"Building secure," Dick's voice filtered through the comms unit in Tim's ear, and Tim felt the entire room sigh in relief as it did so.
"Any casualties?" he asked, reaching down to run an absent hand over his very swollen and very sore belly.
"Nope," Dick chirped, and Tim could almost see the accompanying smile in his tone. "No casualties on either end. Manhunter got a bad dose of fire and Hawk Woman got caught up on a hit from Croc, but all-in-all everybody's going to pull through."
"Good to hear," Tim gave a small smile of his own as he acknowledged Dick's words and transcribed them down into the official Record of the Mission on one of the computer screens in front of him. "And the plan moving forward?"
"Hood and I are going to hang around long enough to get Croc shackled, and then he and I are going to return to Gotham and take over for the ladies so that they can have the rest of the night off," Dick answered, a heavy metal thing that was most likely a door clanking loudly in the background, and Tim spared a second to look over at the video monitors to confirm that Dick had made his way out onto the roof of the building before he went back to typing. "Batman and Superboy are going to stay here to see Croc transferred to a facility, but then they're heading back to the Cave to dismantle for the night. Oracle is downgrading from standby for the League to full control of Gotham at the Tower, and Black Bat is to join Batgirl and Robin out on the streets. Impulse and A are to take over monitor duty at the Cave, and I've deflected no less than ten questions regarding Red Robin's whereabouts since we breached the stronghold of the building."
"Aww, Croc asked about me?" Tim cooed as he continued to type away at the keyboard underneath of his hands.
"Yes, he did," Dick gave a laugh somewhere between a snort and girlish-giggle. "He was all concerned about you and stuff, too—wanted to know how much longer it's going to be until you're back."
"Oh, please," Tim rolled his eyes. "He just wants to know how much longer it's going to be before he can try to bite my legs off again."
"It's been six months, Red," the alpha soothed with a quiet chuckle. "People are starting to get concerned. Croc's just worried."
"Whatever, 'Wing—tell him I said thanks for thinking of me, and I'm sure someone will let him know if something about my situation changes."
"I'll pass it along," Dick agreed. "Any other messages you'd like me to deliver?"
"Tell Superboy I think that he has a nice ass?" Tim paused what he was doing long enough to zoom one of the building's many security cameras in on said ass as he spoke. Kon was still inside—chatting with Croc as he floated a couple of inches above the ground no less—and whether Kon had intended to or not, he'd given Tim quite the angle.
"I think I'll leave that one to you, Red," Dick barked a laugh as Tim linked the video feed to the display console that Dick wore on his wrist during League Missions. "Superman might overhear and get jealous."
"Hey, I never said where Superboy's ass ranked against other asses," Tim defended himself as he went back to typing up important things about the mission on his keyboard. "Just that it was nice in the first place."
"That is very true," Dick conceded with another laugh in his voice. "I guess I'll pass along the message, but only after you're back up and in bed, Mister—or at least up on one of the couches! I understand if you don't want to wander too far away until the rest of us our back, but you need to get out of the Cave!"
"Fine," Tim gave a long, dramatic sigh because he knew that fighting with Dick was useless.
"Good boy," his eldest brother praised from the other end of the line. "Make sure Impulse or A let us know if there are any issues on your end. Batman will keep an open feed, and Hood and I will check back in before we leave."
"Acknowledged," Tim nodded his head, slipping back into his serious "Red Robin" voice for a moment as he notated Dick's words. "If anything happens and you need me I can be back at the computer as quickly as Impulse can carry me."
"Understood," Dick nodded his head on the video feed—voice just as serious as Tim's—and Tim appreciated the fact that Dick had enough respective for Tim to not argue or patronize him for his worry. The truth was that the Superhero gig was dangerous, and it was reasonable that Tim worried when he was left at home. "Nightwing out."
The comms unit went silent as Dick cut off his feed, and a moment later Tim reached up to deactivate his own. It wasn't easy—Tim hated cutting himself off from his pack and his mate, and he left the device in his ear as he started shutting down programs and logging out of his parts of the Cave's systems—but Tim forced himself to sever the connection as he started shutting his brain down for the night.
Tim hardly ever turned off turned off—except for when he was with Kon—but he did compartmentalize, and Tim had learned the hard way that processing and analyzing a mission right before bed was never a good idea. The official Debrief would take place over the following few days. Different players would head up to the Watch Tower at different times to file their official reports and dissect everything had that gone well and what the League could have done better, and Tim would worry about scrutinizing the original plan then.
