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When Tim turned 8 years old, on the 19th of July, it was uncharacteristically cold and wet. Rain was lashing sideways and a gale howled in from over the mountains that backed the Drake pack territory. His mother had said the weather matched the mood of this fateful day (dark, suspenseful, and unwanted weather for a day that tinged her world with darkness even though they’d been expecting it long since his birth). His father chided her, saying that they couldn’t speak so boldly about the situation.
They were both right in their own minds.
The fateful day in concern, was the same fateful day for every child born into the Drake pack, the day that they had to earn their initiation. The day that they had to earn a claim from their parents and from the pack leader.
His father and mother had done so, their father and mother had done so, and so on right back to when his Great, great, great (either 3 or 5 more greats, Tim could never remember even though he was supposed to listen with rapt attention to the pack founding story) grandfather had endured his 8th birthday out in the wilderness – alone, without a single pack bond, and in unmarked territory – after his pack had been killed by hunters.
The initiation was said to shape you into a great wolf shifter, the strongest of the strong. It was apparently the exact reason as to why the Drake pack was the second oldest pack in the continent.
You were taught from birth to be strong and you easily proved it before you had even come close to reaching your maturity.
To mimic the conditions, parents weren’t allowed to claim or bond with their children until after they returned, if they returned. Even scenting your pup (which according to his mother and father under the cover of night when nobody listened in on them, was essential) was seen as straying from the traditional path.
Then, come your 8th birthday, the head of the pack would take you by the back of the neck (it couldn’t be called scruffing, when you scruffed a pup it was comfortable and didn’t involve teeth piercing into your thin puppy flesh) and would take you far away to drop you off at the furthest point of unclaimed territory besides theirs and leave you there.
You then had to find your way back, traversing through little babbling brooks to roaring rivers, across farmer’s fields where a human could spot you and through dense forest thicket that snagged against your coat and tried to pull you down to become food for the fungi.
You had to hunt for yourself, groom yourself, and navigate for yourself. Failure to comply with any of the rules would mean disqualification and you would never be allowed to join the pack. You’d be thrown out within the same hour that you returned.
His cousin Maleia had shifted into her human-like form and accepted help from an old woman when she’d grown hungry, her birthday had been in the middle of winter, and everything had migrated away leaving her with nothing but dried leaves and skinny squirrels to eat. Somehow the pack had found out and their grandfather had kicked her out; nobody had seen her since that day.
Tim was better off than Maleia though. He had a summer birthday meaning there was food in abundance all around him and his parents had spent every moment they could when they were in their home den teaching how best to hunt.
They couldn’t exactly teach him properly with the fact that was another stupid thing that was frowned upon – ‘you were supposed to rely on instincts, not teachings’ as his grandfather would say –, but in teaching, he understood all the needed methods.
His father had taught him to light fires in his human form, his mother had taught him how to identify plants that he could eat if in practice the hunting failed, and in secret they’d both gently scented him – not enough that it could ever be caught but just enough that he wasn’t as frail as the rest of the pups that were sent out.
So, despite the buckets of rain being chucked down on his head as he said his goodbyes to his parents and the rolling wind that was strong enough to fling him around in his grandfather’s mouth, leading to teeth shredding the neck more than normal, he had been confident in himself as the territory disappeared behind them.
Even as his grandfather reminded him of the rules and the punishment should they be disobeyed, he believed in himself being able to easily crush this challenge. His parents had prepared him for this, much more than they said anybody else ever received.
Things had gone fairly well the first night, he’d gobbled up a couple bushes of berries after his hour of stalking had led to nothing since everything was hiding from the rain in their nests, and he had found a cave, ground softened by mosses and entrance partially hidden from the rain by a large boulder in front, to hide from the rain in while he slept.
The first day hadn’t been ideal, he’d slipped and fallen face first into a giant puddle of mud leaving him covered head to toe and consequently, he wasn’t able to catch any food as his body crackled with mud flakes at each movement. But he did make some good progress before finding some raised roots to sleep under for the second night.
Then the second day had also not come up great, he’d gotten closer to a human village than his parents had advised and stood on a shard of glass in his hurry to get as far away meaning he was heavier on foot and anything he tried to catch heard him before he could get close enough. The third night was overly shit, with the rain returning in full force while he limped around unable to find anywhere to shelter for the night.
And finally, today, the third day, everything went to absolute shit.
He wasn’t entirely certain where he was but according to his parents, the trek should only take 4 days, which meant he needed to clean himself off now to ensure he was properly groomed when he came to the territory.
