Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fate, God, the Universe — whatever fucking entity was watching him better be enjoying the absolute clusterfuck that was his entire life. Jason dropped heavily onto the bed, staring at the puddle of liquid on the ground. ‘It begins,’ he thought, with a sinking sense of horror and acceptance. 

That wasn’t exactly true, though. It really began 9 months ago, and really really began 12 months ago, and honestly, started the day he was born.

That fateful day, 17 — no, wait 18 — years ago. When unknown to him, his biological mother abandoned him to his jackass of a father and his poor Mama. Left him to grow up in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the most crime-ridden city in the country. Like any proud Gothamite, Jason fucking loved Gotham but it was a hellhole on a good day — but it was his hellhole, damn it. He grew up in that dilapidated apartment building where he could hear the rats scurrying 4 floors up. That was the first sign he and Mama ever had that Jason was gonna be an omega, and as terrifying as that was for him, he was proud to be like Mama.

For all the bullshit people say about omegas, about how they were weaker than alphas and betas — Jason never let anyone make him ashamed of being an omega. He watched Catherine fight to keep him clothed and fed and safe. Saw her clock Willis’ mood from a single sniff and send him away before he got caught in the crossfire. Learned the art of subtly blackmailing the landlord because they could hear him cheating on his wife three doors down. Mama could spot trouble from a mile away and get them out of sight before the trouble could see them. Society underestimated omegas because they weren’t physically stronger and faster like alphas, but having super senses was damn fucking useful. 

Then Willis got arrested and Mama struggled. She got sick — well, sicker. She was always sick, but it got worse after Willis was in jail and she couldn’t get her medicine anymore. Then she started getting her “medicine” from the street dealers and from there, it was all downhill. Mama died. Being an omega-leaning pup on the streets was bad for his health and his hearing saved his ass more than once. They kept him from getting caught as he lifted tires, until the day he decided to lift the tires of a vehicle that belonged to what might be the only man in Gotham that could sneak up on an awake, paranoid Jason. 

(The only reason Sheila managed to get the jump on him was because he wasn’t expecting his mother to drug him. He could smell the chloroform on her, but she was a doctor and said that the refugee camp was critically low on supplies. He figured they had resorted to using whatever they could get their hands on as anesthesia — not that she was waiting to knock him out to sell him off.)

Getting caught that day changed his fucking life, and he was still waiting to see if it was for the better or worse. Joining a formal pack like the Wayne Pack was fucking terrifying. It was like being in a regency-era romance book (which Jason would never admit to occasionally reading). There were etiquette and social rules he had to learn, names and faces he had to memorize, and a whole-ass battlefield of chit chat and gossip he needed to survive. All that was just when he was a pup — as soon as he actually presented, there were even more bullshit rules he had to learn for galas and meetings with other formal packs. 

Not to mention, his omegan instincts were LOUD. Probably because the fucking head omega was fighting with the pack alpha and LIVED IN ANOTHER CITY. Stupid fucking Golden Boy was never around to actually be a head omega and his scent faded from the manor too fucking fast. Add in that Dickface hated him and it was real fucking hard to feel like he was actually pack. 

It took years for Dick to finally give him a chance and a half-assed, emotionally stunted apology. Jason of course returned the favor and apologized for… existing. Then they both agreed to blame Bruce for everything. After that, things were looking up. He auditioned for a play at Gotham Academy, got a speaking role, and blackmailed Dick and Bruce to come to opening night. He was looking forward to it. 

‘I should have known everything was gonna go to shit,’ he thought, breathing through the pain rippling through him. Good things never last for him.

He and Bruce had been fighting for a long time about how to handle criminals. He was just so tired of the endless cycle of throwing fuckers in prison or Arkham just for them to break out. So yeah, maybe he was a little rougher with them. Tried to get the fear of God, or at least Robin, into them. It fucking worked! According to his little stalker he found on patrol, crime rates went down after he started being Robin. Mostly because the fuckers needed hospital stays, but results were results.

Even with all the fighting, he thought Bruce trusted him. He didn’t push Felipe, as much as he hated him, Jason didn’t want that blood on his hands. Not then, not yet. Bruce didn’t believe him. The broken trust cracked their pack bond and that fragile sense of belonging and safety fell through. It took so long to build that pack bond, for Jason to feel safe with Bruce and not just grateful for a place to sleep, and it disappeared in a flash.

He didn’t have a plan as he traveled halfway across the world to meet his birth mother. Just a need for family. For a mom that would never be Mama but might be close enough. A need to soothe the fear creeping into him that he had ruined everything with Bruce, that he was going to be kicked back to the streets — packless, alone, unwanted, unloved. A need to ensure that didn’t happen. That he had someone.

Instead of helping, Sheila sold him off to protect whatever bullshit she had with the Joker (information he found out long after the fact). Sold him to people that gave him the opposite of anti-anxiety drugs and pumped him with enough panic that his body forgot he ever had pack bonds. Sold him off to fucking Talia al Ghul. Talia from the League of Assassins. Talia who wanted to use the newest Robin as a human incubator. Talia who was an Alpha bitch that was way too obsessed with Bruce. 

If Jason thought about the fact that he carried Bruce’s pup for 9 months, he would throw up. So he didn’t.

If he thought about the fact that he hadn’t been rescued before this point, he would cry. So he didn’t.

Instead, he thought about Sheila and how she left. How she abandoned a pup she carried, that she birthed, to another omega she never even met. He thought about Mama, who raised a pup she had no biological connection to like it was her own. Raised him because he was there and no one else would. That she never made him feel like he wasn’t hers. She didn’t leave by choice, and he would never forgive her for that, but he loved her anyway.

He thought about Talia and how she talked about the baby like he was tool — a weapon, a dagger — to hold against Bruce’s neck and make him do whatever fucked up thing she wanted. He wasn’t even sure what her end goal was: to play some fucked version of happy family? To replace Bruce as Batman with his kid raised by her? To have the pup take over the LOA? To just have bragging rights?? Regardless, she didn’t see a baby, she saw an opportunity.

He didn’t have to care about the baby. Chances were Talia would try to get rid of him as soon as his job was done, so really he should be focused on escaping before that happens.

He couldn’t do that though. Just like he couldn’t harm the pup he was carrying, he couldn’t abandon a pup he birthed. Mama didn’t abandon him when he was left at her doorstep and he rather be like Mama than fucking Sheila.

Holding the little parasite that had been growing inside him for nine months felt surreal. His head was kinda cone-shaped — normal according to Dr. Wagner. Because of the pressure from being born. Babies' skulls are soft and malleable like that. His face was wrinkled and he was bald and he was somehow the most beautiful and fugly baby he had ever seen. 

The pup — Damian — was feeding and slowly the smell of milk was replacing the blood and viscera that had covered him. For the first time in months, Jason felt the comfort of pack. It wasn’t a sense of safety (of course not, it’s a baby), but it was belonging and love and a sense of purpose and it felt so good to not be alone. To know he wasn’t alone.

While he was examining the little pup, he could hear the faint voices outside the infirmary. The League of Assassins didn’t have omegas and it showed. Everything was reinforced so it wouldn’t break, but there was no sound proofing. He could hear everything with enough effort.

