hitting water was the same as hitting the floor. Extend the body outward to gain as much drag as possible. Bruce’s cape would’ve been able to slow his descent enough so the fall wasn’t lethal but he still had to have been falling pretty fast. Falling through trees slowed him even more and his hands had gotten destroyed trying to hang on to avoid splatting. When landing, he’d let his feet absorb all the shock, it would’ve absolutely shattered them but he’d have lived.

…

Lived long enough to find out that the pilot, in his panic, must’ve tried circling back. Damaging the foliage even more and leaving behind the smell of the fuel they’d been burning. Unable to find Batman they must’ve thrown the jammer out in a last ditch attempt to keep him from calling for backup.

They must’ve hoped that the fall would’ve killed him and if it hadn’t that he’d have succumbed to either injury or starvation first.

Fuck.

Rogues rarely ever got one over on Batman. Very very rarely. But one panicking drug courier was all it took to have nearly taken Bruce out for good.

It would’ve taken a week before anyone in the pack started to worry. How much longer before they found out something had gone wrong? Before they found whatever would’ve been left of Bruce?

Tim shivered, he couldn’t ignore the wet acidic crawl that crept up his throat at the thought. He’d seen Bruce’s “body” after Darkseid. The burning smell of kevlar clung to the inside of his nose for months afterward. The sight of Bruce’s disintegrated body, all the meat burned off leaving behind only a charred skeleton that smelt like dust and ash.

Tim had woken up sweating and crying for weeks afterward.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Bruce finished up the water packet and Tim immediately slashed open another one. He held Bruce’s chin up and dripped the lukewarm water into his mouth until Bruce was no longer gasping and licking his dry lips. Until color returned to his cheeks.

Tim removed his cape and started doing a mental tally. He only brought enough water to last him a day. He hadn’t thought much beyond just finding Bruce again.

That year searching for Bruce had taught Tim very well how easily he lost sight of things when it came to Bruce. He’d left Gotham with no funds, no plan, no backup, and limited supplies. As much as he hated to admit it, if Ra's hadn’t extended his offer to help, Tim may never have been able to track Bruce down, too busy trying to find some way to fund his one-man mission.

This couldn’t happen again. Tim couldn’t let himself be so blinded by finding his father that he neglected everything else.

He swore to Dick he wouldn’t pull what he pulled that year again.

Now look at him.

Stabilizing all of Bruce’s limbs and hefting him over his back. Wrapping his cape under his thighs and tying it around his front like a makeshift baby sling.

Bruce’s arms were crossed in front of him, held still by the top half of his uniform. Tim didn’t want to jostle or move Bruce’s legs too much, fearful of how badly they were damaged. But if he was going to get Bruce off the mountain, he was going to need to move him.

Tim let himself feel regret for only a moment before he snapped his extended bo staff in half and used each piece as a splint for Bruce’s legs.

Getting Bruce up was when Tim realized how bad it was. Bruce’s red eyes shot open, his mouth parting like he was about to yell. Tim heard a horrible wheeze leave his mouth before he was scrambling for his utility belt.

NSAIDs, corticosteroids, muscle relaxers, anticonvulsants, opioids. He was basically carrying a fucking pharmacy.

Tim made a mental note of each syringe he pressed to a patch of cleaned skin from when he’d wiped Bruce down. Numbing agents, just enough for the places where Bruce would be suffering the most movement while Tim walked.

The next time Tim pulled Bruce up all he got was a hazily lolled head that touched the curve of Tim’s neck. Bruce was mumbling words lowly, soft breaths pressing against the nape of Tim’s cowl. Tim felt the air and ghost of his lips against his exposed jaw as he steadied his thighs and pushed up.

Tim immediately hunched over from the weight. He felt his knees start to buckle before he found his center of gravity and was able to hold Bruce steadily. Bruce’s legs were looped over Tim’s waist, his head tucked against his neck. Tim felt the pull of his cape wrapped around his chest and felt nothing but relief that it hadn’t unraveled.

Tim’s first step was slow. A bent knee slid forward a few inches before he switched feet. Tim felt the scrape of dirt and rocks under the sole of his boot with every shift of his weight. As he got used to it he felt confident to lift a foot and start forward.

Bruce was heavy. Heavy and big. It wasn’t long before Tim felt the beginning of aches blooming across his back. He was essentially walking bent over, upper body getting pulled down by the weight. Tim was too worried to allow Bruce’s weight to pull him back and keep him straight up. The risk of tipping back and dropping Bruce as well as falling on him was too high.

Bruce’s wounds were already being aggravated just by Tim’s walking. Who knew how long that cocktail of painkillers Tim had given him was going to last before it needed to be reapplied?

Tim didn’t know how long he walked, thighs trembling with each step he took. He’d climbed the mountain when the sun was still high in the sky, now Tim could see the clouds blooming to the pinks and oranges of a sunset. He could hear his trembling breaths in his own ears, and feel the heat of Bruce against his back.

Bruce’s sour scent had mellowed slightly, pacified by the chemicals in his system. But Tim could still detect the notes of distress and pain in him.

Shit.

Tim wasn’t certain about how much he’d walked but he was sure it was a bit over five miles. There was a fallen log laid in the middle of a lush patch of knee-length grass that had Tim’s calves screaming for relief.

Tim was careful. The fall to his knees was hard and rang with an achy sort of pain but Bruce didn’t get jostled. Tim fell to the side with heaving sounds, sticky sweat trailed all inside his suit as he carefully undid the cape at his front and let Bruce’s back rest against the fallen tree.

Bruce’s eyes were half-lidded as Tim shifted beside him. Bruce’s mouth was parted slightly.