Tim's hands had paused for the briefest of breaths as something moved in the peripheral of his vision, but they had resumed their work with the computer mouse and the keyboard as Tim realized that it had only been Amelia jumping down from where she'd been watching Damian take down various thugs on the monitors.
It was another handful of heartbeats or so before Bart more or less materialized at Tim's side, but Tim continued to work as Bart settled his hands on his own hips, "You heard what Dick said, Tim—back up to bed with you. Alf and I have got it down here."
"Yeah, I know," Tim didn't try to fight being edged out of the Cave by Bart anymore than he had with Dick because he knew that Bart and Alfred weren't above physically manhandling him up into the Manor, but Tim stalled the speedster as he finished disconnecting his "personal" laptop from the rest of the computer's mainframe. "Just give me a second."
Bart gave a dramatically put upon sigh as he brought his wrist up to his face and watched the second hand tick by before he looked back up at Tim expectantly, "It's been a second."
"Thank you, Impulse," Tim emphasized the codename in a way that wasn't exactly friendly, but Bart hardly seemed phased as he took a step back so that Cassandra could lay a hand on Tim's shoulder.
"Behave, please," she murmured, fingers digging into Tim's shoulder, and Tim dutifully leaned his head over so that she could press a kiss to the top of his head.
"I will," Tim promised, reaching up to squeeze her hand back, before they both let their hands fall away and Cass stood back up straight.
"You, too," she leveled Bart with a glare that was somewhere between threatening and fond, and Bart just grinned back at her until Cass' body language closed off and she started making her way over to her bike, humming to herself as she went along.
Tim made quick work of closing down and saving the rest of his programs and things, only hesitating at the feed of Superboy's vital signs for moment before Tim took a deep breath and closed out of that, too.
"I imagine I'm not getting out of this, am I?" he asked the room in general as he finally pulled his comms unit out of his ear.
"I'm afraid not, Master Timothy," Alfred smiled over at Tim sympathetically from where he was still operating one of the bigger screens towards the center of the Computer. Tim had always preferred working with multiple screens where he could separate everything out all nice and neat with clear lines and borders in between each of the different things he was doing, but most of the rest of the Bats preferred the big screen, so Tim frequently left them to it as he sat aside at his own display.
"I'm taking my laptop with me."
As far as Tim was concerned, that contingency was non-negotiable—Kon and almost the entirety of Tim's pack was either away on the mission or out roaming the streets of Gotham, and there wasn't a chance in hell that Tim was leaving his mobile command center behind when they might need him.
"If that is what you prefer, but I will be running the software that alerts me if it is on," Alfred countered with an amused gleam in his eyes. Bruce had long since figured out that it was nearly impossible to ground Tim from Tim's technology by simply taking Tim's various devices away. The "World's Best Detective's Protégée" title wasn't one that had been given to the third Robin lightly, and Bruce had yet to find a place to hide things that Tim couldn't find when pressed. After more than a year of the same routine—Bruce confiscating Tim's laptop and Tim stealing it back within a couple of days—Bruce had finally just designed an application to notify himself whenever Tim's computer was in use, and Bruce had simply resulted to smashing computers when Tim had tried to tamper with it, so Tim had reluctantly given into his fate (and resorted to borrowing Kon's computer whenever Bruce had decided to punish Tim). "Doctor Thompkins and I have very specifically prescribed that you avoid stress, and I do not want you associating yourself with this mission any further unless it is absolutely necessary."
"Fine," Tim resisted the urge to pout as he grabbed his sleeping laptop off of the desktop and pushed himself up out of his chair with a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.
The trip up the stairs to the Manor was far from the most pleasant one that Tim had ever taken—he was sore and stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, and every step jarred his only-recently re-healed ribs painfully—but Tim refused to let Bart carry him, and instead distracted himself with Bart's mile-a-minute babbling until they'd finally stepped past the Clock Face.
"—And then, I said…hey, Tim?" Bart trailed off with a concerned undertone to his voice. "You okay?"
"Yeah, Bart," Tim huffed, running his free hand over his belly again to ease his unhappy child—using the motion to hide his flinch from Bart as the speedster deftly slipped the laptop from Tim's grasp. The increased levels of Kryptonian Cells in Tim's body were wonderful at helping to heal damage inflicted upon Tim's body from outside (and not so outside) sources, but they did little to help ease the ordinary discomforts of being pregnant, and Kon's pup was unpleasantly big even without factoring Tim's tiny frame into the equation. At least the baby had sat high for most of the pregnancy and hadn't wrenched Tim's hips apart for months, but Tim's womb had dropped three inches in the week leading up to the mission and Tim had long since lost track of the number of bones and organs that the pup had managed to break or bruise. "I just don't like being away from Kon for so long. I never know what his schedule is going to be when he's working with the League or how long it's going to be until he comes home, and Pain-In-The-Ass Junior here isn't nearly as squirmy when he's around. I swear Kon's already his favorite and I'm the one who's been incubating him for seven damn months."
