Jesus, you were tiny.

He’d seen pups before, lots of pups- strays, runaways, orphans, lost pups, even the occasional and heart wrenching dead pup- but none of them were ever this small except for the 7 and 8 year olds.

“Hey kiddo, you doing okay?” Dick asks, crouching down in front of you.

He’d just been walking down the hall to his room, having to crash at the manor for a while to nurse a broken rib, and had seen Bruce had brought home another pup. Seriously, Bruce had a problem, he’d have to talk to him about this again later.

You smelled of uncertainty and slight fear and a hundred different emotions and smells, and he could have sworn he picked up a split second of old pack smells, old pack bonds underneath it all. Yes, they were faded, so faded he almost missed them, but he didn’t.

The beta looks at you, trying not to judge, but fuck you were adorable. All he wanted to do was wrap you up in soft blankets and smother you in his scent, make you smell like your new pack.

“I’m Dick,” he says, keeping his voice gentle and calm. “I like your jacket.”