Tim rubs at his nose, despite the way it stings. It’s surely red and raw now from how snotty he’s been. He sniffles, wiping his sleeve across his face again. No matter how much he’s been crying he can’t dare show up all icky looking. No one wants to help a messy pup. So he scrubs the tears away, ignoring the ache, and keeps walking.

He stumbles a bit, hunger-clumsy and more than a little tired. With every step he takes he feels the blood ooze further down his knees, staining both legs almost to the socks. He can’t hide the injuries in shorts, but he knows Mommy will be even angrier if he ruins a pair of pants over something so trivial.

He’s almost to the door. Though he’s been to Wayne Manor before, it somehow looks bigger now. He hadn’t thought it was this intimidating the last time he came, but before he had still been allowed to hold Mommy’s hand. There’s nothing for him to hold now. He can’t even roll his sleeves over his hands or he’ll get blood on his sweater too. There’s already a bit dribbled on the collar from where his chin scraped but maybe he can hide it. He can’t risk any more damage. He’ll be punished enough as it is.

Tim slows down a bit, forcing himself to take a deep breath the way he does before galas. He can’t show up as a blubbering puppy. He just needs to ask one question and then he’ll be back home. He can breathe long enough for one question, surely.

He wipes away the rest of the tears, willing himself not to cry anymore. He knows he’s not allowed, but sometimes when he’s in his bed, under the blanket, he’ll let himself cry. Just for a little while. Mommy can’t punish him for it if she doesn’t know. It almost feels like a proper nest when he’s wrapped up in his comforter, breathing in his own warm air.

With the worst of his tears hidden, he knocks on the door. He clenches his fist, refusing to give into the pupish urge to chew on his fingers. Only babies do that and Tim is a big boy now. His Mommy said so.

He waits, fidgeting where he stands, and does not knock again. He won’t. He’s already risking the worlds biggest time-out if his parents find out he walked to the neighbors house at all. He only has to squirm another moment before the door opens. He recognizes the boy to be one of the Wayne sons, but he can’t recall which one. The two omegas look so similar, even if they’re different ages. Tim has met him before at a gala, he’s sure. He was nice, less scary than the other people he usually is forced to converse with.

As soon as he looks down at Tim his eyes widen, scent souring at what must be a truly pathetic sight. Tim’s tummy gets that icky sick feeling like when he’s about to be in trouble and he instinctively takes a step backwards.

“Hey, puppy,” the omega smiles, warmer and brighter than anyone ever looks at Tim. “What happened? How’d you get those owies?”

Tim doesn’t allow himself to look away, as tempting as it is to stare down at his shoes. He may be a naughty boy, but he is well trained. “Ex- excuse me, sir,” he stammers, hating himself for his screw up. Daddy would smack him right on his bottom for blundering like that in front of someone so high up in the social ladder.

Before he can find the bravery to ask his question, the omega says, “aw, you don’t have to call me sir. Just Dick is fine.” He looks around for just a moment, surely looking for his caretakers, before putting his attention firmly back on Tim.