Chapter Text
One of the worst parts about growing up was being deemed old enough to attend galas.
The event hall was crowded and oversaturated by contrasting alpha scents all fighting for dominance. Tim understood now why his mother always smelt so wrong after an event, and he stayed close by her side where he could more easily distinguish the sharp sweetness of grapefruit. Her fingers trailed through her hair as she socialised, occasionally scenting him with her wrist as though making sure that everyone would know he was hers.
He didn’t have a scent of his own yet. They’d learned about them in school, how it was usually one of the first manifestations of your presentation. In general, omega scents were sweet, betas were warm and alphas were heavy. It wasn’t polite to force your scent upon others, so while you learned to control it, it was important to apply blockers and scent sprays to help mask it. He shuddered as a particularly potent alpha walked past, the pine scent so strong it stung his nose. Tim felt some of these grown-ups needed a reminder about blockers.
His mother chuckled at his grimace, giving his hair a gentle tug
“We’ll go home soon baby, not much longer.”
He gave a slight nod, pressing himself closer against her, forcing himself to tune into the boring adult conversation. He’d already answered all the usual questions that grown-ups ask every child they don’t see often enough to really know, and they didn’t need anything else from him now except his silence.
“I’m sure that Mr Wayne only had the best intentions, but it does strike me as a little odd that a man who has never had an omega in his pack is so concerned about their welfare.” His mother said, her tone polite
“I think that’s just normal alpha instincts.” A beta woman in a too-tight gold dress laughed “They just like to take care of everyone; I think the Wayne’s have always seen Gotham as just an extended part of their pack.”
“He’s very outspoken in favour of the new Omega Protection Act, and I wonder how many omegas they consulted about what protections they want or need. You’ll notice that most of the ‘protections’ are further restrictions on omega behaviour, rather than an increase in the severity of consequences against those who harm them.”
Tim let his eyes skim the party, finding Bruce Wayne laughing amongst a group of male alphas, each one holding an alcoholic drink. It might not have been Bruce Wayne’s fault, as he always had so many alphas fighting for his attention, but Tim hadn’t seen him exchange more than pleasantries with any of the omegas in attendance, despite this gala celebrating the opening of new Wayne Foundation Omega Shelters across the city.
Now that he was thinking about it, there weren’t very many omegas there at all. Perhaps ten, including his mother, all easily identifiable by collars and mating bites.
The beta woman smiled sympathetically
“A member of my pack has been involved in writing the Protection Act, and I can assure you that there has been a lot of discussion with experts about the best ways for us to protect those who are most vulnerable.”
“I’ve always been frustrated with how far behind New Jersey has been in introducing new legislation to protect omegas, especially considering the…unique threats…That we encounter here in Gotham.” Another beta woman said, helping herself to a canape from a passing waiter.
“I’m hardly against protecting omegas, I just believe that rather than merely consulting ‘experts’, these politicians should make more of an effort to include those that they claim they are protecting in the conversations. It’s especially concerning when those who have never known and cared for omegas personally as pack members start declaring that they know what is best for them.”
The two betas smiled at each other, the same expressions on their face as when Tim had mentioned that he was now nine years old and he liked to read about Batman in the newspaper. As though his mother was just another silly child that they were humouring with this whole conversation.
“It’s a very nice sentiment, but Janet, I mean no offence, but would you put yourself in the middle of those conversations? While you still have a pup at home who requires so much of your attention?” The beta in the gold dress cooed, her sickly scent, like an over stewed fruit tea, trying desperately to soothe. Tim buried his face into his mother, trying to avoid the sleepy headache that the betas scent was giving him. His mother's scent was slightly sharper than it had been before, but he doubted that anyone else would notice, they weren’t as attuned to her as he was. She was excellent at controlling it, far better than anyone else he’s ever met.
He imagined that if he had his own scent right now, it would be sour, communicating his displeasure at their dismissal. He wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about but he’d been around his mother long enough to know that she was normally right about most things.
“You’re from such a small pack Janet, you have an alpha's undivided attention for you and your pup. Most omegas aren’t so lucky. There are still so many omegas struggling without a pack at all, those taking illegal and dangerous suppressants. If they can’t be trusted to make safe and sensible choices for themselves, we can hardly have them impacting laws…”
“I just think it’s an idea to consider.” His mother said, smiling politely. She allowed the conversation, to the betas relief, to drift back to more pleasant topics. Tim relaxed as she scented him again. He wished he could scent her in return, but he had to settle for pressing up against her and purring, the sound intensifying as he felt her relax.