But he was tired and hungry and not really thinking straight and one thing led to another with his injured paw (glass still embedded deep inside it) giving way underneath him as he slipped on the soaking riverbank and hurtled downwards into the river’s thundering flow below.
Tim had never really learnt how to swim incredibly well. He could paddle in a still lake, but he didn’t have the ability to fight a current. The rivers around their territory weren’t deep so he’d never had the time to learn, never been taught how to time his frantic paddling to keep himself above the water or prevent himself from using all his energy.
The river threw him against its rocky bed and held him under for periods so long that he wondered if he’d ever make it to the surface again alive, every dunk zapped his energy from him and every hit disoriented him and he took longer to figure out which way was up and out.
By the time the river finally freed him from its confines, after 30 minutes of hurtling him downstream, when it came to a gentler shallow bend, he barely had the energy or strength to haul himself up and onto the bank where he collapsed down onto the moss-covered rocks.
He’d rest here for the day and the night and then get back on the path in the morning. A day late wouldn’t earn him too harsh of a judgement.
Hopefully.
--
When Jason awoke, the sun already in the mid-sky and the dawn choir that usually woke him long gone, something seemed off.
It was the kind of off that sat deep in his bones and had the hair on his haunches raised and ready for a fight. There was something wrong in his territory (technically Bruce’s but the man was giving him space, so the northern corner had been temporarily gifted to him), something his instincts managed to catch onto far before he’d caught sight of it.
He didn’t like it.
Ever since his dip in the Lazarus pit, he’d been stronger, more confident, better. But this feeling, this itch along his spine as he thundered out of his den and off into the territory to find out what was happening, it put something on him on edge. Something he hadn’t felt since before Bruce had taken him in and provided him with some semblance of protection.
He was likely overthinking it; Dick had probably decided to come and visit him early and without warning or Damian had another fight with Bruce about how he should join in the hunt as he was old enough and had come stalking over to complain to him.
It was going to be something stupid, and he’d get annoyed at it in the moment for waking him from his extra hours of sleep before laughing about his stupidity and the overly paranoid state later, but he still powered forward – following his instincts like Bruce had once taught him and Talia had perfected in him.
The Lazarus pit had enhanced him. It had enhanced his size, so he was a hulking 4 foot rather than the 2 foot 5 when he’d died and it had enhanced his senses – his eyesight, his smell, his taste, his touch, his hearing. He became the enhanced version of the already enhanced wolf that a shifter would be.
It was this enhancement that meant he heard the gurgled cries on the wind ahead, the gurgled cries of a pup calling for help - from anyone. Thundering footsteps sped up as he headed in the direction of the river that just cut through his territory – coming in from the unmarked territory in the northeast and leaving just a couple miles further on the northwest.
The pup had likely been swept away from their pack while they moved along the edges of the Wayne territory. The rivers were unnaturally high and fast flowing for this time of year and even the most seasoned travelling packs could have been caught off guard. Let alone the influx of new travelling packs, due to humans stealing their territory, that wouldn’t be as used to the dangers of the unclaimed land.
Regardless of their origin, how a pack could be so careless with the life of their young would be an argument he could have with them after he’d got the pup to safety.
As he thundered closer to the river he tried to think about the fact he couldn’t hear them crying for help anymore – telling himself it was because they’d managed to pull themselves ashore and were taking stock of themselves.
The river was as high and angry looking as he imagined as he finally made it over, barely stopping to take a moment to stare at it before he was turning and continuing downstream – eyes scanning over everything to catch something that could so much as resemble a pup.
It was a further 600 or so yards down river, where it shallowed out into the pool that he often fished in, that he finally noticed them. They were minuscule, with their black fur slicked back and clinging to them, so small they looked like they should still be attached to their mother’s side in the den.
Their size, the lack of tremors that racked their body, and the watered-down red colour that covered the slimy rocks around them, didn’t bode well in Jason’s mind as he made quick work down the river cliff towards them.
The sight of such a tiny creature laying on its own and barely clinging to life had him seeing green – what pack doesn’t keep an eye on a pup of this size? A pup that could barely be more than 5 or 6 years old. A pup that, in a travelling pack, should either be carried by the scruff or in the arms of their shifted guardian.
Damian was 5 years old when he’d met him and Talia barely let him walk for himself. He was 6 years old now and if Ra’s hadn’t gotten to him before Bruce had and twisted him into thinking he needed to act older, he still probably wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without being scruffed and carried.