Seeing the slight circle of dried skin, Tim carefully unpacked another water pack.

When Tim pressed the snipped tip to Bruce’s mouth, hand cupping a warm cheek, Bruce shook his head.

“Bruce!” Tim gasped out a short sound, scrambling to not tip over the bag. He was lucky and only a slosh of it spilled and rolled down Bruce’s chin.

Bruce’s eyes were sharpened with a hint of clarity in them. Tim watched as Bruce dryly swallowed, brows furrowing briefly as he let out a short sound.

“You-” Bruce coughed and Tim winced at how dry the sound was, “you need to…to drink somethin’...Tim-”

Tim pursed his lips. He felt the edge of denial on his lips- Bruce was hurt, Bruce needed it more.

Tim would be fine, the human body could go three to four days without water but Bruce needed to replenish all he had lost. He’d gone without food for the same amount of time too,

Bruce stubbornly closed his mouth when Tim tried pressing the bag in close.

“No.” Bruce’s lips turned down.

Tim felt something begin to bubble in him. He thought of Darkseid, Bruce’s body. He thought of how they could’ve already been back in the cave if Tim had just…brought a stronger grapple or taken the smaller batplane.

“Bruce,” Tim began, he could already hear the stressed hitch in his voice. As he pressed the water bag close to Bruce’s mouth again, Bruce turned his head away. “Please.”

Tim would cry if that was what it took. He’d beg and he’d plead. Bruce was hurt, he was on medication, and he wasn’t thinking straight.

Tim pressed closer, body jostling Bruce’s side and ready to force it down Bruce’s throat if he wouldn’t drink. He stopped when he caught the pained grimace on Bruce’s face.

“You need more painkillers.”

Some would offer more sedative effects. Maybe it was underhanded to try and drug Bruce into compliance but what other choice did Tim have?

He could go thirsty for a few days if it meant Bruce would live.

Tim dumped his medicine pouch over, sorting through all the prepackaged doses and pills. Tim hadn’t been looking when he’d taken a handful of everything from the cave. He’d picked up a trail and was going after his alpha.

Tim was looking for the naproxen when he stumbled across the small, bullet-shaped waxy bulk. It was in strip packaging, a six-dose line. Tim didn’t recognize it from sight and immediately turned it over, hoping it may have been something he could use.

‘Domperidone, 30mg/suppository’

Tim ran through the encyclopedia in his head- domperidone ‘used in palliative care for nausea, used to combat sickness from medicine combinations such as Parkinson’s, used to induce milk production-’

Tim felt his internal dialogue cut off. Tim felt like two ends of a string began pressing together, ripped ends twisting and melting together.

Tim was low on water. He didn’t know what Bruce’s supply was but given that he’d seen a number of discarded tools around him when he’d found him it was likely that Bruce had probably drank through it if he’d been in such a terrible state when Tim found him.

Bruce was insisting that Tim drink, he was refusing to accept an alternative.

Tim dug through his utility belt to find a solution and he did.

‘There have to be weirder things out there’ Tim couldn’t help but rationalize.

Tim breastfeeding his father to ensure his survival probably wasn’t even the weirdest thing currently happening in a ten-mile radius of him.

Tim felt his tongue dart out, licking his drying lips with sticky saliva.

He would do this.

If it would keep Bruce alive, he would do anything.

Tim felt the soft encyclopedia voice in his head start again.

‘Can be taken orally or rectally. Has a bioavailability of 80% with a suppository, 45 minutes for onset of action’

Omegas experienced heightened effects with certain medications. They were usually steered clear of any combination of medication that could affect their hormonal balance.

Some omegas had to go on anti-anxiety medications the moment they presented because of what stress could induce in them.

Tim had learned about it in biology class and read about it in history class when covering the famines and famous starving periods. Families that’d had omegas had nearly always turned out well

Omegas pumped milk out like nobody’s business. Every extended hormonal imbalance or long-term environmental stressor led to omegas overproducing milk as a defense. Paleoanthropologists believed it developed as a way for omegas to earn protection and various favor from their species. Instead of being another mouth to feed they were a food source.

In Ancient Egypt Pharaohs and important diplomatic figures had been buried with legions of omegas so that they would always be nourished and fed in the afterlife.

The concept of non-pups feeding from omegas had died away at some point after the European Renaissance. In the rest of the world, it continued to be practiced until periods of extended colonization also ended it within cultures.

It wasn’t quite…taboo.

It wasn’t quite frowned on either.

It was just massively uncomfortable and a big no-no.

When the Irish potato famine occurred and the British caught word the omegas were keeping their families alive by breastfeeding it had been condemned. Viewed as heinous, and lewd and just another reason for them to continue living under British imperialism.

The same dialogue was spouted during the Russian Famine of 1920 and the Great Chinese Famine of the 1960s.

It was political mudslinging, intent to make the other person look bad.

So Tim knew it wasn’t something Bruce would take too easily.

Tim was his son, it was inappropriate. The concept of Bruce, a fully grown alpha, breastfeeding from his omega child toed the line of being obscene.

Did the omega children who saw their mothers and fathers starving think about how inappropriate it was? Or did they do what they could to keep their loved ones alive?

Omega breastmilk was basically liquid gold and even powdered formula couldn’t replicate its effect.

It was 80% water, packed with plenty of vital and necessary fats and protein. Eight ounces was enough to bring a person on the brink of starvation, hypoglycemic shock, and dehydration back to stabilized levels.

But because of modern sensibilities, it was an unexplored medical path.

Maybe Bruce wouldn’t like it.

Tim began tugging down his pants.

