#dicktimweek

It’s just as painful to watch his parents fall the second time as it was the first. 

Nightwing, hidden in the shadows of Haley’s Big Top, is holding on to the rigging at the very top of the tent. It takes every amount of control to stay where he is rather than let go of the rigging and drop through the air to save Mary and John Grayson from their awful fate. But, rather than look at the expensive timeband under his gauntlet, he instinctually knows changing the events of today would have an unpredictable backlash – one even the Flash couldn’t spin back, another Flashpoint, another break in the chain of events that made all of them who they would be.

And even if he stayed in the past to be able to see them, to hear them speak, to hide in the crowd in street clothes with strategic cotton candy covering his face, even if his eyes grew hot and wet hearing his mother laugh, watching his father put a hand on his younger self’s shoulder, remembering the last climb up his father’s back to hang off his shoulders. Even if it was all almost too much, they aren’t the reason he was thrown back in the past.

The moment he’s actually here to watch – is when a young boy comes to pose for a picture and sit on his lap before The Flying Grayson’s last performance with Haley’s Circus. The moment he meets Tim Drake for the first time.

And there in his street clothes, he sees the second their eyes connect, when little Timmy takes his hand, and the two of them gasp –the moment the connection happens.

It’s there in the way his younger self’s eyebrows furrow and little Timmy’s mouth drops open. The moment their soulbond reaches out and partially activates.

It makes sense neither of them would truly understand the implications, not as young as both of them are. Soulbonds aren’t supposed to activate until both parties are of age, but with the memory of his parents’ death so prominent in his memory, Dick Grayson had to know the truth.

So when Nightwing watches the tragedy, older and wiser and more intune with his heart, mind, and soul, he keeps his attention on tiny Tim Drake pushing a handkerchief in his younger self’s hand before he’s dragged away by his parents, leaving younger Dick alone to face the GCPD and the Batman that swooped in just a little too late.

He lingers until the Big Top is empty and the bodies of his parents are taken away, as his younger self goes with the people he’d known all his life up to that point, taken away to be coddled in a trailer, traumatized and grieving. He finally lets himself down from the top of the tent to the stands where people jumped to their feet, horrified, only an hour before. His steps silent in the aftermath along the bleachers until he picks up the discarded hand-drawn picture, crayon red and green and gold, the picture little Timmy had drawn to give him after the show.

He folds it carefully along the seams, slides it in a hidden compartment of his suit for safe keeping.

The vigilante takes one last, longing look around, and finally taps the timeband under his gauntlet, ready but then again, not ready, to return home.

**

Rather than go back to his apartment, he immediately goes to his safehouse in the warehouse sector of the Haven.

The false-front shipping container beats out Jay Bird’s fake porn store any day of the week.

Once inside, he activates the secondary floor and the elevator silently slides down, down, down into a subterranean basement. The three levels have everything a capeless crime fighter would need in a city as twisted as the Haven, but Nightwing bypasses the kitchen, bedrooms, gym, lab, and meeting room for the second level containment area.

The special palm reader, face scan, password encoded lock finally recognizes him and the lead-lined double doors slide open.

Since he’s aware how capable Tim Drake is and always has been, he’d made sure to lock him in a room without vents, lights, or any other avenues he could use to escape.

The lights outside the room kick on, pointed at the teenage boy sitting with his back against the wall, cradling his injured side even with his wrists restrained to a hook embedded in the cement floor.

Nightwing gently pulls the drawing from his suit and unfolds it delicately, like it’s something priceless, before showing it to the boy on the floor.

Tim doesn’t even look at him, still huddling in the corner of the room.

“I had to go back and see for myself,” is the explanation before Dick Grayson pulls off the domino, to look at his actual soulmate with bare face and earnest eyes.

Tim doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn, doesn’t move.

“I’m going to get a shower and make us some noodles. If you promise not to attack, I’ll let you out, then we can eat, we can talk about it. We can talk about…everything, okay? We’ll work it all out.”

Tim’s shoulders hunched up, his face turned away.

“You have to talk to me at some point. You can’t just keep being angry at me, Tim.” Gently, he rises up,  moves around the containment unit to be in Tim’s sightline.

Something mumbled that Dick strains to hear, leans closer to the enclosure. “C’mon, you can talk to me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

And only his instincts as a vigilante keeps him from jumping when Tim snaps.

The younger crime fighter leaps as far as his restrained wrists would let him, his eyes blazing with anger, jaw tight.

“Talk?! You want to talk?! After everything you’ve done?” Tim’s yelling and Dick stands to take his anger all at once.

“I know it’s disappointing,” Dick starts softly.

“How many people did you flirt with undercover while your soulmate limped home every night carrying your name?” Tim’s snarl is ferocious, his teeth white in the dimness of the holding cell. How many people did you fuck while I was waiting for you to recognize me?”

Dick blinks back at him, stunned, his chest starting to ache.

“How many nights did I wear your insignia while B and Alfred let me go broken and bleeding to an empty house because I knew, I knew, someday you’d realize who I am to you.”

“Timmy,” and Dick gasps in a painful breath, the soft link between them tremulous at best.

“How many people put their hands on you when you’re mine, Dick? How many of them stare at you when you were made for me?” The sharp snap, the restraints breaking free so Tim can slam his fists into the reinforced plexiglass. “I’ve known since that day. I’ve always known! I had to watch you with Kory and Babs and Wally! Not to even mention everyone out of the life you’ve been with!”

“Tim, I-I never…I didn’t think I had –” “And I had to watch you, Dick. I had to watch you with all of them. You never hesitated. You never thought of your soulmate, out there that needed you.”

