Jack had left early in the morning two days later for his meeting with Mr. Wayne, and Tim had been waiting in the grand foyer almost without a break ever since.
He knew, like, intellectually, the Mr. Wayne wouldn't buy him, because,duh, Batman, but he was having a hard time convincing his body of that. His heart pounded wildly, his hands were clammy and gross, and his stomach roiled, both with heat pain and at the thick scent of distress and pheromones in the room. Janet had tried to order him to his room, but he kept sneaking back, and eventually, she just gave up and opened windows.
In the end, he decided that he was less worried about what would happen if Mr. Wayne bought him, and more worried about what would happen when he didn't. His parents were going to be furious, and while he kind of hoped that they'd just spend a lot of time thinking about what to do next, go on another trip, and forget, like they usually did with commitments they made to him, he didn't think that that was going to happen this time.
After a few hours, Janet wordlessly stepped into the room. Neither of his parents had spoken to him since the first morning except to snap order and make absolutely sure how much of a disappointment he was. Instead of acknowledging him or snapping at him to stop making her house smell like a crime scene, she leaned against the banister to watch the front door with him. He supposed that meant that his dad would be back soon, and his gut wrenched again. He wasn't sure if that would be good or bad, but at least it would mean an end to the waiting.
It was only a few more minute before they heard the Drake's rental (they were never in town long enough to need their own car) roar up the front drive with a worrying speed. His dad was either really excited, or really mad.
Tim was leaning towards mad, given the whole "trying to sell my kid to the unholy terror of the night" thing, but that wasn't assured, he realized. He might have drastically mistyped Batman, and the real Bruce Wayne was more of a "do as I say and not as I do" type person, or maybe he didn't really mind child brides. Like, he'd stop a grab go rape, but if they were, like, married, then maybe he wouldn't really mind.
The door flew open and Jack stormed into the foyer, his whole body and scentscreamingrage.
Tim breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn't getting married, then.
Janet frowned in confusion. "He refused."
"Refused? Refusing is one thing, but thatbastard," Jack snarled, hurling his briefcase at the floor, where it landed on its spine with a resounding crack and an eruption of papers. "That absolutebastardhad the nerve tolectureme about how we should 'respect and treasure our son' and 'cherish the time we have with him.'"
Oh, that was… That was beautiful. Poetic. The small part of him that had been worried about Mr. Wayne actually wanting himthat waycurled up and died of laughter. The thought of his parents actually following through on Mr. Wayne's suggestion andrespectinghim andcherishingtheir time with him, though, was just too much.
Jack turned and shot a glare at Tim, like it was his fault that Mr. Wayne didn't want to buy him, and Tim struggled to keep his grin in check.
He must not have been able to keep his amusement from his scent, because his father's expression darkened, and he stalked toward Tim.
"You think that this isfunny,bitch?" Jack snatched Tim's collar before Tim could make a run for it and shook him harshly.
Tim stumbled, throwing his head back in submission to bare his throat. Jack growled and slapped Tim hard across the face with enough force to send him crashing to the ground.
His head hit the tile hard, making his vision swim with disjointed shapes and blurred edges. He tried to get up, but his father's shoe slammed into his ribs and he was down again with a cry of pain. The next kick landed in his stomach, then another to his ribs, then his mother's voice was saying something quietly that Tim couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears.
"He deserves it, pompous little omega brat!" Jack snapped venomously.
Tim chanced a glance up, but found only a furious glare from his father and a cool, calculating stare from his mother.
"True." She lifted her chin so that she was looking down her nose at Tim even more than she had been before. "But we won't get as good a price for him if he's broken and ugly. His only asset is his pretty face, dear. Luthor or Queen might be interested if he looks decent."
A small, ridiculous part of Tim was thrilled, because calling him pretty was the nicest thing his mom had said about him in years. A larger part of Tim cringed at the idea of having to marry Lex Luthor or Oliver Queen. Mr. Wayne was Batman, which meant that of course he would never agree to marry a kid. Tim was sure that the drunken playboy role was just an act.
Lex Luthor, from what he had overheard from his parents, was arrogant, cruel, manipulative, and completely amoral, and that was just with his business partners. Tim was sure that he wouldn't object to being given a child bride, and Tim also knew that his parents had wanted a deal with Luthor almost as badly as they wanted a deal with Wayne.
Oliver Queen, he knew less about. He did know that he was the CEO of Queen Industries. His parents didn't think much of him. He was apparently what Bruce Wayne pretended to be: a drunk playboy with too much money and low moral character. He was a useful idiot, though, and they might try to get the better of him with a stilted business deal and a young omega. For all those faults, though, Tim was pretty sure that he wasn't a criminal.