To be fair, despite his many protests, Damian still didn’t go overly far without being carried due to a mix of both Bruce and Dick being overprotective pack mates.
The electric green that bubbled through his veins and clouded his vision only seemed to triple when Jason leant down to grab the pup by its scruff so that he could get them back to his den, his eyes zeroing in on the puncture wounds just on either side – showing whoever had last tried to scruff this pup had done so far too harshly and entirely wrong.
The pack better have a good excuse when he found them otherwise Bruce’s no-killing other shifters rule could be shoved where the sun didn’t shine.
Jason’s shift rippled through his body, replacing the towering 4-foot wolf form with an equally towering over 6-foot human form. His shift made the pup seem even smaller, his hands sliding underneath their cold, wet form – their body only just too large for his two hands.
The movement elicited a feeble whine from the pup which Jason both loathed and loved to hear – yes, he was horrified at himself for causing the little baby more pain but at least it was confirmation that there was more life left in them than it looked like.
He was quick to remove the woollen jumper he was wearing and wrapped it around the small form, holding them tight against his chest as a way to try and force his own heat into them. They needed medical attention and fast, so the second he was content that they were in a position that wasn’t harming them, he was climbing one-handed back up the cliff face and sprinting off into the forest.
Despite his preference to run in his wolf form, he was incredibly grateful that Talia and Bruce had both forced training on him in and out of shift. His movements were agile, calculated and quick as he made his back, meaning there was barely the need to slow to avoid the tree roots.
By the time he reached the den, the pup had finally warmed enough that they had begun shivering, full body trembles wracking their system as unconscious whines and cries trickled out their mouth.
He’d never been so glad as to see it.
While moving around the den to grab blankets and his first aid kit he never sat the pup down, even as he balanced numerous items in his free hand. Only finally lowering them into his nest when he’d collected everything that he believed he would need.
He was quick to work, careful hands ghosting over injuries to check their severity before he treated them while he mentally catalogued everything for when he justified disposing of the pathetic pack they’d come from.
Puncture wounds to the neck, glass embedded in his front left paw, a gash on the right side of the stomach, possible bruised or fractured ribs, a gash across his nose, and possible concussion.
Each injury was another body dropping dead.
By the time he had finished cleaning, cataloguing, and bandaging each wound the shivers wracking the poor pup’s body had calmed down to mere trembles, but he still wasn’t happy with their temperature so he swaddled them up into the collected blankets and shifted so his thick fur could be used as a cover as he curled around them.
He’d figure out what to do next – probably best to drop them off with Bruce or Dick before he went out ‘hunting’, definitely get some food in them because they were skin and bone.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shoved his nose into his tail, doing his absolute best to ignore the fact that the pup smelt of absolutely nothing but river water and muck. A pup from a pack that deserved them back would smell like them, even after spending however long floating down a river.
--
When Tim awoke, it was so different from what he remembered before blacking out that he could almost imagine he’d dreamt it all – that he hadn’t yet turned 8 and was still at home bundled up between his mother and father after a long night of pretend hunting.
The throbbing that covered his entire body and the smell of a wolf he absolutely did not recognise shattered that imagination.
His eyes snapped open (the little light that trickled into the cave he was in was already causing a headache to pulse behind his eyes and making his vision swim) and he came face to face with a giant wolf – a wolf whose head was probably the same size as his body.
The wolf was nearly jet black with a single handful of white strands of fur that struck across their face from their right ear to in between their eyes like a lightning bolt. They were utterly terrifying. And the fact that their strong jaws were so close to his body only made things worse.
Not only had he broken the number one rule and received help (as unwilling and unplanned as it was) he likely wasn’t going to make it out alive as this giant of a wolf shifter was likely waiting for him to wake up so he’d be more fun of a kill.
He couldn’t let that happen. He was a big and strong pup, and his parents were relying on him to get home. Without him, his grandfather likely wouldn’t hand the power of the pack over to his father when he died and would instead give it to some lower-ranking shifter – and that would break his father because that’s all he’d trained for his entire life.
Mind set on what must happen, Tim slowly (ever so very slowly) wriggled himself free of the layers of blanket confines – ignoring the confusion as to why his injuries had been treated if the shifter planned on killing him and the terrible pain from everywhere that begged him to lie back down.
The blanket confines had been the easy part, now he had to figure out how to get past the actual wolf. They’d very successfully wrapped themselves around him, with their head tucked under their tail to make a complete circle but also removing what would have been the thinnest part of his confines – and therefore the easiest way to escape.