“The boy has been born. I must say, I’m surprised. I thought the omega would have attempted to terminate the pregnancy and run back to the Detective by now, ” said Ra’s in Arabic. Being able to hear the words meant nothing if he didn’t understand the language. Thankfully he did — unknown to Talia and Ra’s. Jason didn’t know if he should be grateful or deeply insulted that Talia apparently thought he was too dumb to pick up on Arabic when she constantly spoke it around him.

“I knew he wouldn’t,” the response from Talia was so confident it made him want to slap her, “While I never expected to have the opportunity, I knew from my surveillance on my Beloved that Jason would be the perfect omega for this project. Well-trained, aggressive, but extremely protective of pups. His omegan instincts run deep. He would never hurt an unborn child.” As much as Jason wanted to protest, Talia read him good. The evidence was in his arms, currently breastfeeding. He wouldn’t judge someone else for making that choice, but he couldn’t live with it.

“I see. Well, now that you’ve completed the first stage,” Talia didn’t complete shit, old man, “what now? Surely, you have a plan for how to raise the boy.”

“I do. It will be some time before Damian is old enough to train properly. Ideally it will start at age 5. Until then, we’ll focus on training his mental fortitude and temperament. We don’t want a repeat of Cain’s failure, obviously. I’ll start by desensitizing him to violence.” Jason wondered what the fuck did Cain do. Another kid raised by the League of Assassins? How often did they do bullshit like this?

“How will you accomplish that?”

“Via Jason, of course. All I need to do is set a threat near Damian and he’ll do the rest. Enough exposure and we won’t have to worry about Damian running away after his first kill.” Fuck. Talia was crazy enough to not bluff about putting a threat near Damian. She would let dangerous people near Damian, fully expecting Jason to protect him. Wanting him to. Would she bother having a backup plan if Jason refused to play her games? Would she let Damian get hurt?

“And if the omega fails to protect him?” 

“Then it’ll be a painful lesson for Damian.” Well, that answered Jason’s questions.

“Fuck, come on pup,” he begged, rocking the baby, “you’d feel so much better if you just sleep.” His pleas went ignored. The crying continued unyielding. The smell of spoiled milk continued unabated. He felt overstimulated and anxious and wanted to throw himself out a fucking window. The comfort-sleep-love scent he tried projecting made no difference to Damian.

“I wish Mama was here,” he admitted, to himself, to Damian, to the empty room. Not the version that died on him, that broke under the weight of addiction, but the one he loved. The newborn did not acknowledge him as he talked.

“She was a good mama when I was real little, before she got bad. Before she needed pills to just breathe.” Jason frowned, remembering those last few months of Catherine’s life.

“Before that, she could have done anything,” Jason told his pup, trying again in vain to soothe him, “She kept us fed when Willis drank away all our money — knew how to make $15 worth of groceries last for weeks, it was like magic. She got me a library card to this library that was 45 minutes away, but it had the best selection of DVDs to borrow. Got to see all the classics that way.”

“She would know how to get you to stop crying,” he whispered to his pup. She would know what to do. But she wasn’t here, it was just Jason and a crying pup. He could feel his face heat up as he blinked away tears. He couldn’t start crying, not now. Couldn’t further upset his pup with the smell of burnt cookies. Burnt cookies and spoiled milk, a match made in hell.

Looking down at the little red crying face in his arms, he tried to remember what Mama would do. A memory did come to him, of being little and scared and climbing into Mama’s nest. The smell of strawberries and cream, with occasional barbeque smoke when Willis had his sober moments, surrounding him. A gentle voice singing as he drifted off to sleep. A silly song in a language he was getting real rusty in.

“Los pollitos dicen,” the words came hesitantly, “pío, pío, pío. Cuando tienen hambre, cuando tienen frío.” Jason raked his brain for the words — what was the rest of that song?

“....La gallina busca, el maíz y el trigo—” he never asked Mama what ‘trigo’ was, still has no clue, “—les da la comida y les presta abrigo.” Damian was finally starting to quiet down, blinking curious green eyes at him. Holy shit, it was working. The scent of his pup softened. The relief almost made him cry.

“Bajo sus dos alas, acurrucaditos, duermen los pollitos, hasta el otro día,” Jason continued, standing up. His baby stayed completely focused on him as he continued singing. The scent of warm milk — with the slightest hint of spice he couldn’t identify yet — filled his nose as he nuzzled his pup.

“Cuando se levantan, dicen, ‘Mamacita, tenemos mucha hambre, da nos lombricitas.’” Jason kissed the top of his pup’s head as he restarted the song. 

It would be harder to have moments like these soon. Talia wouldn’t wait long to start whatever ‘mental training’ she had planned. Until then, and even after, he would do whatever he could to keep his pup happy while keeping him safe. 

Jason was asleep — he was — and then he was slicing a throat with the contraband dagger he kept under his pillow. Dodging attacks and hitting back half-sleep and fully on instinct. It wasn’t until Damian started crying that he woke up enough to realize what had happened.

Assassination attempt. There was one in front of him and one dead assassin by his feet. Damian was behind him. He had a dagger in his hand. He wasn’t at full strength but he had regained some of it over the past few months by working out in his room. He didn’t know if they were targeting just him or Damian or both — but he wasn’t risking it. Talia outright said she would put Damian in danger and he already killed one (‘don’t think about it, it was self-defense, don’t think about it’).

“Oh, fuck you,” he snarled, dodging an attack. The assassin didn’t respond. Jason made an attempt to stab the attacker — a beta — in the kidneys but the fucker danced away. 

The next attack he wasn’t as lucky to dodge. The assassin sliced him clean across his back. He winced but didn’t let it distract him as he used the moment to slash at the beta’s chest. 

The scent of blood filled the air. Damian’s cries fell to background noise — monitored for changes but otherwise ignored. His vision narrowed on the assassin as his ears overextended to hear the assassin’s own heartbeat echo in his head like a war drum. Jason wasn’t skilled enough to escape injury, but each one he got he gave back two-fold.

He fought, he killed, he won. He came back to full awareness of his body, bloody and hurting, staring at another corpse laid crumpled on the ground. As the adrenaline faded, he collapsed, holding his abdomen to stem the bleeding. Fucker got him good. 

“...Damian, it-it’s okay, pup,” he wheezed, trying to soothe the still crying baby. An attempt to get to his feet ended in him sprawled out on the floor. Shit.

Despite every bit of his soul protesting, the world darkened — and then everything was GREEN. Green filled his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his mind. It became him — or he became it. It fought him as he tried to swim out, dragging him down to drown him inside of it. He emerged from the vile, bubbling, thick waters to the barren ground. He vomited what felt like his soul. His insides burned and sploshed with liquid hate. The taste of blood registered in his mouth.

It took eons for the vomiting to stop, for him to be empty. No, not empty, but exhausted. The hate stayed. The burning stayed. He looked up and spotted Talia watching him with no discernible emotion. Observing. Waiting. Evaluating? 

He slowly, deliberately rose to his feet. Moved with heavy steps toward the alpha.