Kon had been amazing, absolutely amazing in the months since the family had figured out that Tim was pregnant. He'd stayed by Tim's side and held Tim's hand as Tim puked his guts out in the morning and all of the other supportive things that alphas were supposed to do for their omegas as Tim struggled to adjust to his newfound cargo and all of the lifestyle changes that came with being pregnant. On top of being pulled off of patrol and taking a sabbatical from the League, Tim had temporarily signed the company back over to Bruce and placed himself on house arrest in an attempt to keep prying eyes away from his growing belly. Most of the first month Tim had been confined to his bed as his health swung back and forth, and most of the sixth and seventh months had been the same. Kon had tried his best to keep the baby calm with his strong body and his soothing TTK, but both the League and the farm had needed Kon, too, and it wasn't very long after Tim had hit the expected five-month mark that the baby's kicks had started damaging the muscles crisscrossing Tim's abdomen. The broken bones had followed not too longer after, and even though they had healed quickly, Tim had still been in agony as they did so. Thankfully, the baby had settled some as the sixth month had faded into the seventh, but Tim had still spent Christmas with a couple of broken ribs and fatigue so bad he hadn't been able to stand up.
"Wow, pregnancy has really changed your mouth," Bart chuckled good-naturedly as he waited patiently for Tim to get his breath back about himself. "Are you sure it's safe to be talking like that around your kid? I thought swearing was a sign of bad parenting?"
"You know I really hate you sometimes?" Tim glared up at Bart once he was finally able to straighten up as much as he could.
"Yeah, I do," Bart nodded his head and grinned—completely un-offended by Tim's words as he held up Tim's laptop up. "Where do you want this?"
"Just on the counter is fine for now," Tim answered him, letting his annoyance go as he moved to waddle his way down to the kitchen. "I think I'm going to head up to bed and lay down for a little bit, but I want to grab a bite to eat first."
"Okay!" Bart chirped, and a light breeze ruffled Tim's hair as Bart took off ahead of him. Thankfully, Bart had possessed the foresight to turn on the light before he'd perched himself up on one of the barstools tucked up underneath of the counter's edge, and Tim made his way over to the oven as quickly as his tired feet and sore pelvis would allow him. "What are you going to make?"
"A flatbread," the buttons on the oven beeped as Tim set it to preheat—sparing a second to open the door and make sure that there wasn't anything inside of the appliance, before he closed it again and shuffled his way over to the fridge.
Flatbreads had been Tim's go-to since he'd expanded his sustenance intake—a nice compromise between Tim's regular diet and all of the added carbohydrates the family was trying to shove down his throat to help his body heal all of the damage—and Tim's cloud nine had been the tomato, mozzarella, and basil kind. It wasn't that Tim had completely eliminated carbs from his diet before the baby. To the rest of the family's point, carbohydrates were essential to the body's natural process of repairing itself and as a vigilante, Tim was almost always dealing with one form of injury or another. But having said that, Tim's digestive tract had never handled carbohydrate-rich foods well, so Tim had "saved" his carbs for sandwich breads and steamed fresh peas and the meals that he shared with the rest of the family. Flatbreads had always been a guilty pleasure of Tim's, though, and had Kon requested that Alfred make some for Tim once it had become clear that the constant pasta dishes and pancakes extravagances were making Tim sick.
Tim had been weary at first and the various takes on "Chicken _ Flatbread", had only made the situation worse, but Alfred had whipped up a Zucchini one as a last ditch effort somewhere around the first time that the pup had shattered a rib, and that had gone much better. The "Margherita" ones had been Tim's favorite—something about the tomatoes and cheese just sent Tim straight to cloud nine—but anything vegetable or fruit was passable, and Tim had indulged himself more than he was willing to admit.
"Oh, that sounds good," Bart vibrated in his seat.
"It will be," Tim hummed as he started pulling things out of the fridge and piled them into the crook of his left arm. "You want one?"
"Sure," Bart nodded his head, and Tim automatically grabbed another couple of basil leaves from the sprig that Alfred had stored in the fridge for Tim's convenience. "It won't take long, will it?"
