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"I've been compromised," Tim's voice came over the comms. "Rebreather's leaking and I'm out of antidotes. I'll find somewhere safer to hide before the toxin hits so I'm not a liability."
"Tracking you now," Nightwing replied. "ETA four minutes. Don't take any risks."
"N, Robin needs your help more than I do. I'll be fine until you nab Crane."
"Robin's with B. And I'd rather let Crane escape than risk you."
"I can disable the trackers in this suit," Red complained. His breathing was getting heavier.
"I'm sure you can. ETA seven minutes if you do. You're more important than a job, baby bird."
Red snorted derisively into his comm, earning a scowl from Nightwing that he couldn't see. Which was unfortunate, because from the way he shut down his end of their pack bond so Nightwing couldn't use it to locate him, he might actually be serious.
"Is there a real reason I shouldn't come find you, Red?" Nightwing asked. "Will it put you in danger?"
No answer.
"I don't see anyone tailing you, Red," Oracle offered.
"Let Nightwing collect you," Batman's voice clipped in. "We have eyes on Crane and Hood is on his way. Take the antidote and go back to the Cave. You both have the rest of the night off. N, be careful on that leg."
"It's just a scratch, B."
"You have the rest of the night off," Batman repeated. "Get Red Robin home."
"Planning to. Red, will you quit messing with the trackers?"
"Accept your defeat with dignity, Red Robin," Robin scolded over the comms.
"Not helping!"
Though actually, Nightwing suspected Tim had already turned off his comm anyway. The idea didn't make him feel any better.
Nightwing swung round the corner as another of Red's trackers blinked out, but it didn't matter. He could see the open window in the apartment building across the block, with a scuff on the balcony rail that looked awfully like the mark made by a poorly aimed grapple as it failed to catch. He flew for it.
Tim was inside the empty apartment, pacing back and forth with agitation through the open floor plan. The sour scent of panicking omega was starting to seep through even their military-grade scent blockers. Dick wasn't surprised that Tim didn't hear him come in, but he didn't want to startle Tim either.
"It's me," he said, peeling off the scent blocker at his own neck.
Tim didn't react to his voice, but a second later Dick's scent must have broken through his haze, because he stopped pacing and looked up, pulling his cowl down and blinking at Dick as if he wasn't sure he was seeing him clearly. His shoulders released just a little bit of their tension at the smell of his alpha packmate.
"I've got an antidote," Dick told him, voice low and soothing as he climbed in. He shut and locked the window behind him, moving as slowly as possible. There was no way to tell what effects the fear toxin might already be having on Tim, and he'd rather not provoke a fight if he could help it.
Tim looked like he was hanging on to his last scraps of lucidity by a thread, still trying to get his eyes to focus on Dick. "Wwwing."
"That's right, it's me, I'm just going to walk over and give you the antidote."
Tim took a step back, eyes wild. He pushed up onto the balls of his feet and glanced around the room, surveying exits. Dick was glad he'd thought to close the window; Red hated being chased through buildings, but he would be much easier and safer to catch that way than if Dick had to chase him across Gotham's rooftops.
That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for Red Robin to bolt around him, leaping against the exposed brick wall to Dick's side and jumping off towards the window, which he broke through with a crash and a roll, landing back on the balcony. Dick spun on his heel just as Tim fired his grapple at the next balcony to make a quick getaway.
Fortunately, Tim's aim was just as bad as it had been earlier, and Dick flipped through the broken window and caught up to him before Tim had time to fire it again.
"No! It's not safe!"
Tim glared at him, the look spiked with fear, as he raised his grapple once more.
Dick pounced. He grabbed Tim by the scruff of the neck with one hand and wrenched the grapple gun away with the other. It wasn't ideal--he'd never force submission onto anyone unless the situation was truly dire--but it was better than letting his baby bird injure himself while not in his right mind.
Tim resisted. He actually resisted. With an extra wave of panic and a surge in his scent that almost left Dick dizzy by proxy, he twisted out of Dick's grip. Dick fought to keep the grapple gun at least and got one of Tim's pointy elbow strikes to the ribs for his troubles. He doubled over from the surprise blow, winded and unable to do anything but watch as Tim once again considered his escape routes, glancing from the grapple to the busted window to the sidewalk three stories below--
Even in the fear gas haze, Tim apparently had enough self preservation to discount that last option. He flew back into the apartment, leaving Dick to follow behind, wheezing.
"Tim," he said.
Tim didn't respond, staring at him mutely as he watched whatever was playing out in his head. It seemed like he'd forgotten the apartment had a door. "No," he finally choked out.