He had two options. 1, attempt to jump over the shifter’s head and risk not making it the whole way and landing on top of them – which would definitely wake them and would likely anger them even more. Or, 2, slowly and carefully climb over the shifter’s shoulders and neck where the fur was its thickest and hope it was thick enough to pad his footsteps.
With the state of his foot and lack of a run-up, 2 seemed like the only good option as he sucked up his nerves and began his gentle climb. At every movement, even one as miniscule as the other shifter’s nose twitching, he froze up not daring to move even a millimetre more.
The whole process took him so long that he’d started expecting the wolf to wake up naturally to the sun streaming into the cave’s entrance up ahead rather than his footfall, but, eventually, he had all four paws firmly back on the ground and outside the ring of wolf that had previously confined him.
In all his stupid excitement at managing to sneak over the shifter (his years of training in the night with his parents actually paying off this time) he didn’t recognise that the area where they’d been resting was raised ever so slightly from the ground, and he was suddenly hurtling to the ground. Again.
All hope that he could escape the shifter was gone as a pained yelp left his mouth as he landed harshly on already throbbing ribs in a heap on the cave floor, the silence broken for a second time as the larger wolf shot upwards with a menacing growl.
The growl that he’d expected to be the last thing he heard before being killed however was suddenly cut off and then, concerned chuffs filled the area and the giant black and white wolf’s head appeared over the edge of the platform he’d previously been on.
Tim mindlessly kicked his legs and forced himself backwards and away from them before flipping over and showing his belly in submission, hoping beyond hope that they’d just let him go. If they were chuffing like his parents did whenever he had a nightmare then either they were really sick in the head and wanted him to feel safe before they killed him or they were just some random shifter with a misguided belief that they were helping him.
The wolf stepped off the platform and gently nosed against his belly and softly chuffed again before licking a clean stripe up and along his belly. The kind of action that nobody had done since he’d learnt how to groom himself when he was 4.
As suddenly as the wolf had stepped down to him, they had shifted into the form of a giant human. Black hair with the same sweep of white and toxic green eyes gleaming down at him. Tim couldn’t decide whether the man or the wolf was scarier.
“I’m not going to hurt you, pup. Don’t worry.” The man’s whole demeanour seemed to soften as he smiled, before starting up again. “I’m Jason, you’re in my section of the Wayne territory if you don’t know where you are. I found you on a riverbank near the edges of the territory.”
Tim had heard of the Wayne pack. His grandfather hated them, Bruce Wayne (the head alpha) took in too many strays and wanderers which his grandfather believed was a threat to them, and it was also the oldest pack on this side of the continent, obviously making them a threat to his legacy. But his mother and father seemed mixed in their thoughts of him as they whispered quietly about how he was said to be ruthless but also fiercely protective.
“You were pretty banged up, so I brought you back to my den, I didn’t mean you any harm, promise.” As he spoke, Jason barely seemed to move even as his eyes continued to dart across Tim’s form – checking for any more obvious injuries or signs of pain from his most recent tumble. The man’s relaxed posture and scent that reeked of calm-protect-safe-comfort didn’t in the slightest fit what he knew of other shifters – especially shifters whom you’d just invaded the territory of.
“Would it be alright if I picked you up? I want to check you’ve not hurt your ribs anymore and I need to check for a concussion. I promise to be gentle.” Jason’s movements were slow and deliberate so that Tim could see what he was doing, but he still forced his body to scuttle further away despite the pain (ignoring the longing to fling himself into Jason’s arms and Jason’s look of upset at the action).
He'd already allowed himself to receive too much help. He was going to have to soak himself in mud and then the river again (though he may try to find a puddle instead, the idea of being anywhere near another river had his breath hitching in his throat) to clear himself of the scent of another shifter and he was going to have to remove all of the bandages as well, all before he could even think of starting back on the path towards the Drake pack territory.
He had to pass this test. Had to become part of the pack and not let down his parents who were relying on him. And Jason was going to ruin that, no matter his good intentions.
Tim appreciated his help, but he didn’t need it. He’d have been fine dragging himself back on route when he inevitably woke up beside the river, he’d been strong enough to pull himself out and therefore would be strong enough to complete this.
He ignored the nagging at the back of his head that said he wouldn’t.
“Okay, that’s okay. That’s alright. I won’t touch you, how about, instead of doing that, you have something to eat? I’ve got plenty of fresh deer, you look like you could do with a good meal.” Jason actually slowly inched away from Tim, though never looking away from him, as he spoke before silently sitting and waiting for Tim’s reaction.