Maybe he’d be disgusted. Protest against it or say there was something wrong with Tim for suggesting it.

Tim stripped the packaging open, grabbing two of the suppositories and hoping his natural slickness would allow them to slide into his vagina.

Maybe he’d even be angry with Tim.

Tim was tense and the initial push-in was rejected. His hole clenched up, going tight around the bullet-shaped tip and pushing it back out. It took Tim a minute before he was able to get the angle right. His slickness allowed for there to be a smooth slide to the penetration. Tim felt as the cone-shaped tip pierced inside of him, walls stretching around it. Tim let out a slow breath as he kept pressing it in deeper, as deep as it would go.

Tim used his middle finger to press it in, not stopping until he was inside himself all the way to the knuckle. He felt where the suppository was inside him, a soft clench and he could feel where the tip of it was resting just against his cervix. The second one followed shortly afterward.

There was a brief flash of discomfort, of hyper-awareness that there was something in his body that hadn’t been there before.

Tim was tugging his pants back on when he felt the initial…trickle. It wasn’t quite liquid, more like a…very slick oil coating the inside of his pussy.

Tim shifted as he buckled the front of his utility belt. He felt as the solid wax was slowly melted by the heat of his body.

He felt like he was full of slick, just one pussy clench away from letting it all gush out.

It took steady self-control for Tim to not do what felt like a natural bodily reaction.

Pressing his hands to his knees, Tim steadied himself and shifted to his knees.

Turning to face Bruce, Tim met his eyes.

Bruce’s expression was still weak and easy to read, none of his walls were up, all torn down from exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. He was staring, eyes hazed by drugs and pain looking at Tim with something that Tim couldn’t identify in his eyes.

“Tim?” Bruce’s voice was low, edged with question and a trickle of concern.

Tim watched him for another moment, gaze lingering on his wrapped hands, on the two splints he had on each leg, the gash stemmed by a ripped cape, his red eyes that were near drooping in exhaustion and pain.

The sun had been falling even lower and Tim could see as the shadows of the trees around them grew longer and darker.

Tim had about an hour before he’d feel the effects.

…But he needed to try.

Just once more.

“Bruce,” Tim began softly. “You’re severely dehydrated, recovering from heat sickness, injured with multiple fractures and possible breaks, exhausted, and in pain. Please drink the water.”

Tim had expected but was still disappointed to see Bruce shake his head. A pang of pain bloomed in Tim’s chest because could he not see how badly in shape he was?

Couldn’t he see what looking at him huff and wince short breath did to Tim? How much it distressed him?

If both Superboy and Superman were still on planet Tim wouldn’t have to go through this. Maybe Superman wouldn’t have helped but Superboy would’ve at least heard him out. He would’ve sat down and listened as Tim handed him a recording of Bruce’s heartbeat and asked him to seek it out. Superboy would’ve been able to find him sooner, rescue him faster, get him the medical attention and help he needed.

But Tim…this was all Tim could do.

Tim swallowed back the rock of pulsing pain in his throat at his alpha’s rejection of his help. Tim turned away so Bruce wouldn’t see the flash of hurt he knew crossed his expression.

The sun was further down than it’d been when they stopped and Tim could feel a small chill travel through him once the harsh rays weren’t beating down on them anymore. It was only sitting down and resting that he could take stock of how sore his legs were. Pain was radiating from his quads like he’d spent the last few hours doing deadlifts. His calves were also burning with a protesting pain.

Tim was not a strength person, that wasn’t what he worked on during training days. Sure he made sure he was strong enough to lift a person in case they needed to be evacuated from somewhere but that was it. Tim worked on speed, on endurance.

Despite being in pain he wasn’t tired. His mouth was sticky with thirst and sweat that trailed all down the inside of his suit. The heat had gotten to be too much at one point and Tim had leaned against a rock formation and removed his cowl, letting his sweat soaked hair take in the occasional mountaintop breeze.

It was getting darker, Tim could see where bits of pitchblack were starting to crawl in. They were like the dark, unlit corner of the cave. Visibility down to zero and no indication of what was beyond it aside from the occasional squealing and squeaks from bats.

“-eed flares.”

Tim turned his head back to face Bruce. Bruce’s head was tilted all the way back, resting on the log behind them. His voice was still low and scratchy without anything to lubricate it. Bruce’s eyes were looking away from Tim, looking at the creeping darkness as the sun continued to sink.

“Need flares, light.” Bruce choked slightly, a soft gag filling the air and Tim was up on his knees and beside him, resting a hand on his chest and feeling his heartbeat against his hand. “Light, i’s gettin dark an animals-”

Bruce wheezed and Tim squeezed the water pack in his hand tight enough for it to slosh out and wet the fingers of his gloves. Bruce let out a coughing fit, dry and painful.

A possible upper respiratory infection? He hadn’t spit out any phlegm so Tim couldn’t be certain.

Bruce’s painful sounds tapered off and he cleared his throat before continuing.

“Mountain lions.”

Tim froze. They were in the northern california wilderness. On a mountain. Mountain lions were crepuscular and nocturnal predators, if they weren’t already out they would be soon and he and Bruce were sitting ducks. Bruce was injured and immobile without Tim.

All those flares that had littered the ground when Tim found him.

They hadn’t been to signal for help; they'd been to scare off predators smelling an easy meal.

Tim immediately dug into the pockets of his utility belt. Starting a fire was too risky, Tim would need to leave Bruce's side to gather wood and supplies. Bat flares could run for four or five hours before having to be relit. That plus being injured would’ve meant that Bruce had to remain awake to make sure nothing approached him and also to relight them as needed.