Jack growled and kicked Tim once more before storming out of the room.
Janet's lips curled into a frown of distaste. She didn't have to say anything to communicate just how disappointed she was. After a few moments, she calmly followed her husband out of the room.
Tim tried to get up, but it hurt too much to move. He lay there, curled up in a fetal position on the tile floor, where at least the icy tiles numbed the pain of his bruises and heat, for a long time.
Finally, Tim dragged himself up off the floor, and up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. If he even had his own house, he was going to get a ground floor bedroom, like a sensible person. Or maybe he'd just take suppressants for the heat, and stay away from angry alphas.
Tim slipped into his room and shut the door behind him louder than he would have normally dared with his parents home, but he was hurt, and they were already mad, so he didn't think it mattered if he slammed the door.
Tim wanted to just curl up into a ball and fall asleep for the next five years, but he had research to do first.
He dragged his laptop out from under his bed, where he'd hidden it in case his dad took it like he'd taken Tim's phone. Jack had said that Tim didn't need it anymore, but Tim had a feeling that it was really more out of a fear that Tim would go on social media and paint his parents and their company in a bad light in an attempt to get out of a marriage.
Tim was smart, though, or at the very least, smarter than that.
Options were limited for omegas. He could live on the streets, but he doubted he'd survive long without a pack. Jason Todd had done it, but Jason Todd was an alpha and he was strong enough thatBatmanhad impulse-adopted him to be his Robin. If Tim wanted a prayer of survival, he'd probably have to find a pimp or an alpha. He didn't want to, but if his other option was Luthor… He'd have to see.
Foster care, especially in Gotham, was basically just the prostitute option. He'd have a guaranteed roof, and probably food, but he wouldn't get to keep his money and his parents would probably be able to get him back. Gotham's omega group homes were also hotbeds for abuse without pay.
Tim's main problem was that what his parents were doing wasn't technically illegal. Even though omegas weren't legally considered property anymore, they were second class citizens. If their parents wanted, they could marry them off to any alpha they wanted. Most didn't anymore, but most also weren't negotiating multimillion-dollar business deals. His new husband would be his guardian until he was eighteen, and he couldn't even be divorced until then.
At the very least, Tim was the only one in the marriage who could request a divorce. Something about the alpha assuming responsibility since the omega had little real-world experience before the marriage. If he wanted, once he was eighteen, he could just be really really annoying until whatever alpha married him agreed to give him a severance check and alimony.
That plan probably wouldn't work. There weren't any rules about beating your omega for being a brat, or marital rape.
He needed to make a plan, and for that, he needed information.
A search on Lex Luthor turned up relatively innocuous results, until Tim started trying to get around any doctoring of the algorithm by adding keywords likecrimeandconspiracy. Most people turned their noses up as soon as the wordconspiracywas uttered, but Tim had figured out that the richest man in Gotham ran around town dressed as a bat and beating people up with his underage accomplice all because of an acrobatic move. Small clues were important, and rich people are weird.
It turned out that the internet suspected Lex Luthor of alot. Illegal weapons deals, links to supervillains, human testing, abuse, rape, murder. There wasn't much that hewasn'tsuspected of. Several of his more vocal accusers had turned up "suicided" as some had termed it. There was one, a CK, whose allegations of Luthor's crimes was so extensive that Tim wasn't sure if it could actually be true that one man had committed so many crimes.
Luthor was a hardno. Tim would rather chance the streets. Tim would rather die. Heck, if he wanted to die, marrying Luthor would probably take care of that pretty quickly.
Oliver Queen was a different story. Tim couldn't find many accusations against him of anything, and the accusations he did find were mostly just being a drunkard and a whore. He didn't seem so bad, or so smart. He seemed like he'd be nice enough, and Tim might even be able to manipulate Mr. Queen into letting him go to school. He'd probably be safer than the streets even if he couldn't, and if he wasn't, then at least the streets of Star City weren't nearly as dangerous as the streets of Gotham.
It struck him while he was looking at a photo of Mr. Queen at a charity gala for polio or rickets or something. Mr. Queen's beard seemed…familiar.
There was no way.
Tim quickly split the screen and pulled up every picture the public had of Star City's Green Arrow on one side, comparing it to the picture of Oliver Queen from the newspaper.
How.
Had.
No one.
Noticed?
The facial hair was the exact same, the build, the hair color. Wouldn't it be more efficient to wear a mask over his mouth and nose than over his eyes? It would take away the risk of the domino slipping over his eyes andactually cover extremely identifiable marks.
His heart sank. Mr. Wayne wouldn't buy him, because he was a hero. Mr. Queen was a hero too.
He was being sold to Luthor.