"I need to give you the antidote," Dick repeated.
"No, please don't," Tim said, and there was a sob in his voice. "Don't..."
"Don't give you the antidote?" Dick asked. Unlikely as it seemed, there was a possibility that Tim was lucid and making a genuine request for some unknown reason. His exposure to the toxin had probably been minimal, with his rebreather half-working. Dick remembered how Tim had tried to disable his trackers and convince Dick not to come after him. Tim had a tendency to get himself into weird situations while investigating and wind up giving his teammates counterintuitive instructions in response; ignoring him could often lead to disastrous results.
Dick would put money on Tim's words being a reaction to a hallucination, but he hesitated to stake his brother's safety on the assumption. It was too dangerous to thoughtlessly dismiss anything Tim said.
"Don't, I'm sorry, I know I'm a bad son..."
"B doesn't blame you for your rebreather failing," Dick said. Point to hallucination... probably. Again, it could be hard to tell with Tim.
"Stop!" Tim shrank into his shoulders and put up his hands defensively.
Okay, he's not here, Dick decided. "Tim, it's just me," he said, too worried to stick to codenames. "It's Dick. Remember? You got hit with fear gas."
He crept closer to Tim, peeling the scent blockers off his wrists as he went. Tim had responded to that before; maybe a stronger scent would ground him again? Dick tried to put off a soothing, familiar scent, filling the room with cedar and oak and lavender and peppercorns, with undertones of protect-pack-safe.
Tim blinked and half-lowered his hands.
"I'm going to scruff you to help you relax, so I can administer the antidote," Dick told him, and reached out slowly.
"No! Dad!" Tim's eyes went wild again, and the next thing Dick knew, the bird was on top of the apartment's kitchen cabinets, hissing and keening at him by turns. The scent leaking through his blockers was full of panic-shame-defensive-sorry.
Dick had to take a moment to steady himself. That was his omega packmate, putting off that scent, keening like he was terrified of being hurt or abandoned. But he couldn't afford to let his own scent reflect his distress at the situation when so far that had been Tim's only anchor to reality. He ran through a couple of Bruce's grounding exercises in his head, trying to calm down and think.
As far as Dick knew, Bruce had never scruffed any of them before unless they specifically asked for it. (Most often Cass, who knew when she felt safe and treasured the ability to let her guard down with her pack.) Once, when Jason had been new to the Manor and upset about something, Bruce had laid a hand on the back of his neck without thinking--a gesture that Dick found soothing, but Jason had panicked and bolted, and Bruce had spent the rest of the day hiding guiltily in part of the Cave until Alfred tracked down both parties and got them to communicate.
But Tim... was doing exactly the same thing, Dick realized. Tim had had a rocky childhood, too, for all that he'd tried to hide it from them. Dick couldn't remember Tim ever asking to be scruffed the way Cass did, either.
Dick hissed under his breath and made a mental note to leave something nasty on Jack Drake's grave.
"It's me, Timmy," he repeated. "Can I scent you?" He rolled back his sleeve and offered his wrist up to Tim, who poked his head out from the top of the cabinets and blinked at him.
Slowly, Tim reached his hand out and grabbed Dick's. Squinting in confusion, he stopped hissing and keened softly instead.
Dick reached up with both hands to scent Tim's wrist, then his neck as Tim slowly climbed down onto the counter. The boy was shaking. Dick helped him back to the floor.
Dick was just covering Tim's other wrist when his little brother looked up at him.
"...Dick?" he whispered.
"You've been in and out of hallucinations, baby bird," Dick told him. "Almost hurt yourself. I've been trying to scruff you."
Tim's breath hitched. "That explains a lot. I--" he shuddered. "It's getting worse again, where's the--"
Tim froze, held his breath, then stiffly bowed his head. "Quickly. Do it."
Dick scrambled for the antidote from his tool belt, but Tim shook his head and grabbed Dick's hand before he could get to it. "No," Tim whined. "I don't want to hurt you when it--just--do it."
He brought Dick's hand up to his neck. Dick got the picture just in time, grabbing Tim by the scruff just as the other's head shot up, wild-eyed and unfocused again. Something in Tim fought for control--but Dick could see in his brother's eyes that Tim wasn't fighting him. He was fighting himself.
Tim went limp in his hand.
Dick caught his baby brother in both hands and carried him to the carpet against the wall, where he propped Tim up and uncapped a syringe of antidote. Tim twitched uneasily, as if still trying to fight the submission. Dick paused just long enough to scent Tim again. It was probably overkill, but the action seemed to soothe Tim, who stopped thrashing. His eyes shut as he dropped his shoulders, baring his neck for Dick in a display of trust and submission. Dick didn't waste the invitation to administer the antidote.