And it strikes him in a place he doesn’t recognize. It might be the emotions from Tim, it might be shame when he didn’t really do anything wrong.

“But, it’s fine,” Tim leans up, blood on the plexiglass where his knuckles tore under the strain. “It’s going to be fine because now I’m old enough for the bond to take and you know who I am.”

Calming, Tim expertly picks the lock on the restraints.

“Timmy, we-we’re going to talk about all of this okay? Soulbonds are…a lot. And, you’ve barely dated. I want to make sure you don’t regret this, you know?”

The soft sound of the restraints falling covers up the sleight of hand when Tim produces a small tablet from somewhere and presses a button. The doors to the containment room lock down and the lights flicker off, a red emergency light in the corner casting a gruesome hue over the plexiglass wall.

Seconds later, smoke is filling the room while the holding cell is on a completely different HVAC line.

“Tim!” Dick frantically goes for the rebreather as the knockout gas hits him in the face, but it’s–

–gone.

Tim shows up five minutes earlier than they agreed, letting himself in through the front door. Dick sees him pause for a moment, eyes darting around warily, anticipation clear in the lines of his body.

The trap he’s waiting for never comes. As fun as their little game is, Dick had disabled most of them. He’d kept up his usual security, of course, but that was all. He feels a little bad about it when Tim’s brow furrows. Not too bad about it, though, because the expression is adorable.

Before Tim can comment, Dick swoops in to greet him. “Hey there, baby bird.” His voice is a touch softer than usual.

Used to be he had to tilt Tim’s face up on his own. Now, though, his baby alpha knows exactly what Dick wants. He tilts his head back, face already flushing pink. Dick doesn't keep him waiting. He rubs noses with him first, lingering a little longer than is strictly necessary for a platonic scenting, before rubbing their cheeks together—first one side, than the other. At the same time, he smooths his wrists down the sides of Tim’s neck and over his shoulders.

It’s not enough to smother Tim’s scent—though it does let Dick breathe him in. The milky scent of puphood is nearly drowned out by Tim’s newly presented alpha scent; something warm and nutty, with a hint of alpha musk beneath.

It makes Dick’s mouth water.

It’s tempting to chase the scent to the source; to coax more of it out, and wrap himself in it until it’s impossible to tell where one scent ends and the other begins. Dick makes himself pull away instead. His belly cramps as if in protest, but he ignores it.

By now, Tim should have gotten a lungful of Dick’s own scent and the tinge of preheat in it—not enough to be noticeable, not yet, but enough for an alpha’s own instincts to start responding.

After a scenting, Tim usually ducks away, adorably pink-cheeked as he excused himself to put away his things, or whatever other task he makes up for himself.

Not today.

Today, Tim’s lashes flutter. He looks… almost dazed, the blue of his eyes hazy. His blush darkens. He steps forward, into Dick’s space, putting them so close they’re almost touching. Dick can feel the warmth radiating off of Tim. He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He thinks Tim watches it, thinks his gaze lingers on his lips, but he can’t be sure.

It might just be a desperate, foolish hope.

Tim scents him, dragging his wrists slowly over Dick’s cheeks, hovering them over his neck, and then smoothing them down his shoulders. He does it twice; thorough and deliberate in the way he lingers, making sure that Dick is coated in his scent. It’s nearly enough to drown out Dick’s omega scent. Definitely enough to cover up the scent of preheat.

It feels wonderfully possessive, like Tim wants to leave no room for doubt as to who Dick belongs to.

More wishful thinking.

Most likely it’s the mark of an inexperienced alpha. Tim is a pup still. He’s had, what, two ruts? He’s still far more likely to be scented than to do any scenting of his own.

Still… Dick clings to the fantasy.

If all goes well, after all, it might just become reality.

Tim steps back finally. His face is more red than pink now—and whatever boldness had carried him forward leaves him. “I’m thirsty. Hope you went shopping this week,”” he says, turning and walking quickly toward the kitchen. It’s just shy of a run, and Dick has to work to keep his mouth from twitching.

Tim’s bags stay where they are, dropped haphazardly by the front door.

Dick doesn’t bother moving them, instead trailing a few paces behind Tim. “A guy forgets to go grocery shopping one time and no one ever lets him forget it…”

Tim throws him a capital-L Look over his shoulder. It’s ruined slightly by the blush still on his face. “It wasn’t just one time and you know it,” he scolds. Baby alpha or no, he really does have the chastising tone down. Bruce gives him plenty of practice, Dick thinks, suppressing a smile.

“I’m a busy guy.”

Tim sighs, put-upon, and opens Dick’s fridge. He scrutinizes it a lot longer than it should take to get out a bottle of water, and doesn’t even bother to open it before he starts rummaging through Dick’s cabinets.

Dick leans against the doorway to the kitchen, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

He knows exactly where this is going.

Sure enough—

“We need to go shopping,” Tim announces.

“I just went,” Dick says, mostly because he knows Tim expects it of him. Inwardly, he purrs in satisfaction. Tim is reacting just as Dick had hoped he would.

“Well, we need to go again. Go put your shoes on.”

Dick’s mouth twitches. “You’re so bossy, baby bird.”

“Dick.”

He thinks about dragging his feet a little longer, testing the boundaries of Tim’s patience. Trying to cajole him into waiting and relaxing a little. But… he’s curious. Besides—the sooner they go and come home the better. It won’t be long before Dick will be reluctant to leave his den let alone his apartment, and on top of that… He’s a tactile person already. During a heat, all he wants to do is wrap himself around the closest pack member and stay there. He can already feel the urge to bundle Tim off into his nest.

Still—he can’t help dragging his feet a little, amused at the way Tim huffs at him before finally, finally, he allows Tim to drag him out the door.