Bruce could’ve been awake for all four days. That would explain his bloodshot eyes, the rapid blinking, and the fact that Tim could feel him startling awake on his back as he’d been trying to walk them down the mountain and out of range of the jammer.

Fuck, this just kept getting worse.

Tim was getting up from lighting the flare and sticking it into the soft ground when he felt a pull of something in his chest. It was an odd sensation, a sort of…bloom of feeling. Tim felt like his chest had swelled up, hot and sore like a twisted ankle.

Tim could still feel an oily wetness between his legs, a slosh inside him as he tightened his thighs and bent down. Reddish-pink light from the flare was brightening the area and Tim could see as surrounding trees with large hanging leaves and thick grass were exposed.

Omega milk had an effect on the sleep-wake cycle, that coupled with the darkness and Bruce’s clear fatigue meant that he would be able to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep while Tim stayed awake and kept watch.

Tim inched back to Bruce’s side, following his weary eyes.

Bruce looked so…vulnerable. So small and weak.

It wasn’t a look on him that Tim was used to. He remembered Bruce returning from being lost in time. How rail thin and trembling he’d been. It’d taken months for him to regain his previous muscular mass. Just a few days out in the wilderness and Tim could see how his body had reverted to starvation mode.

Bruce’s broad chest was slimmer, his lower abdomen kept clenching, allowing Tim to see the hollow space of his empty stomach.

Bruce had never fully recovered from when he’d been lost in time. Something had shifted in him, in his mind. He was quicker to anger, easier to stress.

Tim knew Bruce hadn’t told anyone but Tim had seen discarded prescription bottles in his bathroom’s trash can when he’d gone looking for a razor. Antidepressants and heart medication.

Abruptly stopping the medication had likely also made Bruce’s precarious health worse.

There was still a stigma against alpha’s with depression and Bruce had grown up in a different time.

Tim felt his knees press into the soft ground under him, his hand resting on the log behind Bruce’s back.

This was going to take some…convincing.

Tim’s breasts were tender, a fullness to them that wasn’t normally there. Tim felt the strain of them against the inside of his suit, an odd discomfort in them from pressing against his bandoliers. He was still covered in blockers but Tim was sure if they were removed Bruce would be able to pick up the notes of that powdery, sweet scent that wafted off of milking omegas.

“Bruce,” Tim began, his knees pressed against his mentor’s side. “I…I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Bruce’s eyes were glazed over and hazy, every word he’d said the entire day had been slow and stilted, tied down with a stumbling uncertainty. Tim eyed the wince that trailed through his body and resolved to reapply some of the pain medications soon.

Tim parted his mouth to speak but something in him stuttered unsurely.

Was he…really about to do this?

Tim’s eyes locked on Bruce’s trembling empty stomach, on his dirty face, and his pained winces that were growing with frequency the more time passed.

Yes.

Yes he was.

Tim undid his bandoliers, and tugged the front of his suit open. The compression shirt he wore underneath was wet, stained with a combination of salty sweat and honeyed, sweet milk.

Tim watched the moment that Bruce’s nose picked up the scent. A twitch of the tip followed by nostrils flaring and Bruce’s head suddenly picking up from where it was rested on the log.

Bruce’s confused eyes suddenly filled with a spark of understanding as Tim peeled the top half of his suit off, lifting up the bottom of his compression top and pulling it over his head.

Tim felt Bruce’s eyes on him as he let the shirt fall out of his slack fingers.

“Tim.”

Bruce’s voice somehow sounded more wheezed as he said his name.

Tim looked down at his chest, taking in the rounded edge of his tits, bigger than he’d last seen them. The pink of his nipples had darkened and enlarged. Tim could see where the tips had perked up, nipple tips wet and coated with a wetness that Tim was certain Bruce could see even through half-lidded eyes.

Tim crept closer, knees scraping against rocks and moss. Carefully, Tim lifted a knee, he pressed and let it rest on Bruce’s other side leaving Tim to straddle Bruce’s waist. Tim carefully did not put any weight down on Bruce, not when his state was still so delicate.

From the way they were positioned, Tim’s chest was right at Bruce’s eyes. Tim could feel Bruce’s hands bound and crossed in front of his chest against his stomach as he inched closer and settled one hand on Bruce’s neck and the other behind his head.

“Tim-” Bruce's voice had a shocked, almost astonished tone when Tim settled his bare hands against him.

“Bruce,” Tim replied and ignored how Bruce’s pained and trembling body was now as rigid as stone. “Don’t ask me to watch you die.”

Tim stared down into Bruce’s eyes, watching as his pupils dilated trying to focus.

Tim saw Bruce’s lips purse, his brows furrowing as Tim gripped the back of his head.

“Tim no-”

“Yes.” Tim nodded his head just to make sure Bruce fully understood him, he wasn’t certain of just how cognitively aware he was but it wouldn’t hurt to continue trying to communicate what exactly was going to happen. Because it was going to happen.

Bruce may be angry or disgusted or even embarrassed but it didn’t change the fact that Tim’s options were severely limited. He had no food on him, nothing, not even a candy bar. Bruce was insisting that Tim drink the last of their water supply and Tim had…had no guarantee that he could get them out of range fast enough before Bruce took a turn for the worst.

They could be stuck hiking for another thirty miles and how long would that take? The only path down from the mountain was in the exact opposite direction of the batplane and risking the trip of going down and around would possibly take longer than they had.

This was Tim’s only option. It would keep Bruce alive.

Still, Tim couldn’t ignore the bubbles of nervousness popping his gut, or the clear heat on his face that told Bruce that he wasn’t anywhere near as steady as he sounded.