The effects of the scruff would likely only last for about twenty minutes, with Tim this upset, but Dick figured that should be long enough for the antidote to kick in and negate the worst of the symptoms. He recapped the empty syringe and put it back into his belt before pulling Tim into his lap, nestling his charge into the crook of his neck as he hummed a lullaby and focused on putting off more soothing, protective alpha scent. Tim trembled in his grasp and clutched at Dick's uniform, shaking his head now and then as if trying to dispel whatever he was still seeing and hearing.
"You're safe," Dick told him. "I'm keeping you safe. You can hide here with me. They can't get to you here."
The specifics were a shot in the dark, since he had no idea what Tim was seeing, but his words seemed to be getting through more effectively now. Tim whined in response, quietly, perhaps trying not to blow their cover in whatever was happening in his imagination.
"You're safe now," Dick insisted, as he checked the inside of Tim's collar for shards of glass from the window, discarding a few small pieces. Tim didn't seem to be cut up too badly from them. "I'm not leaving. You're not going to be abandoned."
And that--worked way too well. Tim's hands crept around to Dick's back, holding on tight as he pressed himself into his older brother's chest. His breathing slowed. He stopped desperately shaking his head.
Dick frowned. Hadn't Tim essentially been asking Dick to abandon him when all this started? Actively trying to keep Dick from tracking him down? He kept up a steady stream of reassurances, hugging Tim close as the antidote slowly worked its way through Tim's system.
"I won't leave you. You're worth caring for. I'm staying here with you. We won't leave you behind. You're part of our pack. You belong with us. We care about you and want you to be safe."
Tim's tears started to seep through Nightwing's uniform. Dick wondered if he should stop; Tim's scent was finally settling down, but...
The decision was made for him when his comm came to life with Batman's voice. "N, we're mopping up here with Crane. Hood's chasing the last of the hired help to see what info they have. Status on Red?"
Dick tapped his comm to unmute himself. "I've given him the antidote and he's... semi-conscious. Just waiting for it to kick in before we head back. He found a good hiding spot before the toxin took hold, so we're safe for now."
"How long ago did you give him the antidote?"
"A few minutes. We're uninjured, but he put up a few solid escape attempts." Dick hesitated, not wanting to ask. "B, you've never... scruffed him against his will, have you?"
"No," Batman growled. "Why?"
Dick hummed. "Did you teach him to break out of a scruff hold?"
"I tried."
"But he already knew?"
The silence on the other end of the comms said it all.
"B, you've got to tell us stuff like this," Dick said with exasperation.
"It's a matter of privacy."
"It's a matter of not triggering your packmates' trauma while you're trying to keep them from injuring themselves," Nightwing growled.
"I apologize."
Surprised and mollified, Dick let that be. "...We'll start heading back in about fifteen minutes. Is anyone injured on your end?"
"Robin sustained a black eye, possibly a sprained ankle. Hood is trying to hide a knife wound, but I believe his armor took the brunt of the damage. We'll be at least another hour; I want to speak with Gordon about security."
Dick snorted. "Good luck."
Tim stirred against Dick's chest. "Dick? B?"
"Our little bird's waking up," Dick said, and tapped Tim's comm twice to turn it on. "Say hi."
"Hi," Tim said sleepily.
"Look who's not dead!" Hood crowed. "You better stay that way. That's my bit and you can't have it."
"Of course Nightwing secured his safety," Robin huffed. "Unlike you, he is competent in the field."
Dick chuckled at the relief in both of their voices. Tim obviously heard it too, because he was balancing a shaky smile as he listened.
"Welcome back, Red Robin," Oracle chimed in.
"Check in when you get back," Batman reminded them.
"Will do," Dick said. "You up for hanging on while I take you on the bike, Red? We can call something else if you need it."
"Bike's fine," Tim mumbled.
"Be careful," Batman growled.
"It's fine, B, I'll go the speed limit and everything," Dick said, grinning.
"Liar," Hood laughed.
B only offered stony silence in response, and while that was a sullen permission, it was still permission, so Dick held on tightly to Tim as he lowered them to street level on his grapple.
"Are you okay?" Tim asked as they touched down. "I remember hitting you, I think."
"You just surprised me. Maybe bruised ribs, nothing worse. You were trying to get away, not hurt me."
Tim shuddered and took a deep breath. "I hate being around people while I'm on fear toxin," he confided.
"Letting you suffer through it on your own was never an option, baby bird."