To the criminals of Gotham, it may appear that the Bats appear out of the shadows as soon as the sun begins to set and retreat with the dawn. In actuality, there was a very strict timetable for when patrols started and ended. On a normal night, without any significant rogue damage, patrols would end between 2 and 4am, at intervals of 20 to 40 minutes.
Tim stretched out his exhausted, aching limbs as he stepped through the door of The Nest.
“Red Robin has landed.” He said into his comm
“RR Landing confirmed, goodnight Red.” Oracle acknowledged, and Tim slipped off his cowl and cape, dropping them in a pile next to the door. The rest of the suit was quick to follow until he was in just his leggings and undershirt.
Coming back to The Nest never had that same feeling of comfort as returning to the Batcave, and the irony that the cave was significantly more pleasant wasn’t lost on him. The cave was never quiet, always alive with the rustles and scratchings of the bats hidden in the ceiling. The batchair was a comfortable leather monstrosity and if you fell asleep there you were normally awoken by a slight shake of your shoulder, and a British accent offering you a bed upstairs. The trophies like the dinosaur and giant penny gave what might be an intimidating space a sense of personality, and the packs scents were embedded into the very stone, making the whole place smell of home.
The Nest always smelt of old stale coffee, with bright white fluorescents and the AC always running just a bit too cold for comfort. The sofa was stiff black pleather with a seam that cut into the backs of your knees and the desk chair wasn’t quite built correctly, always tilting slightly to the side. It had been carefully designed to be just uncomfortable enough that he could never relax there, without being so unpleasant it distracted him from his work.
He had maybe an hour before the streets were clear, there was no point showering when he was planning to head out again and he didn’t trust himself to wake up if he allowed himself to nap. Instead, he made his way over to the fridge and cracked open an energy drink.
His headache worsened with the quickening of his pulse, the energy drink sloshing against his empty stomach.
Four slices of toast and peanut butter followed, and extra-strength Tylenol. He was starting to think the painkiller was just a placebo at this point. The aspirin wasn’t any more effective.
At this rate, he was going to be missing a liver and a spleen.
He didn’t have time to worry about that now though. That was a Future Tim problem, and Present Tim had to worry about reapplying his scent blockers and changing for his unofficial patrol.
He couldn’t wear any Bat Gear, which was filled with trackers and was easily identifiable. For these patrols, he had to wear things that were available to the general public. A hoodie and a leather jacket, tough motorcycle pants. All had been purchased second hand. His hair was hidden under a beanie, his hood was pulled up. His backpack was cheap, unbranded, and filled with more cash than was sensible to carry. He left his normal phone in The Nest, slipping a burner into his pocket as he ducked out and back onto the streets.
It was easier to forget his headache when he was outside, breathing the damp cold air. He kept his head down as he walked with purpose down the alleys, keeping to the camera's blind spots.
There was always something freeing about Gotham in the very early morning, the people on the streets around this time weren’t interested in anyone else around them. That’s what made it the perfect time of day.
The tired 7/11 employee hadn’t even asked for ID when he’d purchased the cigarettes. He lit one as he walked. He’d seen the PSAs about the dangers of smoking, but he lived in Gotham. He was exposed to high levels of pollution and fear gas on a regular basis. The cigarette smoke clung to his clothes in a comforting mask that further concealed him from any curious noses nearby. If they tried to place his scent, they’d only remember cigarettes and leather.
Vince probably had the same idea, inhaling from his own cigarette and leaning against the alley wall underneath a fire escape. He was a beta and always drowning in baggy clothes. His hair and face were mostly covered by his hood, but Tim could tell when he was spotted. Vince lowered the foot that had been on the wall, his motorbike propped up nearby for a speedy getaway.
Tim leaned against the wall next to him, with just enough distance to keep them both comfortable. They each other well enough to trust the other wouldn’t pull a weapon on them, but the relationship was strictly business. Tim couldn’t afford to grow attached to the dealers.
“Those things will kill you someday.” Tim said, his voice lower than usual, with no hint of a Bristol accent. He didn’t look at Vince, and Vince didn’t look at him.