Tim took a slow breath before letting the words flow out of his mouth.

“I’m- my…my milk,” Tim swallowed, the only sound audible for miles as he met Bruce’s unnervingly blank expression. “Drink, Bruce.”

Tim licked his dry, sticky lips and Bruce’s eyes darted to his mouth at the movement. Tim felt something in his chest stutter. He was certain of what he was doing, no sacrifice was too big of a sacrifice if it was for Bruce but Tim still couldn’t help but feel…regretful for putting Bruce in such a position.

Bruce…Bruce he would understand. Eventually. When Tim finally got them out of range and called for help. When Bruce was back in the cave and recovering.

He’d look back and understand why Tim had made the decisions he had.

He may have been eyeing Tim unsurely, resistance in every line of his face but he would understand.

Still…

“I’m sorry.” Tim breathed, stroking a finger down the exposed nape of Bruce’s neck. He felt the small shiver travel through Bruce’s body. “I wouldn’t do this to you if I had any other choice-”

But if it was the only choice Tim would still do it. In a heartbeat.

“I’m not going to let you die-” Tim heard the break in his voice, followed by the hitch he couldn’t suppress in time. Tim’s lips trembled as he inched closer, keeping his weight up and off Bruce and curving his back to get his full chest closer. “Please Bruce, you can close your eyes if it’ll help, but please just drink.”

‘And forgive me’ he silently added.

Bruce’s expression flickered, going from Tim’s face to his chest and back again.

Bruce’s mouth parted and Tim hoped it wasn’t another protest because if it was, that tenuous hold he had on himself might snap.

Bruce’s mouth took Tim’s nipple into his mouth.

Tim shivered, not from the sensation but how surprisingly…warm it was. Tim felt Bruce’s chapped lips on the skin of his tit, felt his tongue as it licked a wet stripe over Tim’s nipple. Bruce’s unshaven stubble from several days of being stuck out in the wilderness scratched at Tim’s sensitive skin sending like jolts of electricity down his spine. Bruce didn’t start suckling right away, instead, he tried settling comfortably with his mouth over Tim’s nipple.

Tim felt Bruce’s neck tighten, the muscles along his throat tensing as he swallowed and tried to suck Tim’s nipple further in before tightening his lips with a seal.

Tim felt a trickle of milk leak from him at the action, his mouth parting slightly at the sensation. Tim carefully scraped his blunt nails along Bruce’s scalp, holding his head still and hoping it was bringing some kind of comfort.

Bruce’s sucking began slow and hesitant. The furrow in his brow and the shifting behind his half-lidded eyelids almost made him look preciously confused. Tim stroked slow and gentle fingers along his head, encouraging him and slowly but steadily, Bruce began sucking harder.

Tim felt the pull of milk from his tit with every flex of Bruce’s jaw. He felt the vibration of Bruce letting out a drawn-out moan when more and more milk began flooding his mouth, his throat greedily swallowing it.

Tim felt desperation and hunger radiating from Bruce’s form, the way his head and mouth would follow Tim’s chest if he inched back even the slightest bit. Tim had heard Bruce’s stomach growling from the moment he’d found him, they’d been pit deep sounds that’d had Tim’s own stomach twinging in sympathy.

Those sounds were gone now, pacified by Bruce filling his belly with milk.

Tim, like many people, had never tasted an omega’s milk. His mother’s milk and normal formula had worked for him just as it did for millions of pups. Bruce’s pack seemed like the type to hire omega wetnurses but Tim had never asked.

So Tim didn’t know what omega milk tasted like. If it was really as good as it was supposed to be. Whether it was or not Tim didn’t really care.

Bruce’s hunger seemed to overcome any objections towards the taste. Tim could see how Bruce’s brow was furrowed in concentration. His focus on sucking down as much milk as he could.

Tim could feel as Bruce took in mouthful after mouthful, an occasional drop leaking out and flowing down the side of his mouth to his chin. At some point Bruce’s eyes had drifted closed, his lids low and casting fine shadows of his lashes on his white, hollowed cheeks. Tim stroked a finger against the wrinkled lines on Bruce’s forehead and in the corner of his eyes.

Every gush of milk out of him had Tim shifting slightly on Bruce’s lap before he froze. The oily slickness in him was hard to ignore. It was like he’d stuffed his pussy full of slick and was trying to keep it all in by continuously clenching. Every shift reminded Tim of the fullness and how delicate he had to be with Bruce under him.

Bruce always looked so tired, so worn. But drinking from Tim, his body seeking the heat from Tim’s chest and his mouth searching for his tit he looked…at ease.

Tim kept Bruce’s head tucked close, keeping a watchful eye around them while Bruce took his fill. Greedy guzzling was eventually replaced by slowed sucking which eventually tapered off to Bruce nodding off on Tim, mouth still attached.

Tim let him stay as he was, not pulling him off in case he grew hungry again and got too tensed to ask. Tim’s milk probably brought back some clarity. In the morning, however, many hours of sleep would probably lend Bruce more energy.

When they started again down the mountain, Bruce may not be so willing to drink so Tim would try to give him as much as he could while Bruce would still accept it.

Tim spent the night on his knees, shivers from the California night occasionally flowing through his body. He lit up flares as the old one went out and When Bruce began shifting awake just as the sun began rising, Tim pushed up.

The tit that Bruce had fallen asleep with was worlds less tender than the one that had remained neglected. Tim winced when pulling his suit and bandoliers back on, keeping a steady eye on Bruce was blinking sleep out of his eyes.

Bruce’s winces and the aches from his injuries were soothed away when Tim pressed a few pills to his mouth to be dry swallowed. He was out of numbing injections and just hoped the same cocktail of painkillers would make it so the trip wasn’t unbearable.