“Is Damian okay?” he asked. His body felt wrong — different. Bigger. Heavier. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as his pup was okay. He would take whatever the pit gave him — ‘and that’s what happened, isn’t it? They threw me into the fucking pit’ — as long as his son was alive.

Talia smirked smugly at him and the green pulsed at the threat. The smell of steel sharped in the air, so present it was a knife at his throat. This was planned. Did she want him to die? So she could drown him in the Lazarus Pit? It would make him easier to manipulate, he bet. Grateful for his life and emotionally unstable. Great for grooming.

He played right into her hands, didn’t he? Did exactly what she wanted. Fuck.

Ra’s smelled like battery acid when he was annoyed. 

Noting the observation helped keep Jason grounded as he stood in Ra’s personal study, Damian was drooling on his shoulder. He had summoned Talia with explicit instruction to bring the omega she dipped into the Pits. Jason refused to show any nerves and kept strict control over his scent. His scent was calm-collected-alert and projected enough for the alphas in the room to pick up on the undertones.

“I allowed you to continue this hare-brained scheme, Talia, in spite of my better judgement. Gave you the freedom to manage it how you wanted. Do explain to me, dear daughter, why you deemed it appropriate to waste the Lazarus Pit on this omega?” Ra’s narrowed his eyes at Talia as he waited for a response.

“Jason showed great skill in protecting Damian, it seemed more wasteful to lose one with such potential. He did not survive but he did kill all of the attackers and did so before any guard could return to the room. He was vicious and bloodthirsty in his protection of my son.” Talia faced Ra’s anger without hesitation. The words were well-practiced and composed.

“How many were there? And who were they, some fresh recruits?” Ra’s asked. Jason repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the implied insult. For fuck’s sake, he was Robin. He knew how to fight. Went through the bat-approved training and aced it with flying colors.

“No.There were two of them and they were members of my own personal guard that betrayed me,” Talia replied. Jason didn’t believe that — he believed that they were members of Talia’s personal guard, sure, but not that they betrayed her. Talia’s people were loyal above all else to her. Even if there were traitors amongst her ranks, why would they risk their position to attack Jason and Damian?

Whether the old man believed they betrayed Talia or not, it seemed he did believe that Jason defeated them. His face changed at that, annoyance giving way to intrigue. Eyes settling on Jason for the first time since he stepped into the room, lit with curiosity. He acknowledged Jason’s presence although he continued to talk about and not to him.

“Truly? And he defeated them?” He pretended not to understand the words as he met the gaze of the Demon’s Head. With Talia, he needed her to underestimate him. It was the only way he could hope to work against her. With Ra’s, it was better to play strong. Ra’s killed people that bored him or that he saw as lesser. He respected strength and Ra’s respect would make life easier, although too much would be bad for Jason’s mental health.

“Yes,” Talia confirmed. Ra’s sat quietly for a long time, not breaking eye contact with Jason.

“Interesting,” he said, “that he managed such a feat with his mediocre training is quite astounding. Makes one wonder what he could accomplish with the proper training.”

“I think you would be pleased with the results, Father.”

The room had been cleaned, Jason noted, as he was returned to the same room he had just died in earlier that day. When he ran in to grab Damian before seeing Ra’s, he didn’t bother to look around. His eyes were firmly on his pup, needing the physical reassurance that he was unharmed. What would have happened if he didn’t defeat the assassins? If he died without taking them down?

Would Talia have just left him dead? Would they have hurt Damian, left him with a scar as a reminder of a mama that failed him? A cautionary mark of the consequences of failure. Left him to grow up with only Talia as his mother, if one could even call that cold bitch a mother. 

Damian gave a sleepy whine as burnt sugar started to leak into the room. Jason shook his head free of the what-ifs. Now wasn’t the time for that. He survived. That was what mattered. He survived and Damian was fine. They were fine. 

He set Damian down in his crib, the pup thankfully staying asleep. Flicking the bathroom light on, he stared into the mirror to see the ramifications of his swim in the Pit. 

The eyes caught him first — the previous blue shifted toward green. Jason was used to his eye color shifting due to lighting, from blue to grey and anything in-between. Now, there was an unnatural green haze to them. A glow. God help him, please let that fade over time or he would have to wear contact lenses in public forever. If they ever get out of the League.

Next to register was the height. At 17, Jason had assumed he inherited his mama’s height until he found out he wasn’t genetically related to her. Both his egg and sperm donors were tall, so he figured growing up hungry stunted him. He shot up several inches in his time at Wayne manor, going from severely small to just kinda short. Now, he was tall. Willis' height if he had to guess. 

Weight came along with the height. The body wasn’t as lanky as it would be if it just grew without gaining any muscle. It was still proportional to what he was before, the same build just bigger. Eyes trailed down the body in the mirror, seeing it but committing nothing to memory. 

It didn’t feel like his body. It wasn’t bad — objectively it was very attractive, maybe unconventionally for an omega. Jason had already been an unconventional omega so that theoretically worked for him. This was the kind of body he wanted as he prayed for a growth spurt back in the manor. Logically, he should be happy.

He wasn’t, but he should be. This was fine. It was fine. He was alive. Damian was alive. What was a new body in light of actual death? Hell, pregnancy changed his body in new and weird ways already, this an upgrade from that. He looked like a badass. This was fine. This was fine.

“He isn’t looking for you,” Talia stated, gesturing to the pictures that spilled out of the file on the table, “in fact, he’s already replaced you.”

They were in her room. Alone. Damian left napping in Jason’s room as ordered. Her bedroom was gaudy — filled with an overabundance of gold and silk and gems like she needed to establish her superiority with shiny things. Much like the decor, her scent was also overbearing. Steel and bitter almonds — or maybe it was cyanide. Scents that remind Jason of death. Being in her den made Jason’s skin crawl. 

It also made him thankful that breastfeeding suppressed heat cycles. Six months and nothing. 

“What,” he responded. Talia gestured to the file.

“My Beloved has given up on you. He was a new little bird with him and it seems the whole family has moved on. They didn’t wait long. They declared you dead a mere 3 months into your disappearance. And the new little bird showed up 6 months after.”

“Oh, really,” he growled.

Hearing that Batman wasn’t still looking for him had green edging into his vision. Batman — the world’s greatest detective or so he let people say — announced him dead without a body. Tracked him to Ethiopia only to then hit a dead end when everyone was dead. Turns out working with the Joker didn’t work out well for dear old Sheila; he blew everyone up. Everyone. A tinge of guilt flared in Jason — because he was right there, he could have saved those people — but he squashed it down. Before he could even realize what was happening, he had already been drugged and handed over to the fucking traffickers. He couldn’t have done anything.

“That fucker! Why didn’t he keep looking? H-he just gave up on me!”

Did Bruce really give up on him? That quickly? Batman was a paranoid motherfucker. Would he really believe him dead without a fucking body? Just assumed that Jason was among the dead in the explosion. Maybe he was glad to be rid of Jason — maybe that was why he gave up so quickly. Publicly announced him dead instead of just missing. Took the excuse to go out and find a new, more obedient kid to train as Robin. 

“Oh, I’m going to fucking kill that replacement!” he threatened. 