“They’d better.” He scoffed. He wasn’t sure how old Vince was, maybe somewhere in his 30s, but he felt older in that way people who’d endured long-term suffering always did. Tim offered his fresh packet and the beta grabbed two. “Nightwing's in town.”
Tim rolled his cigarette between his fingers, watching the paper burn down and the ash drop from the end. Dick had been in the city more than usual recently, but he’d been hoping no one else had noticed. He hadn’t heard anything through the comms that hinted he had a specific mission he was working on, he’d just assumed that it was something to do with Damian.
He’d need to go by the manor, find out if Dick was here for business of pleasure, and how long he was planning to hang around. He might need to trigger a minor emergency in Bludhaven to force Dick to return to his own territory.
“So the price has gone up.”
“I can cut you a discount…”
“You’ve known me long enough not to bullshit with that.”
“You’re looking at 400 for the injection, 250 for pills.”
Tim sucked his teeth.
He could afford it, but he was far too aware of all the other vulnerable people across the city that couldn’t. Those who wouldn’t be able to show up to work without their suppressants, unable to provide for their pups, perhaps not even being safe in their own homes if they were forced into a withdrawal heat.
“What do you need to lower that price for the rest of your customers?”
“A hella lot more than money. The Bats are cracking down hard; you can’t even count on Red Hood to look away anymore. He’s made it so you can’t deal to omegas in Bowery without him beating the life out of you. The new stuff is more effective but…”
Largely untested.
He knew exactly why Jason was now so strongly against suppressants in his territory. An omega was found dead in his nest, a pup clinging desperately to a corpse that had been undiscovered for days. Too close to home.
Tim had barely been able to listen to Bruce go through the autopsy. He’d pointed out the bruising on the inner elbows from repeated injections, the jaundice, and the teeth rotted from stomach acid. How skinny they’d been.
The pup was too young to have presented, the rest of the bats had taken comfort in the fact that he was currently in a shelter being treated for mild malnutrition and dehydration, but it wouldn’t be long before a pack was found for him to be rehomed into. No one else seemed to have been hurt by the pup's cries as he was dragged away from his mother. He’d long since learned not to expect better from Bruce.
“I’ll work something out.”
“You should work on a way out of the city before Bats catches you.”
Tim smirked, it wasn’t as though there was anywhere safer for him to go.
“I’ll worry about Bats. You just give me my usual then get out of here.”
Vince sighed dramatically as the cash in Tim's bag was exchanged for syringes and unmarked pill bottles. Tim waved him off as he disappeared on the bike, then shouldered his bag, ready to head out for deliveries.
Tim accepted the cigarette that Starr offered him. He knew she hated not being able to pay him back, so he wasn’t going to reject her generosity. Starr was probably close to Bruce’s age, an alpha who was stronger than she seemed under her thin working clothes. Her hair was yellow with bleach and nicotine, but she always smelt like a fresh sea breeze under the usual Gotham grime.
They were both outside the back entrance of Lookers, one of the Bowery’s least classy clubs. Thankfully tasteless didn’t mean sleazy, and the basement often opened its doors as a haven for packless omega’s down on their luck.
“You’ll need to stay away for a bit. Bats has been about.” She warned him.
Tam had made sure that Bruce had a 9am meeting today, forcing him to return earlier from patrol to patch his wounds and get some sleep, leaving the coast clear for Tim’s deliveries. He could hardly tell Starr this, so he just shrugged.
“He ain’t here now. You coping?”
“We coping.” She took a long drag from her cigarette. “Gonna have to start turning them away soon though. Not enough space and we can’t risk the attention”
“I’ll keep an eye out for safe places.”
She gave a slow shake of her head
“Nowhere safe left, we've got to get them out the city. Get you out to while we can. If Bats gets you…”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She let out a tired sigh. She might be thinking it was just the confidence of youth that meant he kept dismissing her worries about him, but really didn’t want to be one more person for her to worry about. She already stood with a slouch that made it seem as though the weight of the world was upon her shoulders. He had his contingencies, even if Bruce did manage to catch him, there wouldn’t be anything to trace back to Starr or Lookers.
“I don’t like that new stuff. You’re getting too thin.”
“Needs must.” He shrugged, but he wished he didn’t have the needles in his backpack. He wished he didn’t have to go down to the basement to see the hopeful eyes of the lost and alone, grabbing for the drugs that provided their only lifetime for freedom in this world. He stumped out his cigarette under his shoe. “You wanna come with?”