Tim felt his knees creak as he swaddled Bruce back up and tied his cape to his front.

The added pressure to his chest had his whole front feeling inflamed and big nearly an hour later.

The good part about having to scale down a mountain was that heading downhill was infinitely better than heading up hill. The only issues were when Tim had to deviate from a course. Musky smells that were too fresh, tracks, scratched up trees and stomped over brush.

Signs of animal activity. Whether they were carnivores or omnivores Tim didn’t care, the risk of running into the wildlife while Bruce was injured was too big of a risk to continue in that direction.

Tim had actually listened to Bruce and downed a pack of emergency water before leaving but even that wasn’t enough to stave off the heat as the sun rose higher in the sky. Neither Bruce or Tim’s beacons had made a sound by the time that Tim stuttered to a stop beside a small trickling stream.

The relief that had flooded Tim at the sight had been nearly enough to make him weep. He may have exhausted his water but what he did have was plenty of water purification tablets.

“I…may not…be able to drink it.”

Tim looked up from where he was adding drops of iodine and a fizzling white clarifier. The water wasn’t particularly dirty or turpid but Tim didn’t want to take any chances. Especially not with Bruce and risking him getting an infection or sick.

Bruce’s eyes were locked on the clear bottle Tim was letting rest. He was popped against a moss covered boulder, his complexion better than it had been the night before. His speech was also clearer, less slurring present than before which brought Tim nothing but relief.

He’d checked for a concussion but without proper medical equipment he hadn't been sure.

“The tablets…aren’t…a guarantee.”

That much Tim knew. The fact that the water was running and not still or dirty definitely gave them better odds but their options were limited.

Tim had finished his treatment from antibiotics months ago for his spleen but he also couldn’t go pushing his luck by drinking dirty water. Between the two of them, Bruce was the one who couldn’t risk getting sick.

Tim’s chest twinged, a defeated sort of devastation filling him because he’d thought- for a moment he’d actually thought he might’ve found a solution to one of their problems.

Bruce was speaking more clearly, he’d managed to stay awake through most of the trek of Tim carefully stepping down rocky paths and hoping they were putting rough distance between them and the jammer.

Bruce had been desperate the night before.

Tim carefully undid his bandoliers, aware of Bruce’s eyes on him.

“Just…” Tim trailed off, slowly approaching Bruce’s still form. “Just deal with this for now, okay Bruce?”

Tim pressed a finger to Bruce’s mouth, prying open the seam and cupping his jaw with the other hand while he pressed his tit into the warm mouth.

Tim would get them off the mountain.

Tim felt Bruce’s shaky shiver and the tremble that wracked through his body before he began to drink.

Tim was going to get them off the mountain if it was the last thing he did.

Bruce’s strength waned when Tim ran out of pain pills.

His suppressed pained sounds ached something in Tim’s chest. Walking carefully, desperate to not jostle Bruce just slowed them down further and took a bigger toll on Tim’s body.

By the time they reached the bottom and entered flat land Tim’s legs were trembling with every step, his knee threatening to buckle under him with every bit he inched forward.

Tim took frequent breaks, carefully lowering Bruce under the guise of caring for his injuries rather than admitting that if he took one more step he would collapse.

Tim could see Bruce’s concern, in the way his eyes kept flickering over Tim’s tired body. His uniform was tied around his waist, the only thing he kept on was the compression top which removed when pressing close to Bruce to let him drink.

Bruce finally started sweating under the heat which meant his body was refilling its water stores.

It was getting harder and harder to stand up and start out again. Bruce’s grunts of pain were getting harder to tune out. Tim was nearing a second night of being stuck out in the woods, his body near collapsing with every bit he moved until he heard it-

It was a high pitched tune. Unnoticeable had it not been for the silence of the meadow they were crossing.

Their beacons. Their alerts.

They were on.

Tim let out a sound that could’ve been a sob as he let himself collapse onto his knees, careful to not hurt Bruce who also seemed to pick up what was happening.

Tim could see the mountain in the distance. He hadn’t turned back as they’d moved. Not once.

But now, on his knees and swimming in the relief flowing into him, Tim could see how far away it was.

“Good…”

Tim heard Bruce pant the word out, the edge of a wince flinching through him as he pressed his mouth closer to Tim’s ear.

“Good job omega.”

Tim sat in the position for hours. Bruce stretched out beside him, carefully lowered on his back and staring up at the purple blooming across the sky. Tim had insisted he rest and remain still until their backup arrived.

Tim was steadying his breathing, trying to control the tension simmering under his skin as he took short sucking gasps and hoping that their luck would last just for a few more hours. Tim’s eyes kept darting around them, aroused by every bit of movement. Every shadow was a mountain lion stalking them. Every twig breaking was a bear charging toward them.

The near silent whirl of a batplane engine wasn’t enough to pull Tim out of his head. Only when he felt his shoulder nudged was he knocked out of the haze that had fallen over him.

Dick’s lenses were down, his blue eyes filled to the brim with concern as his eyes went back and forth between Tim’s crouched form and Bruce’s collapsed one.

Tim stared at him, mouth parted.

“Get Bruce first.”

Bruce first. Get Bruce help first and then Tim.

Tim would be fine so long as Bruce got help first.

Bruce first. Bruce first or else Tim was going to lose it.

It was another two days before Bruce was moved up from the cave to his room in the manor.

The rest of the pack had been nearly in shambles when Dick landed the plane back in the cave with Tim who’d been missing and a heavily injured Bruce.