The Pit rumbled in his chest, rage creeping up. He could see Talia smirk on the edge of his green-tinted vision. She wanted him to be angry at Bruce. At whoever replaced him. The fact that she did knocked some sense into him. Talia was a fucking liar. Her facts might be true, the proof of it all in front of him, but still. She was a manipulator and liar and Jason couldn’t just blindly accept what she said. He needed to act like it though.

He chose a random wall to punch — careful not to break bones, only bruise — and stormed out with the folder. He needed to return to Damian. He needed to analyze the information with a clear head. Find whatever Talia ‘forgot’ to mention.

Chapter Text

It took months before Jason felt he had enough of a handle on his emotions to look at the file Talia gave him. He pulled it out after tucking Damian into bed — the scent of warm milk and nutmeg joining his own scent of cookies and old books in the room. It calmed him and he held onto that calm as he reviewed what he knew.

Facts: Bruce did declare him dead. A copy of the death certificate among the papers. Talia wouldn’t waste her time forging the document. Proof that he stopped looking.

Except it wasn’t, was it? Talia certainly included it to support that idea but Bruce was a smart and paranoid bastard. If he was looking for people capable of kidnapping Robin (or well, a former Robin), he would want to lull them into a false sense of complacency. How better to do that then let them think he had given up? That he wasn’t looking? That he thought Jason was dead.

Jason grimaced at the alternative explanation that had been brewing in his head. He had no guarantee that was what was happening. He had no way of finding out. He only had the skewed information that Talia gave him. He could either keep faith in Bruce or take Talia’s word for it.

Talia was a fucking liar.

So for now, he would believe in Bruce. As much as the cynic in him wanted to denounce the man, it was better than believing Talia.

With that out of the way, he kept going through the documents. 

Facts: There was a new Robin. Plenty of pictures to back that up. The boy was short — well, shorter than Jason currently. Like how Jason was before his dip in the Pit. Taller than he used to be, but not by much. Still strong enough to take down muggers twice his size.

His statue would lead most to think omega or beta, but Jason knew better than to judge on that. He was proof enough. The pictures in costume were extensive, and showed that the new guy was well-trained. Definitely wasn’t a better combat fighter than Jason, even before League training. Seemed more the tactical type, had a bunch of gadgets and favored a bowstaff. 

The pictures were dated. The first came 9 months after he was sold off. While he was still fucking pregnant. 

Damian whimpered in his sleep, making Jason realize his anger had started to leak into his scent. He took a deep breath. No. He wasn’t going to get mad at this fucking stranger. Bruce shouldn’t have replaced him — he shouldn’t have dragged someone else into this life. At least the kid didn’t look as young as Jason or Dick when they started. He was short, but he at least looked like a proper teenager. If it was another prepubescent kid, he was going to murder Bruce.

He couldn’t even fathom letting Damian into the nightlife. God help him, if being Batman was fucking genetic, he was going to fight tooth and nail to keep Damian normal. At least until he was an adult. 

Setting aside the pictures of Robin, Jason started to look through the civilian photos and clippings. Gala photos with a dark-haired, blued-eyed boy. Total adoption bait. Looked infuriatingly good in an expensive ass suit — ugh, rich boy knew how to pose for pictures. A magazine article on how the Wayne Pack took in Timothy Drake as a pack ally after his parents’ death. Timothy Drake who was the underaged heir to Drake Industries. Rumors that he refused to be formally accepted as pack, despite treating Bruce as a head alpha. Speculation that he wanted to court the Wayne’s pack omega. Scandal as he was caught on a date with a blond beta.

Looking at the headshots of Timothy Drake left an itch in his head. Something wiggling in the back of his mind.

Wait. He recognized that posh fucker. That was his stalker! The kid he found on the fucking rooftop taking pictures of Batman and Robin.

“Hey kid, you shouldn’t be here.” The pup — and he was still a pup although Robin could smell he wouldn’t be one for much longer.  Alpha was creeping into his smell, so despite how small the kid was, he couldn’t be that much younger than Jason if he was like a week away from presenting.

“Ahh!” the kid yelped, nearly dropping the camera he was using if not for the strap around his neck. “Holy shit, you’re Robin!”

“And you’re far too young to be hanging around on a rooftop like this.” The kid glared at him, puffing his chest out the way a kitten’s fur stands up. Cute. It made Jason want to push his buttons. 

“I’m not a little kid! I’m 15,” he insisted. Robin cocked his head — yeah, he could believe that. Small for a 15 year old, but it matched his smell which was getting stronger in the kid’s indignant rage. Coffee and… spice? The spice was getting stronger. It reminded him of those cinnamon candies his neighbor would give him back in Crime Alley. The spicy ones.

“Alright, Mr. I’m 15. What exactly are you doing out here and not home, curled up in your bed?” The anger drained at the question, the teen curling up as if to hide his camera from Robin’s view. He blushed violently and stared at the floor as he mumbled out an answer. Oh, this alpha was so easy to fuck with.

“...Taking pictures.” Robin nodded, as that was obvious. When no further explanation came, he prompted the boy to keep going.

“Pictures of what?” The boy curled up even smaller.

“...You,” he mumbled, then he hastily added on, “A-and Batman. You and Batman.” So, it was mostly him. A stalker?

“Let me see,” Robin demanded. The boy hesitated, but complied once Robin glared at him. He handed over the camera for Robin to click through the pictures. 

The pictures were good. There were a few of the city that seemed to perfectly catch the spirit of Gotham — including one of his favorite gargoyle. There were action shots of Batman punching out a would-be mugger, a few of him and Batman taking down a group of Scarecrow’s men, but mostly, it was him. Action shots of him midair kicking a goon in the face, some of him talking to the girls in the Alley, one of him buying a chili dog for a street kid that gave him info. Nothing perverted or blackmail worthy. Not overly creepy beyond the number and existence of said photos.

“These are good,” Robin told the boy, who perked up, shame suddenly forgotten.

“You really think so? These aren’t my best, I don’t think, I have some better ones in my album at home—” okay, what the fuck, how long has this kid been stalking them “— but I’m really happy I got some of you talking to the prostitutes. I mean, I have so many of you kicking butt, but not enough that shows off how kind and caring you are. Like you always make it a point to check on them and the street kids and there was that time you bought that pup an ice cream to calm him down when he was lost…” Holy shit. That was like two years ago. 

Jason let the kid ramble, as he continued to list his favorite photos he had taken, which then turned into him listing crime statistics that have apparently improved since he became Robin??? Which, alright, good to know that his ‘excessive’ violence was good for something. Then that turned into the teen just listing all the reasons that he as Robin was better than the first Robin. And that. Well.

The logical part of Jason’s brain knew he should be concerned about how obsessive this guy seemed — but the bigger part of him was loving that this nerd was comparing him to Dick and HE was winning. Fuck yeah. He and Dick might get along now but competition was in every brother’s blood. He needed to nip in the bud this kid’s nighttime activities but maybe Robin can stay in contact. Just to make sure the kid didn’t keep going out and risking his life. Good samaritan reasons. Not at all because Jason kinda thought the nerd rambling was adorable.