Starr shook her head, so Tim let himself into the club. The floor here was always sticky and he didn’t want to imagine what with, the walls seeped with the scents of the patrons from the night before. He gave a wave of greeting to the betas cleaning up the stage and bar, before ducking through a staff door and heading down to the basement. The first room was filmed with kegs and boxes of drinks and snacks. At the back of the room though, almost hidden behind a shelving unit and requiring an awkward climb over poorly organised stock, was the door to the sanctuary.
His first thought as he walked through the door was that his visit was overdue. It wasn’t as noticeable outside the room, under all the smells of the club, but now the scent of omega’s was impossible to ignore. The mixture of sweet scents made his head swim and his thoughts went fuzzy for a moment as he got his bearings. He could barely contain his sympathetic whine as their scents all spiked with panic at the opening of the door, but as they recognised him, he could feel their relief.
There were five of them at the moment, cuddled in a makeshift nest in the corner of the room. No one stayed in the Looker's basement for very long, just long enough to find their feet. He recognised three of the faces. Sofia was the oldest, people always thought of packless omegas as young wayward teens but after her husband had been killed in one of Firefly's attacks, and she hadn’t been able to face the idea of joining another pack. Or just as likely end up rotting in a shelter. People looking for omegas to join their packs wanted cute young ones who could be easily taught how to adapt to their lifestyles, not a 50-year-old woman who was used to being respected as an equal. She’d managed to get away only because as far as the authorities knew, she’d perished as well. The burns were healing, she should be able to head out on her own again soon.
The other two, Mia and Elijah fit the usual stereotypes, neither of them could be older than 25, both were victims of some sort of trafficking scheme. They hadn’t shared much more and he hadn’t asked.
Tim crouched down on the outskirts of the nest, letting a placating rumble out of his chest and holding hands out in the standard ‘I mean no harm’ gesture, taking in the two new boys. They were by far the youngest; probably siblings judging by the way the larger boy curled his arm protectively around the smaller one, both of them watching Tim closely with the same large brown eyes. Both of them were just pups, the little one smelt of milk and honey, the older one had a burning cinnamon scent as he watched Tim closely.
“Did Starr tell you I’d be coming by today?” Tim asked, keeping his voice soft
“She didn’t say who you were.” The older boy said. Tim shrugged off his backpack, sitting cross-legged on the floor
“Folks call me Rover because I’m always running around fetching things for them.”
“That’s not your name though.”
“It’s what folks call me round here.” Tim smiled softly “You’ve probably used a few fake names or told a few lies to keep the two of you safe. You don’t have to tell me your real names if you don’t want to, I’ll let you know if a question needs an honest answer.”
He let the boy chew that over, turning his attention to Elijah, who was slumped against Mia, his eyes glassy. His scent was the strongest in the nest, a sickly burnt caramel that stung his nostrils. Stress heat.
In an ideal world, they’d get Elijah bundled up in a comfortable nest of his own, his pack providing all the food and cuddles he could want. Instead, he was sharing a nest in a basement with strangers, and the constant threat of discovery looming over his head.
“We’re not feeling our best, are we bud?” Tim said softly, with Mia’s nod of permission he lent a hand against Elijah’s forehead, feeling how he was burning up “Has he taken anything for it?”
“Just Tylenol, he’s not complaining just kind of…” Mia gestured vaguely with her hands. As if to prove her point, Elijah let out a soft needy whine as he pulled in closer to her. When he strained his neck like that, the pale scar of a mating bite on his neck was visible. Tim reached into his backpack, pulling out one of the bottles of pills.
“While he’s like this, he should stick to the usual suppressants, we don’t want to risk putting him on anything stronger when his hormones are out of whack. You should probably do the same in case it triggers a sympathy heat” He instructed, but he couldn’t help feeling helpless. The two of them were suffering and all he could do was provide pills to try and block the hormones that caused these heats in the first place and blockers so no one could smell how much they were suffering.
Sofia took her bottle of pills with a croaky thanks, then Tim could turn his attention to the pups.
“I want the stronger stuff.” The older boy said adamantly. Tim raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. You’re what, 16?”
“I’m 19.” The kid protested, he seemed offended enough that Tim could believe it. There was a roundness to his face and he was small, but omegas usually were.
“Okay, sorry, but still a no. I don’t give the hard core stuff out on first visits, and not to anyone who doesn’t have a regular heat cycle.”