Tim wanted to say something. Wanted to ask why they’d raised alerts when he’d disappeared by not Bruce.

Tim knew it was the exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and lactic acid build-up that led to the thoughts but he couldn't get them out of his head. Not even two days later while sitting in the kitchen and watching as Alfred carefully boiled a rich broth on the stove for Bruce.

Bruce who’d apparently been neglecting to eat in favor of trying to do work. Work that included trying to track the drugs he’d failed to stop from leaving the city.

The flash drive Tim had left behind before taking a batplane had contained all his notes about it and Dick swore that he’d look it over and do all the necessary footwork when he took Jason with him to head back out to California.

They needed to pick up the plane that Tim had left behind and wasn’t responding to the homing signals thanks to that fucking jammer.

(Tim was going to break fingers when he tracked down the pilot of the light aircraft that Bruce had jumped out of)

While there Dick and Jason were also going to fly to Portland and see where and how the Gotham specialties hit the market.

That apparently wasn’t enough for Bruce who was straining his injuries to keep looking into it all himself.

Tim didn’t know what to do.

He’d been put on bed rest and pulled off patrol in case he manifested with an infection. Tim hadn’t felt anything aside from hunger and a bit of sleepiness.

Bruce, on the other hand, was laid out in bed with an injury in every limb. That coupled with sleep deprivation, the beginnings of starvation, and dehydration made him a difficult patient.

Made more difficult by the fact that he was an incredibly fussy eater according to Alfred.

“Master Tim, if you could please bring this up to Master Bruce.”

Alfred settled a porcelain bowl and silver spoon onto a tray with a beautifully folded napkin.

Tim could smell the hearty brother made with plenty of alliums, celery, and rich spices.

“Of course, Alfred,” Tim nodded, pushing himself up on shaky thighs. “Fair warning: he might not eat it.”

Bruce was worse than a simple fussy eater. He was a ‘put it there and i’ll get to it’ eater. Only he never got to it and Tim was lying awake at night thinking about how Bruce wasn’t regaining his weight. How he was still that sickly pallor.

(That and the painful fullness that was radiating from his chest. Tim had thought the effect would wear off on its own but it hadn’t and his breasts were so tender and so full of milk

Alfred had told him not to worry but Tim did.

He always did.

Tim was heading towards the open doorway, Alfred the Cat pawing at his feet as he passed the threshold when Alfred called out to him.

“Master Tim?”

Tim turned, careful not to slosh the bowl of hot broth as he turned to look at Alfred.

Alfred was at the stove, looking over the lit burners and wiping his wet hands on the apron tied around his waist. His gray eyes were kind and understanding as they stared at Tim.

“I know you care for Master Bruce quite deeply.” Alfred offered an understanding look which made Tim feel better about his awkward shifting as he looked down at the tray and back up at Alfred. “I also know Master Bruce likes to be quite difficult with those who care for him.”

Tim nodded. That much he knew to be true. Sometimes Tim felt like a harried mother chasing a toddler through an active construction site when it came to Bruce.

“I would ask you to be patient with him but I think you know how patience doesn’t work with that boy.” Alfred shook his head, half fond and half exasperated. Alfred paused for a moment, his expression flickering to something else- something Tim couldn’t quite catch before it disappeared. “I too am worried for Master Bruce so…I have a favor to ask of you, Master Tim.”

Tim felt his attention get tugged on to Alfred, his heels letting him turn as he faced Alfred again.

Alfred looked down at his cutting board, various split and chopped vegetables laid out on it, before shifting his eyes back to Tim.

“Do what you must to make sure he eats, Master Tim.” Alfred’s tone somehow equal parts tentative and grave. “Do whatever you must, Master Tim…please.”

Tim knew that tone. He’d used that tone.

Tim…Tim knew what to do.

Rather than answering, Tim nodded and hoped that his expression was enough to tell Alfred that he understood.

Bruce would not be getting sicker.

Not while Tim was present.

“You can put the tray over there.” Bruce hardly looked up at Tim, too engrossed in the laptop on his thighs that he was carefully typing on despite loads of bandages and wrappings around his hands and fingers. Files and paper copies of still images from security cameras littered his bedsheets as Tim silently laid the tray down on the indicated bedside table.

“Alfred says you haven’t been eating, that you’ve been too busy working.”

Bruce made a face. He pursed his lips, a brief flash of annoyance running across his face.

“Tell Alfred that I’ll eat soon.”

Tim stared and didn’t make any move to leave.

“I’m not leaving until you’ve eaten.” Tim crept closer, knees hitting the edge of Bruce’s bed.

Bruce briefly paused at the movement, his expression going blank for a moment before he turned a slow look in Tim’s direction.

“Tim,” Bruce began, tone low like he always spoke when he was about to try and convince someone that what he was doing was sensible.

“Bruce,” Tim replied back, crossing his arms over his chest like he’d seen Alfred do numerous times before. The action put pressure on his tits and Tim winced, immediately lowering his arms. Bruce’s eyes felt heavier on him at the movement. Tim ignored it in favor of continuing to talk.

“You’re neglecting your health. You were stabilized yesterday and now you’re skipping meals to work-”

“Work to track down that shipment and stop Joker gas, pollen, and fear from flooding the streets of a city woefully under-equipped to handle it.” Bruce tensely replied, mouth hard and Tim could see the agitated movement of his jaw as he stared Tim down.

“It's being handled. By both Nightwing and Red Hood, you’ve never doubted their skills before. Why now?”

“It’s different this time.” Bruce’s tone was hard, his eyes narrowed on Tim like he thought he could convince Tim to listen by staring him down.

“Why? Because they got the drop on you?”