“...How about this? You promise to stop risking your life following us around and I’ll drive you back to your house and you can show me these stalker albums of yours in person. Deal?”

“I’m not a stalker!”

“Yes you are. Deal or not?” The teen hesitated to answer. “Come on, kid. You don’t wanna ride on my motorcycle? Batman already gave me the all clear for the night, I’ll just tell him I’m helping a civilian get home. It’ll be fun.” The other teen still didn’t look completely convinced. “You don’t want Robin in your bedroom?” Jason added, knowing damn well how that sounded, but it worked. 

The wide-eyed look the kid gave him as he stuttered out “D-deal” made him smirk. Oh, this was fun.

He drove the teen — Tim — home on his motorcycle. He checked in with B, told him he was escorting a civilian home that he found in a bad situation. Turns out the teen lived in the house next door. Although, next door is really like a 10 minute drive down the road. Jason hid his surprise as he followed Tim into the home. Huh, his parents must not be home, Tim didn’t seem the least bit worried about waking anyone. Robin followed him up to his bedroom.

“So..” Robin broke the awkward silence as the alpha-to-be just stared at him, “Gonna show me your pictures or not?” The younger teen looked panicked. God, this guy was so easy to fluster.

“I — uh, are you sure you want to see them?” Tim asked, curling into himself in embarrassment. 

Robin smirked before answering, “Oh, now you have to show me. Come on, I already know you’re a stalker. It can’t get worse.”

“I’m not a stalker!” Tim insisted, “Plenty of people go birdwatching in Gotham, there’s a whole subreddit for it.” Robin crossed his arms and stared down the other teen until he reluctantly got up and went searching through his closet.

“I doubt those people can recite enough statistics to back their claim that the second Robin is better than the first — assuming that they even know there’s more than one Robin.”

“How could they not know!” came the indignant response, “You and the first Robin are so different! Different fighting styles, different humor, different accent, different slang. It’s not hard to realize.” Tim returned with a photo album in hand. Robin took it from him.

“Most people don’t see enough of us to pick up on stuff like that, but you do, huh?” The other boy blushed, but continued to try to defend himself.

“Still, the two of you are very different, so it shouldn’t be that hard to notice. Like the only thing you have in common is being an ome—” Tim cut himself off. Robin didn’t react because honestly it would be more surprising if the kid didn’t know. It took a long time for Bruce and Dick to figure out strong enough scent blockers to completely muffle Dick and Jason’s scent was even worse. 

The photos were good, just like the ones on the camera. There was a vast variety of shots — some of Dick, some of Bruce, action shots, victory shots, eating ice cream on a rooftop. Nothing too incriminating. There was a photo of Dick as Robin pulling off some complicated acrobatics that was labelled “Quadruple somersault!” which seemed oddly important. It had its own page. He was gonna have to ask Dick about that. He skimmed to the end of the album, and one of the pages caught his attention as it flashed by. He had to backtrack carefully to find it, but once he did, he flipped the book around to show Tim.

“Who’s this?” It was a picture of Jason, at Gotham Academy, punching a douchebag in the face for picking on a pup from the middle school. Tim stammered through a few excuses, before hanging his head and muttering, “Jason Todd-Wayne.” Todd-Wayne, not just Wayne. Bonus points for the stalker.

Robin could feel the implications of this picture being included in a Batman and Robin album popping up in his head. Half-formed theories swirling. If Tim confirmed what Jason thought he knew, then he would have to inform Batman about it. Batman would probably overreact like he did with everything lately — it would probably start a fight about Jason going as Robin to a civilian’s home and blah blah blah. He didn’t want to deal with that.

“So, you stalking him too? Got a crush on him?” he asked, playing dumb. Whether Tim believed that Robin didn’t know or was just playing along to escape being threatened, he jumped on the excuse.

“Um, yeah! A-a crush,” his face went completely red, “I, uh, I go to school with him. He doesn’t know I exist, but uh. I… like him?”

“That a question? What do you like about him?” Jason probably shouldn’t be fishing for compliments… but the teen already gave him an ego-boosting rant for his alter ego so sue him. He wanted one for himself. 

“Well…” Tim nervously shifted, avoiding eye contact, “Jason is. Insightful. He’s constantly reading — mostly classics but sometimes modern stuff. I sat in on one of his English classes when we had that flu that took out like half the teachers at school and I listened to his presentation on Emma and like. He cared so much. It was very clear he put in way more effort into his report than anyone else in the class — than the whole class combined actually. But that’s Jason, he’s so dramatic. Not in a bad way! He’s just— passionate. Everything is 100%, always all in, all of the time on what he cares about, and he’s so loud and bold and — I wish I could be like that. Oh god, I sound so lame. I’m going to die alone.” 

Robin — Jason was stunned. That was genuine. He fully expected a half-assed answer, figured Tim was only a fan of Robin. Apparently not.

This should be concerning for Jason. It should, this teen was actually stalking him. As a vigilante and as a civilian. However, Jason had like 5 trackers built into his suit and got dressed as a traffic light to fight crime against crazies every night. He wasn’t normal. Nothing about his life was normal. Normal was overrated and this alpha was saying all the right things for Jason’s messed up brain.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You might have a better chance than you think.”

Tim Drake. His little stalker. God, Jason almost didn’t recognize him in the pictures. Looks like he only grew a few inches with his presentation, but the teen had designer bags under his eyes. Despite bulking up to be Robin, he still looked half-starved. In his civilian photos he had this cold, almost dead-eyed stare. Jason didn’t like it. Even while completely embarrassed, Tim had a fire in his eyes while he ranted at Jason and seeing it extinguished was uncomfortable.

It made sense now. The alpha was very obsessed with Robin and definitely knew Jason was Robin. His death would have devastated Tim. That was probably why he looked so dead in those civilian photos that Jason couldn’t even recognize him. Hell, it might even explained why he became Robin, like some fucked up coping mechanism.

Jason looked through the photos without his anger blinding him. Bruce didn’t look good either. Sleep-deprived and having lost a lot of weight. Out of it in a way that looked like he was drunk in some of them, but Bruce would never actually drink for his Brucie act. Was his hair thinning? His hair was totally thinning. He looked sad. Miserable. Broken. Old.

He was in grief. They both were. Whether they believed him alive or not, they were torn up at him being missing. And Talia tried to make him hate both of them.

God, fuck Talia so much.

Training with Talia’s hand-picked teachers and mentors wasn’t as bad as Jason predicted. It was worse. Not the training itself — the teachers were competent and skilled. It taught him all kinds of fun things like safe-cracking, bomb defusal, a thousand ways to kill people with his bare hands, how to hack the pentagon, shooting guns — real useful skills. The issue was the teachers. 

Not all of them, but enough of them to not be a coincidence were very interested in his pup, and more specifically, being alone with his pup. Not that Jason ever allowed that to happen, but the attempts were made. Likely aided by Talia. The attempts were paid with spilled blood. At this point, Jason wondered if Talia was trying to corrupt him instead of Damian. He was getting very efficient at killing.

Bruce would be disappointed in how little guilt he felt over the blood on his hands. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t bring himself to be a martyr over protecting his pup. It was too instinctual. Felt too right. Of course he would kill someone that threatens his pup, it was his pup. And those fuckers were the scum of the earth — the world was better off without them breathing.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t fight gravity.