“I’ve been regular! Please, I can pay…”
“I don’t charge, and you shouldn’t take anything from anyone who’ll take your money. All the trustworthy dealers know I keep an eye on what they sell to pups, and anyone else gets handed over to the Bat.”
“I can’t protect him like this; I need to smell like you.” The boy gestured helplessly to his scent glands, the unmistakable smell of an omega's distress. Tim was taken aback at the comment on his own scent, checking his wrist discretely. Leather. Cigarettes. Gotham.
Nothing that hinted he was an omega. Of course that’s what this boy would want.
“People aren’t meant to smell like me.” Tim said sadly “I’m afraid it’s the pills or nothing. If you stay in touch after you move on, we can look at the injection a little further down the line.”
The boy reluctantly took the bottle without even a thank you, unscrewing the lid and inspecting one of the pills inside carefully, as though he could tell from just the outside whether it was suspicious or not. His brother kept his eyes locked on Tim.
Tim needed to get out of here. Away from the pup with its milky scent leaking with distress and concern, away with the cluttered nest of strangers clinging to each other. Away from Elijah’s glassy eyes that didn’t seem to be seeing him, too deep in his headspace to even tell them if he was in pain.
He excused himself, reminding them to stay safe and that Starr would be down soon to see if they needed anything. The sun was rising over Gotham as he stepped outside, and he was exhausted. He shouldered his bag, lit another cigarette, and headed to his next stop.
“Mr Wayne has booked a lunch appointment.” Tam said as she entered Tim’s office, closing the door behind her. Her dark hair was down, contrasting prettily against her royal blue pantsuit. Tim took a sip of the cold coffee on his desk, giving the touchpad of his laptop a tap to bring the screen back to life. He barely remembered arriving at Wayne Enterprises that morning. His inbox read ‘552 Unread Emails’ and he casually clicked ‘Mark All as Read’ to get that number back down to a nice healthy zero. Almost at once, three more poured in.
“Declined.” He said around a yawn
“You can tell him that, but he’s going to think you’re avoiding him.”
He was avoiding Bruce, and they both knew it, but if Bruce was starting to notice then he needed to be less obvious about it.
“If I’m meeting up with Bruce, I’m going to need much more coffee,” Tim said with a sigh. He was relieved to see the time on the screen, and rummaged in his desk for the aspirin that, maybe this time, would help to shift the sharp pain in his head. “Is this a business or social lunch?”
“Social I think, he was asking if I’d noticed that you seemed tired recently.”
Tim let out a humourless laugh.
As if Bruce had a leg to stand on if he wanted a lecture about healthy lifestyle choices, but he always wanted them to be better than he was. Tim needed to ask about why Dick was around anyway, it was probably less suspicious if Bruce arranged the meeting.
Tam was passing him a toiletry bag, and he fished out his concealer for the bags under his eyes. She pulled out the scent-blocking spray as well.
“You smell really weird.” She warned him, her own scent was attractive and comforting like freshly baked bread. He didn’t like the edge of concern in it, there was too much of that in the air right now.
Tim gave his wrist a sniff. It was mostly coffee, buried under the chemical smell of the scent blockers.
“You smell all…” She wrinkled her nose, trying to think of how to describe it “Like…Somethings rotten?”
“Another fun side effect, makes you smell funky.” Tim muttered, giving the underarm of his suit a sniff and grimacing “I’m going to need to change before Bruce…”
“I don’t like that new stuff you’re on.”
Tim rolled his eyes, growing tired of having this conversation over and over.
“No one likes it, but unless you want to work directly under your dad, I’ve got to keep taking it. At least it’s only bi-weekly instead of daily like the pills.”
It wasn’t like he could in good conscience hand out something he wasn’t willing to use himself, and now everyone knew about the injections, they wanted them. He had to do his best to control the supply…
Tam snapped her fingers in his face.
“Hey, you need to shower and change before your lunch. I’ll grab you a new suit.”
“What would I do without you?” He murmured, getting to his feet, and it was her turn to roll her eyes.
“Get murdered by ninjas probably.”
“Been there, done that. Not much fun.”
It was only Tam’s sharp knock on the door that made him realise he’d started to nod off under the warm water of the shower. His fingers were wrinkled as he dried himself, and dressed in the fresh suit that thankfully did not smell like old road kill.