He kept a steadying arm around his brother as they walked back to Nightwing's motorcycle. Walking wasn't the safest travel option, but Tim wasn't going to be up to grapple or rooftop navigation.
Besides, Dick wasn't planning on picking any more fights tonight. When a guy with a knife peered at them from around a dumpster, Nightwing just glared and advised him to pack it in for the night. "The Bat's in a mood," he warned. "Just dealt with Scarecrow. You don't want to be in his path." The man went pale and vanished quickly.
Tim's shoulders shook a little, and Dick looked down at him, concerned, until he realized the younger boy was trying not to laugh.
"That might have had more to do with your scent than anything else," Tim said. "You never put your blockers back on. You smell like you're ready to maul the first person who looks at me wrong."
"Oh." Whoops.
"The Bat's in a mood," Tim mimicked. Dick grinned, glad Tim was feeling enough like himself to make fun of him.
But the bike was right here, so there was no real point to putting on fresh scent blockers now. Reassured by Tim's tight grip around his waist, Dick sped home.
Dick called their check-in on the comms as he stripped off his uniform. He quickly rinsed down in the shower and was just sitting in the medbay in his boxers, cleaning and bandaging the cut on his leg that B had been so worried about, when he finally heard Tim's shower flip on. Then he heard a squeaky sliding sound and a thump and was on his feet and running to the showers before he even had time to think.
"I'm okay," Tim's voice called. "Just slipped. Don't make your leg worse."
"Roger that," Dick said, though he was still suspicious. He finished wrapping his leg as quickly as possible.
Tim came out in a few minutes and fumbled his way into sweatpants and a T-shirt. Dick's eyes narrowed at the uncharacteristic clumsiness. With his blockers off now, Tim's scent had mellowed out into something close to its usual sweet almond/vanilla/black tea/sandalwood, but there was still an undertone of stress to it.
"C'mon," he said, scooping Tim up into his arms and ignoring Tim's adorable squeak. "You're doing the thing again."
"Thing?"
"That thing you do," he said, hitting the button for the elevator, "where you pretend to recover from an injury before you really have."
"Dick," Tim groaned. But he didn't protest as Dick carried him up to the den and set him down on the couch to fuss over him.
"How are you actually feeling?" Dick pressed, opening a linen closet.
"Still shaky," Tim admitted as Dick bundled him up in four different blankets.
"Anything I can do to help?" Dick asked, sitting down next to him. "I'll stay with you if that's okay."
Tim turned red, all the way back to his ears. "Could you..."
And to Dick's surprise, Tim bent his head forward again, much less stiffly than he had before.
Something in him turned into pudding at the request. "Of course," he said, and gently took Tim by the scruff again. The young omega didn't resist at all this time, simply melting into the hold as Dick pulled Tim across his lap to rest against his other shoulder.
Tim sighed, finally relaxing, and shut his eyes. Dick smiled down at him, humming and rubbing circles into his baby bird's back. Next minute, Tim was fast asleep. Dick settled into the couch, content, and carded his fingers through Tim's hair, holding him close as his packmate's soft, trusting warmth coaxed him into dozing off too.
He stayed there, happy to keep Tim safe from nightmares until morning.
EPILOGUE
Cass, who'd been staying home and playing chess with Alfred while she recovered from a concussion, sensed her packmates' arrival through their bond and finished up her last game of the evening quickly so that she could go find her brothers. She discovered their cuddle pile and joined in, snuggling up against Dick's side.
When he stirred and blinked at her, she took Dick's hand to the back of her neck so he'd scruff her like he obviously had Tim. Of course he wouldn't neglect her. He gave her what she wanted, then dropped his hand to her back and squeezed her in tight as she slumped further into his side, sleepy and safe. She brushed foreheads with Tim, who didn't stir at all but purred in his sleep when he caught her scent, all jasmine and lemon peel and contentment.
Jason got home next and sat down on Dick's other side, unwrapping and rewrapping the knife wound on his arm in fidgety annoyance. Eventually he fell still, at first in a meditative keeping-watch sort of way, until he too drifted off into a wary sleep bolstered by Dick's shoulder.
Bruce and Damian came last. Not wanting to disturb the cuddle pile, Bruce settled into an armchair to keep an eye on his kids. Damian took up station on the back of the couch and stayed stubbornly awake for the next hour, until Bruce caught him drifting and picked him up to place him against Cass's sleeping side. He ended up curled in her lap by morning. Bruce tucked extra blankets around everyone, to match Tim's.
Dick ended up eating breakfast in the den, unwilling to disturb either Cass or Tim, both of whom were so thoroughly at peace that the submission still hadn't worn off by then. He felt honored.
Alfred got so many pictures.