"Shouldn't," Tim shook his head as he grabbed the last things that he needed—two of the homemade flatbread crusts that were a never ending gift from Jason and his wonderful culinary skills since he'd found out about Tim's obsession, and the chunk of mozzarella sitting beside them—and let the fridge door fall closed behind himself. Years of practice of handling too many different things kept all of the various packages and ingredients in Tim's hands, but the cheese and the top of the two flatbreads fell to the counter as Tim came to a stop across from Bart. "If Alfred needs you in the mean time, the light over the sink will flicker."
"Really?" Bart looked up the light that Tim spoke of disbelievingly.
"Yep," Tim nodded his head as he organized the ingredients around an empty space big enough to fit the cutting board that he knew he would eventually need.
"But…" Bart bit his lip as he looked back down at Tim. "Isn't that kind of obvious?"
"Not really," Tim shook his head, reaching down to open the drawer that Alfred had stocked with a collection of all of the things that Tim used on a regular basis to make his meals when Alfred and Jason weren't around. Traipsing around the kitchen was nearly impossible in Tim's impregnated state at times, and Tim appreciated not having to dig through the cabinets on top of everything else that he was going through. "It's more like a faulty-wire-looking-thing than anything else, so people don't really question it, and it gives Alfred a good excuse to slip away down to the "basement" to check the electrical panel if he's entertaining guests. The ruse has come in handy more times than any of us can count, and it's a lot better than a red light flashing or a siren blaring through the house going, "Alfred, report to the Batcave! Report to the Cave! Bruce or one of his children has done something inconceivably stupid and needs you to came and make it all better. Preferably before the Joker breaks in and calls Superman so that he can get the Big-Bang Ending he's been planning all along instead of having to watch all of his dreams crumble to nothing as Batman bleeds out on the Batcave floor from a Batarang wound he accidentally inflicted upon himself."."
"That is true," Bart snickered as his eyes flicked back up to the light. "Now that you explain it, it makes since. I've always figured that you guys have some kind of a signal system set up that I don't know about—I mean aside from the ones that I know you guys have—but I'd never put that much thought into what they could be other than strictly hypothetically speaking. I'd always assumed it was some kind of big elaborate thing like the floor tiles moving under your feet, or that there was some kind of frequency that you sent through the air that us mortals couldn't hear."
"While those would both be good ideas, and I might mention them to Bruce at some point in the future, no vibrating tiles and no frequencies," Tim mused as he unwrapped the crusts and laid them out on the small baking sheet he'd pulled from the drawer. "At least not that I know of. Damian has a bell rigged to ring in his room anytime one of us sends out a distress signal, but the last time that I checked speedsters and mortals alike could hear it. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only person who can't hear it is Damian, and I have barged into his room and ripped it off the wall more times than I can count because Dick has deemed it an appropriate way to wake Damian so that the two of them can go to breakfast on Sunday mornings."
"I can see Dick doing that," Bart snorted a laugh as he watched Tim reach for the butter tub and the duller of the two knives he'd grabbed.
"You have no idea," Tim's nose twitched in aggravation as he went about smearing previously made garlic butter over the pieces of bread.
It didn't take much longer for Tim to his "dinner" of sorts finished once he'd started in on cutting up the tomatoes and the basil. Tim had cooked so many of the flatbreads that he'd gotten the process down to a science, and with Bart there to speed certain parts of the more time consuming aspects along, it took even less time than Tim had expected.
Having the time to just sit around talking with Bart was nice—the flatbreads had taken eight minutes in the oven no matter how fast the Fastest Man Alive was—and further discussion of the baby had been left alone. Bart had scarfed his flatbread down the second that he had pulled the pan from the oven for Tim, but Tim had given his a couple of minutes to cool before he'd grabbed a carton of Strawberry Swirl Ice Cream from the freezer and headed for the stairs.
Once again, Tim struggled. Bart carried Tim's laptop and food so that Tim could have his hands free to help support his upper body weight, but Tim was still back to panting by the time they'd come to a stop outside of his and Kon's room with Tim leaning forward against the doorframe.
"You sure you're going to be okay?" Bart asked again, concern furrowing his eyebrows as he balanced Tim's laptop and plate on top of the carton of ice cream.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Tim nodded his head, ignoring the twinge of unhappiness in his stomach as he held out his hand for his things. "I've got more than everything I need up here—Dick and Kon have made sure of it. Dami and Jay and Bruce, too. Besides, you need to get back down to the Cave. Babs and Alfred are going to need an extra hand when the team splits up."