Tim’s mind was racing. He’d already likely broken numerous rules by not having managed to stop Jason from helping him and he was already likely going to be at least a day late compared to predicted. So, realistically accepting more help and staying for longer was a bad thing.
However, he was hungry. Very hungry. And if he was already going to have to wash off Jason’s scent and was already going to be late. So, would a singular meal really make it worse?
The decision, no matter how stupid it likely was, made Tim gingerly nod his head – squeezing his eyes shut tightly and biting back a whimper when it made the world spin. He was a Drake; this pain would be minimal compared to the challenges he would have to face throughout life.
“Right, pup, if you stay here, yeah? And I’ll just go grab the deer. I’ll be two moments, promise.” Jason could very obviously see the cogs in Tim’s head whirring, trying to figure out if Tim planned to run the second he turned his back (and really, Tim was ever so slightly considering it himself, but the loud growl that gurgled from his stomach was enough to solidify the decision) and so he shuffled backwards for a moment longer than needed before turning around and heading over to the other side of the room.
Despite his, as his grandfather would say, childish want to explore – Tim stayed stock still just as Jason had told him to. The shifter may be nice now, offering food and not threatening him for trespassing, but he could risk nothing.
--
Jason carefully stared at the pup out of the corner of his eye as the two of them ate, doing his best not to show that he was observing as it would likely make the pup more anxious and the pup being anxious would then in turn rub off on him – not that he could really be more anxious than when he’d woken up to the pup’s yelp and thought there had been an intruder attacking them in his den.
Everything he saw about this pup just added another reason against the pack that he’d come from. The being allowed close enough to a river to be washed away, the scruff wounds and other wounds (such as the glass) that couldn’t have come from the river, the lack of pack scent, the ability to walk so silently at this age, the fear of touch, the fact the pup refused to eat until Jason started first.
It wasn’t painting a pretty picture. Not even a little bit.
At least Bruce would easily accept the pup into the pack if he was coming from an abusive one. (Jason ignored the uncomfortable role in his stomach at the idea of giving the pup to someone else)
The pup slid back slightly from the section of deer he’d given him after only eating about half not (nearly enough in Jason’s mind as he was practically skin and bones, Alfred would help fatten him up soon enough) and started eyeing up the cave again – a very obvious attempt at escape.
It was equal parts admirable and concerning, the pup’s ambition. Despite barely being able to stay upright and his tiny size, the pup seemed to believe that they would have a good chance at escaping from him. Admirable because that was a lot of spirit, concerning because Jason was trying his absolute best not to seem threatening and he was obviously still messing it up.
“You done? It’s alright if you are, I gave you a rather sizeable chunk as I didn’t know how hungry you were.” He’d given the pup a reasonable size portion for his size, but he didn’t need to know that. The pup, despite the wide-eyed look like they’d been caught doing something terrible, nodded their head.
“Alright, that’s good. If you want any more, just bark.” Despite it having been a more light-hearted comment, the pup had an adorably serious face on as they nodded their head. “Do you think I can check your injuries now? Head injuries can become really severe if they go unchecked.”
The question, this time, didn’t result in a rapid shake of the head that had obviously caused him pain but the pup still stared like a deer in headlights, fear written plain on their features and it absolutely broke Jason – because what could be done to a pup, a little baby like this one, that he could be scared of someone checking his injuries.
“Pup I-” Jason’s next statement of how he promised he would cause absolutely no harm was abruptly cut off by the pup shifting. The minuscule puppy was replaced with a tiny baby-faced boy with terribly unkempt black hair and light blue eyes. The shift obviously caused a wave of pain through his injuries as he half curled himself over and whimpered, Jason’s want to go forth and comfort him was cut off by the boy fully body flinching backwards away from him.
Jason bit down the curl of anger and protectiveness.
“Can’t- Don’t- Touch me-” The pup’s words were broken off with sharp coughs indicating dry vocal cords, likely caused by a lack of shifting which wasn’t uncommon. Most packs nowadays choose either wolf or human form to keep themselves safe. Either hiding in the forest as a normal wolf pack or in plain sight as an extended family of humans.
“I promise I’m only trying to help pup; I won’t hurt you at all. I can talk you through my every action.” Despite his want to crawl forward and bundle the pup into his arms, treat their every injury and never release them from his protective hold, Jason rocked back ever so slightly. Perhaps, with the fact the pup could now converse slightly better, Jason would be able to get across his promise to not harm them.