Bruce tensed, his gaze darkening as he glared at Tim with more clarity in his eyes than he’d had in days. Tim met his stare, his own eyes narrowed and meeting Bruce’s.

Bruce was doing this, all this. Neglecting himself, his health because it was a matter of pride for him to track down and take down the people that ambushed him.

Tim was going to tell him again one more time. Just one more.

Then the gloves were coming off because he was not going to let Bruce do this to himself.

‘Do whatever you must, Master Tim’ Tim heard Alfred’s words repeat in his mind again.

“Eat.” Tim ordered and pointed at the still steaming bowl of broth.

Bruce’s eyes followed Tim’s finger, lingering on the bowl of fragrant vegetable broth for a moment before wrinkling his nose.

“I’ll eat it later.” Bruce said and turned back to his computer.

Tim watched him type for a full minute before he moved.

His chest had been painfully sore for days. So full and heavy with unsuckled milk. At several points throughout the day, Tim had to go into the bathroom and take tissue paper to wipe down the inside of his shirt and wet chest. He wasn’t quite at the stage of leaking, but every press of his breasts had little drips of milk leaking out.

Tim knew his change of scent had been noted. Damian’s nose tilted into the air like a bloodhound every time Tim walked into the room he was sitting in. His little green eyes would narrow on Tim for a moment, a mix of confusion and suspicion swirling in them before he’d turn back to his book or drawing pad.

Slowly, Tim undid the top few buttons of his shirt until he exposed the soft expanse of his chest. Tim finished unbuttoning it and let it fall to the floor with a soft sound before climbing onto Bruce’s bed. It was only at the movement on his mattress that Bruce looked up.

His focused expression suddenly turned to wide-eyed stillness as Tim settled to sit on the pillow beside him.

They hadn’t talked about it when Bruce had become more lucid. About what Tim had done up in the mountains.

Bruce hadn’t told anyone so Tim hadn’t either.

“Tim,” Bruce began blankly. “Wha-”

“You’re being stubborn.” Tim cut him off. He shifted his weight, kneeling closer and pressing a hand on Bruce’s chest to make him lie down.

Bruce went down, seemingly without noticing since his eyes were so busy being locked on Tim’s chest.

“If you won’t eat…” Tim trailed off. Thought of how more than once on that mountain Bruce stared at his chest rather than opening wide and Tim had had to press his tit into the seam of his mouth and make him drink. “If you won’t eat then I will make you.”

That’s what it came down to.

Tim would always look out for Bruce and protect him.

He’d even protect him from himself if he had to.

Bruce wasn’t eating so Tim would make him.

Bruce’s jaw clenched, his eyes alighting with something that looked like indignance.

“You…” Bruce swallowed thickly. “You cannot be serious.”

Bruce’s tone was incredulous as he shifted in place. The fracture boots he had on both legs didn’t give him much leeway, forcing him to struggle like a worm as Tim kept a hand on his pinned chest and laid down beside him.

One of Tim’s tits had a bead of milk gathered at the top like a leaf with a fat drop of water tipping it over.

“I am very serious,” Tim replied. His expression was flat as he grabbed a tit in one hand and carefully squeezed it. Two fingers pinched the red nipple and steadied it, keeping it still as he slowly lowered it, letting it brush against Bruce’s bottom lip.

Bruce’s eyes were blown up to the size of dinner plates, his expression uncharacteristically stunned.

“Open your mouth,” Tim ordered. Good pups listened to their omegas and if Bruce was going to act like one then Tim would treat him accordingly.

Bruce stared. Expression frozen.

Slowly.

Steadily.

His lips parted.

Tim eased his reddened nipple in, feeling as Bruce’s lips instinctively sucked. Tim pressed deeper, inching closer until the swelled edge of his tit pressed to Bruce’s chin.

“Drink and don’t bite.”

Hesitantly, Bruce began to suck. His widened eyes still locked on Tim who met the gaze. Tim felt the gentle suction pull milk out of him. The movement of the jaws coupled with the full swallowed from Bruce and Tim let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Good alpha.” Tim praised, stroking and running his fingers through his hair.

Bruce shivered under him.

Tim lay on that pillow beside Bruce for several minutes, occasionally murmuring praise and encouragement for Bruce to drink more, take more.

“I hate it when you’re hurt, did you know that?” Tim’s voice was low, almost a whisper. Bruce’s eyes were half-lidded, sleep tugging at his expression as he nursed.

His face was sweet. Almost innocent. It was not a look Tim was used to seeing.

Tim stroked the side of Bruce’s head.

“You’re always running off like you don’t care what happens to you. Like I don’t worry about you.”

Bruce swallowed another mouthful of sweet omega milk, his eyes almost fully closed.

Tim stared at him and shook his head.

“But that’s alright, it’s how you are isn’t it? I can’t change you. I don’t think anyone can.”

Tim could see the small slit of blue peeking at him from behind a closing lid. Tim stared back and bent over. The gentle kiss he pressed to Bruce’s brow was quickly followed by a fierce shiver and slowed nursing. Tim could see as Bruce’s bandaged fingers flexed against his lap. Saw as they gathered together and Bruce laid them over his lap.

“I’ll save you as many times as you need me to,” Tim swore. Whether it was from Darkseid, any of their rogues, or himself. Tim would be there.

Tim would always be there for Bruce.

For a moment Bruce slowed, his drinking stalling as his brows furrowed. Tim watched his expression twitch, and crumple to something else before he went back to drinking like nothing had happened.

Tim didn’t mention it and continued stroking the sides of his face, caressing his ears and playing with the ends of his hair.

Bruce just sucked harder