“Please tell me I have something to rush back to, and this whole thing had to be wrapped up in an hour.” He pleaded, and Tam reliable as ever checked his calendar
“There’s an operations meeting at two…”
“Super, I’ll have to be back to prep for that.”
He checked his watch, Bruce must have intentionally scheduled the lunch last minute to avoid giving him time to make alternative arrangements. He was barely going to have time to make it to the lobby to meet him. He triple-checked his reflection, had Tam check that he only smelled of coffee and blockers, and then headed to the elevator to face the music.
Bruce always liked this deli, even if it was the sort of place that would only survive in the Diamond District. Most of their sandwich options included avocado or lean cuts of meat, the décor was sleek and modern. It all felt just a little too clean. They never made a fuss when any of the Wayne’s came in; simply making sure there was a discreet table for them in the back corner. Bruce made a nice show of smiling at the waitress as she took their order. Tim kept his eyes glued to the menu.
He was trying very hard not to look at the nearest occupied table, where a beta woman had a collard omega kneeling on a pillow next to her. Both adults, but the beta was cutting mouthfuls off a sandwich and passing them down on a fork, the other woman taking them carefully with her teeth. They both seemed happy enough with this arrangement, but it made Tim feel ill.
It wasn’t even mandatory anymore…
“Tim? Chum?”
Tim folded the menu and looked attentively at Bruce, who smiled self-consciously. It was still too public for him to comfortably drop the Brucie persona, perhaps that’s why he’d chosen this venue. Tim gave a tight smile in return.
Casual enough that they could drop most of the pretence, public enough that they both had to be on their best behaviour.
“So, I’m assuming that there was something more important than your appetite for you to book this in so last minute.”
“I’m still not used to needing an appointment to spend time with you.” Bruce said lightly, his scent was the comforting and homely smell of freshly cut grass at the moment, trying to soothe Tim. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to avoid the fuzzy feeling in his brain. He needed to remain fully present.
“I’m trying to prove to the operations team that I didn’t get my position just because of nepotism. The more I’m seen with you, the more it gives the impression that you’re the one pulling the strings.”
The waitress brought Bruce an iced tea, and Tim his coffee.
“I don’t want to cause any trouble for you at work, but you never come by the manor anymore…”
“I’ve been busy. Now I live in the city, it’s a long commute and I get tired.”
“I’d be more than happy to send a car for you…”
“It’s unnecessary.”
The sandwiches were delivered to the table. Tim unwrapped his and took a bite to keep his mouth busy. Too much salad, not enough turkey.
“I know that the last few years have been difficult for you…” Bruce tried to continue, and Tim raised an eyebrow.
His dad dying. Steph dying. Kon dying. Bart dying. Steph coming back, refusing to say whether Bruce knew or not that she’d been alive the whole time. Bruce dying. Finding out that maybe Bruce hadn’t died, and globe-trotting to find him. Dick making Damian his Robin. Almost being killed by the Council of Spiders. Picking a fight with Ra’s Al Ghul and the League of Assassins.
Finding Bruce, who decided to keep Damian on board as his Robin. Tim had proved himself as an independent hero after all.
To call it a ‘difficult’ didn’t really do it justice, but they couldn’t talk about any of that here, so Tim took another mouthful of damp turkey sandwich.
“But I think we’ve all been concerned by how distant you’ve become. Cassie said that you haven’t returned any of her calls since you got back…”
“So Cassie and Dick are still friends, that’s nice.”
He hadn’t spoken to Cassie since the graveyard, where she’d come on Dick’s behalf to try and bring him home. They’d all believed that he was mad with grief. But he was right. Bruce had been alive, and if Tim hadn’t stood his ground, he wouldn’t be sat here, eating an underwhelming brisket sandwich.
He was right. They just wouldn’t listen.
But he knew that this was the light version of the intervention they were likely plotting. He needed to give them an inch before they took a mile by force.
“Damian’s art class thing has an open house this weekend, right? What if we all go to that?” He suggested
He was being a good big brother, staying up to date with the kid’s life. Choosing a nice family activity. It made Bruce smile.
“And then you can come over to the manor after for dinner.” Bruce said “Alfred has missed you.”
“Sure, maybe.” Tim took another bite of sandwich, chewing longer than necessary.
He’d let Tam know he needed a dinner appointment booked for Saturday evening. Anything would do.