“No- No. I can’t accept help- I’ll fail if I accept help.” The way the pup spoke sounded like they believed what they were saying made 100% sense, but to Jason, it made absolutely none. Or perhaps he wanted it to make none because talking about failing if they accepted help sounded like all of these injuries weren’t a series of accidents but something that happened.
He’d heard, through Talia, through Bruce, even through Roy and Kori, about the tests of different packs. They’d make you do certain things to be initiated, to be able to claim your partner or to even earn respect.
And realistically, he knew these things happened to pups. Damian was a prime example. But he’d never seen Damian’s training, he’d already left Ra’s’ territory by that point, and looking at this pup now – begging for no help despite the fact they could have a severe head injury – he couldn’t help but feel a hatred for anyone like that.
“What will you fail pup?” He needed to know, even if he didn’t want to, even if he knew it was only going to make him angrier, he needed to know. Not only because making pups do initiation trials or whatever the fuck this was, was illegal, but also because he wanted to know what he’d be killing these shifters for.
“Initiation. It’s- I just turned 8 and please, you have to let me go so I can get back. My parents are relying on me. Grandfather won’t let Father take over the pack if I fail and I can’t let my parents down, please, they’re all I have.” The pup was sobbing, gasping for breaths that their body wasn’t letting them take in and looking at Jason like if he were to touch them it would be a death sentence.
And perhaps, in their pack it was.
Despite the previous begging and refusal to let Jason touch him, when he leaned forward to try and calm them down (expecting to be pushed away) the pup collapsed into him, heaving sobs wracking his tiny body as Jason pulled him in close.
“It’s okay baby, it’s okay. Deep breaths, in for 4, hold for 2, out for 4. That’s perfect. I won’t let them hurt you ever again.” As he whispered the gentle words to the pup, he rubbed his wrist over their hair and scent glands – it was a calming practice of scenting that no matter the pup or the situation had them falling boneless.
The pup, through ragged breaths and sobs, whimpered and cried about how he had to let them go, but never made an attempt to pull away from him. Instead, it almost seemed like he was trying to burrow into Jason’s chest, to hide away from all of their problems and their expected future.
After the crying and panicking had calmed down, the pup just lying against his chest and leaning into every gentle ministration of Jason’s hand as he worked knots out of their hair, Jason started talking again. “It’s illegal, did you know that?”
The pup made a snuffling sound, neither positive nor negative confirmation, just a sound that they were listening to him. “To force a shifter under the age of maturity at 25 to complete initiation practices is illegal. Has been for around 40 years now. What your pack is doing is classified as abuse.”
Jason let the words sit between them while he continued working his fingers through the knots in the pup’s hair and occasionally stopping to once again rub his wrist against the scent gland on their neck.
Probably not his smartest idea to scent an unclaimed pup as it was effectively informally initiating them into the pack, but Bruce would understand when he explained the situation and he wasn’t planning on giving the pup back to their original pack. So, it would be fine.
“You can check my injuries now.” The pup sounded defeated through their sniffles, looking up at Jason with giant watery eyes and a wobbling lip. It was such a miserable look, one that showed they’d completely given up upon finding out the news Jason had just unloaded on them.
Technically, to them, telling Jason that he could continue touching them and continuing to let him spread his scent over them, there was likely no other reason to continue. He didn’t know how the pack operated, but letting Jason’s scent smear over them probably forfeited them from the initiation.
They were allowing, in their mind, for a death sentence to be signed.
Not that Jason was letting them out of his sight for a long while yet, let alone letting them be abandoned any time soon, but the pup wasn’t aware of that.
“What’s your name pup? I never caught it.” His hands once again carefully ran over the small body in his lap to re-catalogue injuries – stopping at every whimper of discomfort to rub his scent into their skin and let gentle ministrations of his hand in their hair and on their back to calm them down.
“Timothy Drake. But I prefer Tim.” Tim finally, after Jason had completed checking over the physical injuries and had moved on to shining a flashlight into the boy’s eyes to check for reaction time, uttered his name.
Uttered his name and sealed his pack's fate, not that he was aware of it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tim.” Tim smiled a wobbly smile at the statement before laying his head back against Jason’s chest, his body sagging against the exhaustion of all the panic and the gentle comfort of the scenting. “I’m going to keep you safe, don’t you worry.”
Jason would rip the jugular out of anyone who threatened this puppy.