“Oh, cariño,” Jason picked up Damian from the ground, “it’s okay, it’s just a fall.”

“Ow, Mama,” came the tearful response from the pup. His hands were scraped from the fall so Jason gently grabbed them, palm up.

“That’s okay, I know how to make it stop hurting. My mama taught me this special spell,” Jason reassured him. He was actually a little excited to share this rhyme. He had been ever since he remembered it.

He brushed a kiss against his palms before whispering, “Sana sana, culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanara mañana.” 

“Que?” Damian asked.

“Heal, heal, frog’s butt, if you don’t heal today, you’ll heal tomorrow,” he stated, then repeated the words again in Arabic as he let go of his pup. He had to juggle three languages when talking to Damian, but it was worth it for his pup being a polyglot. Damian looked up at him, face scrunched as he processed the words. His baby boy looked indignant, even as he knew the pup was just trying to understand. Damian didn't believe in magic, even at his young age. Probably Talia’s influence — she made him stop telling Damian bedtime stories because they were too ‘childish’.

Fuck her though, he still told stories, he just made sure Damian didn’t talk about them to others.

‘But I was Robin, and being Robin gave me magic,’ he thought. Tim might be wearing the suit now, but once a Robin, always a Robin.

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it, cariño?” he asked, “do your hands still hurt?” Damian looked down at his hands, eyes widening in shock. Sure, Jason knew it was just a placebo effect — distraction from momentary pain made it fade faster. The real magic was seeing the expression of awe that was all Damian and no one else. The one Jason created.

“Magic!” he whispered. Jason just smiled as he let his pup soak in the realization.

“Mama. Who this?” Damian demanded, holding up one of the pictures of Tim as Robin. Jason continued to get dressed. Talia was trying to distract him with a revenge plot and he decided that meant crafting a new identity. Red Hooded Ninja. Not the most creative name, but he made the mistake of letting his 18 month old help with it. The plan, as he told Talia, was to kill his replacement and get Bruce to kill the Joker as proof that he loves Jason. He was kinda insulted that Talia seemed to believe it.

“That is someone you can trust, but you should pretend to hate in front of Talia,” Jason answered, “he is someone I know from home.”

“Look?” Damian followed up. Jason smiled and walked over to ruffle his hair. 

“Why does he look like that? For the same reason I’m dressed like this,” Jason gestured to his training clothes, “it’s a suit — a costume. We wear it to fight and hide who we are from people that want to hurt us.”

Jason crouched down to get to eye level with Damian and took the picture from him, “I used to wear a suit just like this one—” he pointed to the Robin suit “ — and when I did, I was known as Robin. I helped save people. Now, because I am here and can’t help those people, someone else is Robin and doing that job for me.”

“Oh,” Damian said, looking intently at the photo.

“Yep. The current Robin is Tim Drake,” Jason flipped through the stalker material Talia had given him until he found a civilian photo of Tim not looking dead, “I met him once, he was nice. You can trust him, in or out of the suit if you ever see him. He works with Batman.”

“Ba’man?” The pup hid his face in Jason’s legs. He rubbed Damian's back, surrounding them with the peaceful scent of a library.

“I know Talia talks a lot about Batman. He’s not — he’s not as bad as she says. He was— is my dad. Bruce makes mistakes, but he wouldn’t hurt you, Damian.” Jason cradled his pup’s face and lifted it to see those scared, green eyes. Talia used Batman as a kind of boogey-man to make Damian fear failing once he starts training properly. 

“Bruce. Batman. He doesn’t want you or me to be here. He doesn’t want us hurt. He is not going to punish us. In fact, if he knew we were here, he’d rescued us. He wouldn’t take you from me,” ‘and if he tried, I’d ruin him’ “Talia lies, Damian. Don’t trust what she says about Batman.”

“O-k,” the pup mumbled. Jason sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to undo the damage done in one conversation. It didn’t help that Damian thought the Batman suit looked scary; he definitely thought Bruce was a monster and not a person.

“...I haven’t shown you my brother yet have I? Wanna see a picture of my brother Dick?” he asked. Damian perked up, nodding quickly. “Yes!”

Jason searched through the photos and news clippings until he found a photo of Nightwing patrolling on the day of his “funeral” (which Dickface needed to explain when he saw him next) and a paparazzi photo of Tim and Dick getting ice cream. The gossip rags were convinced the two were courting. He pushed down any feeling of jealousy that sparked — he met the alpha once and had an okay interaction. He had no right to feel any kind of way when he barely knew the guy.

“This is Nightwing,” he pointed to Dick in his suit, “his real name is Dick. You are allowed to call him that, but not anyone else. This is what he looks like out of costume.” Damian looked between the two photos.

“Blue,” he blurted out.

“Yeah, Damian. Nightwing has blue in his suit. Blue and black,” Jason reinforced, the pup was still learning his colors, “Dick has blue eyes and black hair. Like Tim. And Bruce. And me when I’m not angry.” Thankfully, the Lazarus glow had mostly faded from his eyes. It only popped up when he was bloodthirsty. He picked up a photo of Robin and started pointing out the colors in that suit too.

Eating at a cafeteria in a secret assassin’s base was fucking weird because it looked so normal except for the literal murderers (which included Jason now). He and Damian normally ate in his room, but he needed information.

Talia wanted to keep him here. As long as he didn’t try to leave and went along with her power plays, she would leave him and Damian (mostly) alone. As skilled as Jason was, this base was the main training base — and by virtue of that, the most populated. Which made it very tricky to escape without any help or distraction to cover their actions. He doubted he would make allies here, but even just identifying a good source of information would be great.

While Jason surveyed the room again, he grabbed the arm that appeared near his pup, using it to wrench the person to the ground and pin them.

“Did you just… try to take cake from a pup?” he asked, keeping his weight on the person’s back as she tried to get up. It was a woman — bald, beta, dressed in black, smelled like gunpowder and pepper, had a gun that Jason emptied and threw out of reach before she could go for it.

“Well, the fucker took the last slice!” shouted the woman. Jason frowned and pressed down harder as she struggled.

“Don’t call my pup a fucker, only I have the right to do that.”

“And why’s that?” she scoffed, her struggles dying down for a moment.

“Because I earned it. You have any idea how many times that fucker peed on me when I changed his diaper?” he snarked back. He smiled at Damian, sending out joking-reassurance-love before looking back at the woman. Damian didn’t know what that word meant yet.  “He’s still in diapers, we’ve not started potty training yet.”

“...Gross. You gonna let me up?”

“You gonna try and steal my kid’s dessert again?” he replied, staying suspicious despite her continued performance as dead weight. She shrugged underneath him.

“Maybe.” 

Jason waited a moment, debating before backing off to let her up. “Alright, if you get past me before he finishes it, you’ve earned it.” He watched warily as the woman got up and dusted herself off.

“I thought stealing shit from babies was supposed to be easy.” A well practiced cruel laugh left Jason’s mouth.

“You want easy, you’re in the wrong place, asshole,” he said, sitting back down next to Damian but keeping his eyes on the woman.