"Alright," Bart agreed reluctantly as he handed Tim's laptop and food over. "But call me if you need something."
"I will," Tim gave a wane smile that he knew came off as forced, but a second later Bart was gone anyway—a breeze "wooshing" down the hall the only evidence of his departed presence.
Tim remained in the hallway for a moment, staring towards the stairs that Bart had zipped down, before he stepped into his bedroom and sighed as the door swung shut behind him and he was finally left in the silence and comfort of his own space.
Tim had always been a bit of a nester with his need to have things around him that reminded him of his family—Bruce had taken to keeping blankets in various rooms of the Manor and Cave long before Tim had actually come to live with him—but every inch of Tim and Kon's room had been meticulously arranged with the optimal level of comfort for both of them in mind, and that knowledge alone relaxed Tim just as much as anything else as he made his way across the floor.
The safety and solitude of the room packed all of Tim's worries away neatly where Tim couldn't pull them back out and mull them over if he had even tried, and Tim could feel the weight of the world lifting off of his shoulders as he let the cooler air of the room soothe the aches from his strained and screaming muscles. Whoever had left the room last had left the lights on, but instead of being annoyed, Tim was actually thankful for it as he set his plate and the ice cream down onto the nightstand by his side of the bed. The laptop was dropped onto the bed, and Tim fished his phone out of the pocket of the pair of Kon's sweats sitting around his hips so that he could send a quick message to the family letting them know that he was officially off line for the rest of the night. Tim hesitated just a moment longer to send a second, more personal, message to Conner before he tossed the device down onto the comforter next to his laptop and waddled his way over to the large en suite bathroom.
Most of the vigilantes weren't talented enough to be able to text and work at the same time. Some of them (Bart) weren't even allowed out on patrol with their phones, but some of them could handle the responsibility and Kon was typically pretty good about only checking his phone when he knew he knew it was safe to do so, so Tim never worried about reaching out to him while Kon was on the job.
Tim's trip to the bathroom wasn't particularly long. He did his business as quickly as he could and washed his hands before he headed back into the main part of the room, but it did take him a solid five minutes to climb himself up onto the bed.
One of the few concessions that Kon had made when he'd come to the realization that Tim didn't have any plans to move out of the Manor anytime within the foreseeable future was that Tim had to get a bigger bed so that Kon could stretch out and get comfortable without having to worry about accidently pushing Tim off of the side in the process. The stipulation that it needed to be tall enough that Kon didn't have to climb up out of it every morning had quickly come on the heels of his first demand, and while Tim wasn't entirely sure why those two things had been so important to Kon, they were, so Tim hadn't argued.
For the most part, Tim hadn't minded. He knew that Kon put up with a lot from him and the taller (and comfier) bed had definitely had its perks over the years—especially with the complications that their growing pup had brought about—but starting around the forth or fifth month in, the extra height had proved to be a little bit of a challenge for the short omega, and the father that the pregnancy wore on, it was all that Tim could do to get himself up on top of the covers without his super-powered partner's help.
Somewhere along the way, somebody had suggested that Tim get a step stool or a ladder of some sort so that he didn't risk falling or hurting himself, but Tim was stubborn and so fiercely independent that it was near obnoxious, and the one that Steph had picked up for him after a particularly vicious fight somewhere back around the sixth-month mark sill sat unopened in the bottom of Tim and Kon's closet, even though Tim and Steph had long since made up.
Tim managed to get himself up onto the bed, though—lifting himself up with his hands on the edge of the bed and stretching one of his legs up nearly parallel to the bed's edge so that he could hook his foot up onto the mattress and use it pull himself forward—and he gave the room in general a satisfied smile as he settled back against the pillows.
Reaching for his phone had been a habitual move as much as it had been a decided one, and Tim tapped off a quick response to Kon's response before he dropped the device back down onto the bed beside his leg and reached for the TV remote on Kon's side of the bed. It was an awkward and slightly uncomfortable stretch for Tim to be able to grab it, but after a quick struggle, he pushed himself back up into a sitting position and flipped on the TV with one hand as he grabbed his plate off of the nightstand with the other.