“Don't call me asshole, asshole,” she shot back, eyeing the slice of cake. 

“Give me a name then,” he replied. She looked briefly at him, before shrugging lightly.

“Pru.”

“Jason. I’d say nice to meet you, but you’re not exactly nice.” 

She smiled viciously, “Good.” Jason blocked another attempt at stealing Damian’s dessert. The little boy pulled the plate closer to himself.

“Mine,” Damian said, “no.” Pru glared at Damian, which made Jason tense up but she made no move towards him.

“Mark my words, little boy, I will take your dessert.” Jason laughed at the seriousness of her tone and scent. She meant that, the fucking lunatic.

“This is a weird hill for you to die on,” he said, smacking her hand away. She seemingly gave up and turned her attention to Jason.

“Eh, they do it on purpose you know. They put out like 3 desserts but there’s like 15 of us training now. And they do it at random-ass times. They want us to fight over this shit. I saw the gremlin with a slice and figured I’d try my luck,” she complained, “Are you really gonna kill me over cake?”

“Maybe,” he said, copying her earlier response. She shrugged, unconcerned.

“You can try. So, why exactly do you have a pup? I thought omegas weren’t allowed in here,” she asked, sitting down next to Jason.

“Wow, you are new. That’s Talia’s biological son,” he answered. Surprise flickered over her face.

“Shit. I guess I shouldn’t threaten him,” she commented.

“Maybe not,” he agreed.

“Hmm… still gonna.” He shrugged, checking on Damian to see the boy had already finished the cake slice he grabbed.

“Well, you’re not getting any cake today. Come on, Damian, time to go. I got more training.” He lifted Damian up. The boy stuck his tongue out at Pru, in perfect imitation of all the times Jason had done it to mock his teachers. Pride bubbled up in his chest at the sight. His pup was growing up so fast, soon he would be back talking and Jason would regret him ever inheriting his attitude. 

“Damn,” she swore before leaving without another word to Jason or Damian. Huh. Jason just made friends with an assassin. Cool.

“The strange god’s foot lifted. He was beginning the ascent,” Jason paused for dramatic effect, “Then it was that White Fang struck.” Damian gasped from Jason’s lap, staring at the book he was reading from. The words on the page meant nothing to him, but he liked to pretend he was reading along with Jason. Jason liked that it helped Damian get familiar with letters.

“He gave no warning, with no snarl anticipated his own action. Into the air he lifted his body in the spring that landed him on the strange god’s back. White Fang clung with his forepaws to the man’s shoulders, at the same time burying his fangs into the back of the man’s neck.”

“White Fang win,” Damian stated confidently. Jason smiled at him. Despite his words, there was an anxious hint of clove in his scent. The pup had really fallen in love with White Fang, rooting for him throughout the whole book. It wasn’t the most appropriate book for a young pup, but the LOA didn’t exactly have children’s books, so Jason had to settle for trying to find the least inappropriate classic literature. Talia refused to give him age-appropriate teaching materials for his pup. White Fang might be a bit violent, but honestly it had nothing worse than what Damian experiences in real life — at least it had a happy ending.

Jason continued on reading as the household discovered that White Fang protected them from an intruder, but at a cost, “...His eyelids dropped and went shut, and his whole body seemed to relax and flatten out upon the floor.”

“No! Mama, no! White Fang no die! No!” Damian cried. Thankfully, Jason knew how this book ended or he wouldn’t have ever picked it up. He took a second to cuddle and scent his pup, reassuring him before he kept going.

“‘He’s all in, poor devil,’ muttered the master. ‘We’ll see about that,’ asserted the Judge, as he started for the telephone.” 

“Save, Mama?” the pup asked. “Of course, cariño. They wouldn’t let him die, not after everything White Fang did. They’ll save him.” Jason kept reading.

“...Weedon, telegraph at once to San Francisco for Doctor Nichols. No reflection on you, doctor, you understand; but he must have the advantage of every chance.”

“White Fang need best,” Damian injected. 

“Yes, cariño. Judge Scott is getting White Fang the best. He just saved his life, so of course he is. White Fang is a good dog.”

“I want dog.” Jason’s smile faltered at the statement. The League definitely didn’t allow for pets. 

“Maybe when you’re older, pup.” With that, Jason looked back to the book to continue reading, but stopped as he heard the door open. Damian immediately moved out of his lap and next to him, and Jason placed the book between them. He pointed to the page and went through the motions of teaching Damian the sounds. Once he heard footsteps heading toward them, he looked up to see Talia was the one that had interrupted them.

“Talia,” the word came out casually, “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.” Jason looked at the alpha woman, trying to gauge if this surprise second visit in a week was dangerous or not.

“Mother… why…you here?” Damian asked, his tone far too formal for a two-year-old. The switch to Arabic was involuntary when he spoke to Talia, as Talia refused to acknowledge him if he spoke English. Her left eye twitched at the broken sentence. ‘He is too young for proper sentences, Talia. You’d know that if you knew anything about kids. For fuck sake, you still think he’s learning Arabic from your 2 minutes of talking a week. God, you do not deserve to be anyone’s mother, you goddamn bitch.’

“I have news to share, Dami. My Beloved is dead.” Her tone was so flat that it took a few seconds for him to understand the words she said. She said it in English, which means she wanted Jason to know it as well.

“What,” Jason said, tightening his grip on the book. From his peripheral vision, he could see his pup looked shocked and unsure. He understood that ‘Beloved’ was Batman, but nicer because only ‘Batman’ was a threat, not ‘Beloved.’ He also (unfortunately) knew what ‘dead’ meant. Jason also wasn’t sure how to proceed, but he hid that confusion under anger since anger was always an appropriate response in the League.

“My Beloved was hit by an Omega Beam while battling Darkseid. He is dead. The circus brat is now running around wearing his suit.” Talia seemed more focused on the perceived slight of Dick taking up the Batman mantle than giving a single shit that her ‘Beloved’ was dead.

“Mine— not… his. Mine,” Damian responded, regurgitating the rhetoric that Talia always gave him. Honestly, that was probably the right reply. Talia would be pleased that Damian was focused on what she deemed important. Damian didn’t even want the suit, he still thought it looked weird and creepy no matter how much Jason tried to make bats sound cool.

Jason was supposed to hate Bruce, so— “That fucker. Now I have to redo all my plans concerning the Joker.” He focused on sounding annoyed, inconvenienced. Talia glared at him for the cursing, but Jason ignored that. ‘Be pissed off. Don’t be sad. Don’t show weakness.’

“Indeed, Dami. Once you are old enough, you will have to take back the mantle from that imposter. Until then, we will have to focus on your training. Still so many years to go. Well, I must go. I have a meeting with Ra’s.”

“Goodbye, Mother.” Talia nodded at Damian and left, not waiting for Jason to say anything.

God, that bitch. Just came in, dropped world-shattering news, and left like it was just some errand on her to-do list. Jason forced himself to focus back on the first edition book he had in his hands. Restarted his reading, the mood from earlier shattered. 