Before the pregnancy, Tim had never particularly enjoyed watching TV or eating in his bed. In fact, Tim had never particularly been comfortable with doing anything other than sleeping (or spreading his legs for Kon) anywhere near his bed before the pregnancy. Tim's bed was for relaxing and sleeping, and the flashing colors of the television set his mind wandering down paths it shouldn't go and abrasive crumbs set his teeth on edge and made his fingers itch for a lighter to set the Manor on fire. The TV had been moved to a wall mount and upgraded to a bigger screen so that Kon could channel surf while Tim slept curled up next to him on their rarely shared mornings off when Kon had unofficially moved in, and Tim's recent bed rest had swayed Tim's opinion on the subject a little bit, too. Tim still didn't particularly like it—and an extremely strict no-crumb rule had been put into place—but if nothing else, the pregnancy had taught Tim perspective and it was just too much work to get up and waddle over to the little sitting area most of the time.
There wasn't much good on TV as Tim flipped through the channels idly, but he did find some old How It's Made reruns on the DVR after exchanging another text or two with Kon, and Tim was just hitting play as his phone buzzed out its call notification.
"Hello?" Tim set the remote down on the nightstand with one hand as he answered the call with the other—his plate long since nestled down onto his lap.
"Hey, beautiful," an obviously happy voice crackled back over the line in response, and Tim let his head fall back against the pillows and the headboard as his eyes fluttered closed.
"Hey, handsome," he absently picked up a piece of his flatbread as his voice slipped up a half of an octave or so and his toes curled down against the soft fabric of the comforter. "You busy?"
"Nope," Kon's denial was immediate and so welcome that Tim's heart fluttered and he fidgeted in his seat. "You mind keeping me company for a little while and talking to me with that pretty voice of yours until Croc's ready to go?"
"Not at all," Tim answered Kon quickly, taking a quick bite of the ooey-gooey cheese and tomato-y goodness and swallowing before he turned his attention back to Kon. "I'll talk to you for the rest of the night if you'll let me, and I might just be willing to show you some things when you get home, too."
"Oh, really?" Kon chuckled as Tim took another bite.
"Mhmm," Tim hummed through his full mouth and nodded his head against his phone in affirmation even though he knew that Kon couldn't see him.
"Well, I guess I better see if I can get off early, then."
Tim and Conner did have several apartments that they frequented before Tim became pregnant, but for the most part the two split their time between the Manor and the Farm, and have been spending almost all of their time at the Manor in an attempt to keep Lex (and other various villains) from finding out about the impending super baby.
"Manhunter" will infinitely refer to Martian Manhunter with me, and I'm sorry if that is confusing.
Once again, welcome back, and thank you for taking the time to read! This Part has six chapters as it currently stands, and I don't really expect that to change as I edit it (but weirder things have happened!). We are back to focusing on Tim and Conner, but Jason and Dick have their appearances, and Part Five will go back to focusing on the older mates (and whether we get a JayDick baby, too!).
A note on biology: as you can see, as Tim's pregnancy continues to progress we explore Omega biology more and more. While I don't want to say too much at this point in time for fear of spoilers, there are some things I would like to explicitly state before we go any farther.
First and foremost—omegas in this 'verse are capable of giving birth naturally—in other words, things down south expand far enough that the pup won't automatically need to be removed through a Cesarean Section (because I put waaay too much thought into universe building, and while Cesarean Sections have been around since ancient times, it has only been with the advent of modern medicine that they have become safe for both parties involved, and I can't bring myself to mass-slaughter a disproportionate amount of parents or pups). As has already been hinted at through various terminologies, omegas do not have a separate "vaginal" opening, but rather the anus and rectum function slightly differently than a human's in order to accommodate access to the uterine cavity for mating and birth (which is located off of a fictional piece of intestine between the colon and the rectum)—much like a human female's vagina would.
Second of all—the bodily changes that come along with birth still pose complications, and therefor omega babies (or pups) develop a little bit differently than a "beta" or a "human's" would. Pups are significantly smaller and only incubate for approximately eight months, in comparison with the normal human nine. At the time of birth, pups are still able to eat and breathe on their own, but they are significantly more reliant on their parents as their eyes and nervous systems haven't finished developing yet (kind of like kittens or baby bunnies in comparison to human development at birth). Because of this, pups grow and change differently through out their first couple of years of life. After about two or three months of an extended infant stage, they undergo rapid changes (though they still stay small) until their growth finally stagnates around five or six months—and they then stay in that cute little babbly phase longer than most human children do.
It's still a little early in the story for those distinctions to really make a difference and I will go farther into detail as we go in the narrative and they become relative, but we're getting to the point where characters are starting to make passing references to what is going to come, and I don't want to confuse anybody.
As always, I will update as quickly as I can, and please feel free to let me know what you think :)