“Mama, you okay?” asked his pup once they returned to his room. Once they were alone and shielded from the prying eyes of the League. Jason searched the room daily for bugs and rarely found one — it seemed that as long as Talia kept him isolated from the outside world, she didn’t feel the need to record his every word.

“I’m okay, cariño. I just need a shower,” he reassured the pup, making his way into the connected bathroom. He didn’t bother to close the door as he undressed — Damian didn’t like being locked out. It made him anxious.

“You sad,” Damian stated. Preceptive pup. Jason sighed heavily as he started the shower.

“I am sad, pup. Bruce and I — we fought a lot. Said some very mean things to each other,” his voice broke before he wrangled it back to even, stepping into the water, “but I thought you would get to meet him. That I would see him again and get a chance to, to—” Jason cut himself off.

It was hard thinking about Bruce. He hated what Bruce said that night, hated feeling like a criminal in his own home. God, it made him legitimately angry to think about their last conversation. But then — then he remembered the Bruce in the background of those gala photos, looking absolutely devastated, and he remembered that Bruce was still his dad. He wanted to talk to him again, even if it was just to yell at the emotionally constipated old man. Now he would never get that chance.

God, it was like discovering Mama was dead all over again. Realizing that she would never see him graduate school, or get married, have a kid —nothing. That he would never get to hear her voice again or share a nest. Bruce would never know what happened to him, he would never know about Damian. He wanted to introduce Bruce to his grandkid (nevermind the genetic bullshit, he raised Damian, that mattered more). Jason would never get the chance to patrol with him again.

That was not even touching the effect it would have on the rest of the pack. Alfred would be devastated, Dick would be crushed by the weight and restriction of the cowl, and Tim lost his birth pack and his pseudo-head alpha. No way he was okay after that. He didn’t know much about the other masks that popped up in Gotham beyond what they looked like, although apparently Black Bat was Cassandra who got horribly abused by Cain in the LOA, loosely disguised as training. God, it would be like a bomb went off.

“Mama,” his pup whined, and Jason pulled him into his arms on autopilot. Just pulled his fully dressed pup into the shower with him and sat on the floor. It wasn’t until Damian started wiping his face that Jason realized he was crying. 

“It’s okay, cariño, I’m here,” he said, pretending he was comforting his pup. Damian burrowed deeper into his arms and they just sat there until long after the water turned cold.

Chapter Text

Jason rubbed his pup’s back as he waited for the thermometer to beep. Damian’s been sick for the past 24 hours. It was getting worse and his scent wasn’t just sour — it was rancid. He tried to get the pup to the infirmary last night, but the guards at his door told him that he was under strict lockdown. Something about ‘special guests.’ Jason didn’t think they were supposed to tell him that part, but he had known Dakota and Madds for nearly two years. They let shit slip all the time. They had a mutual understanding of no snitching as long as there was plausible deniability.

If he wasn’t so concerned over Damian’s health, he would probably try to figure out who the special guests were that warranted him being a prisoner. With Bruce dead, he couldn’t imagine that the batfam was sniffing about the League. As it stood, he was far more concerned with the 104°F fever his pup had.

“Damian, pup, hey, open your eyes,” Jason urged. The pup didn’t react. “Hey, cariño, open your eyes.” Nothing.

“Pup?” he called out, trying to get some kind of response. This was bad. Unresponsive was bad. His scent was getting worse, deepening in a way that smelled like death. Jason carefully started to gather Damian in his arms — fuck whatever order Talia gave, his pup was sick. He needed the infirmary.

“Jason—”

“Madds, I don’t care,” he cut off the alpha before she finished her sentence, “do you really want to explain to Talia that you let her son die? I’m sure that’s more important than whatever is keeping me in this room.”

“It’s just a cold,” she dismissed, rolling her eyes. A growl escaped Jason. Before he could reply though, he felt his pup shaking. 

Wait, no. Damian wasn’t shaking. He was seizing. 

“Fuck this, MOVE,” he yelled, projecting DANGER-MOVE-NOW. The alphas took a reactionary step back at the command and he ran to the infirmary before they could react. 

“Wagner!” he called as he brought his still seizing pup to an empty bed, “Damian’s extremely sick, fever of 104, and he just had a seizure. He’s been vomiting and now is unresponsive. Fucking do something!” He could hear Dr. Wagner rush to him. Jason didn’t take his eyes off Damian, but somewhere in the back of his head he registered a familiar scent. Familiar omega scent. It was firmly pushed to the background as unimportant.

Dr. Wagner immediately started taking vitals, Jason helping out where he could until the other medical staff reached them. They started writing stuff down and Dr. Wagner commanded them to start an IV line. 

“Any other symptoms,” Dr. Wagner asked Jason, still looking over Damian like he was searching for something.

“Headaches,” he answered immediately.

Dr. Wagner seemed like he found something as he cursed under his breath. Jason peaked — it looked like little red dots on Damian’s skin under where his diaper normally sat. 

“I’m suspecting bacterial meningitis. He needs to be transferred to a different base, stat. We are low on supplies currently and I’m not comfortable performing a lumbar puncture on a child this young. I haven’t performed one in nearly a decade of being here. Why didn’t you bring him in sooner?”

“I fucking tried, Talia wouldn’t let me out of my room,” he shot back. 

“Well, that decision might cost this boy his life,” Jason growled, digging his nails into his palm, “We’ll start him on general antibiotics. He’s going to need to be moved asap, we need cultures to confirm the infection and identify it. I’ll inform Talia.” With that, Dr. Wagner walked off. The other staff continued to work, getting an IV started. 

While Jason focused on his pup — ‘fucking meningitis, how, when did he fucking get that?’ — he reigned in his scent to neutral, not wanting his distress affecting Damian. He focused on keeping a comforting overtone and stayed as close as he could without getting in the staff’s way. 

As he watched them work on Damian, the familiar scent he clocked earlier shifted. The recognition-disbelief-here? grabbed his attention. That scent. It was an omega, which wasn't supposed to be in the League of Assassins. It was a familiar omega. Not Dick — even after years Jason would immediately recognize his head omega. He dug through his memories; who smelled like peppermint and vanilla? 

Wait a fucking moment. Jason fought the urge to physically react, keeping focused on Damian. There was only one person he knew with that combination and she was a fucking civilian. Why the fuck was TAM FOX in the LOA?! The why!-how?-WHY involuntarily underpinned his scent. Thankfully, the staff in the infirmary were mostly alphas, with the few betas being more on the alpha side than omega, so their noses shouldn’t be sensitive enough to detect any undertones.

He breathed in carefully — coffee and cinnamon — Tim was with her. Didn’t fully explain the why, but still relieved him to know she wasn’t here alone. She should have overheard the exchange with Dr. Wagner, and Tam was definitely smart enough to figure out that discretion was needed.

He couldn’t look. He couldn’t. Talia was already gonna be pissed he ran out of the room and especially that he was in the infirmary considering who was in there. Damian was far too sick to be moved without medical care. He needed to play dumb.

“Tim, Jason is here,” Tam whispered, low enough that it had to be fed directly to the alpha’s ear for him to hear.

“WH—” the sound was muffled immediately.

“Shush! I don’t think he’s supposed to be here, don’t let them know we know.” Jason sent grateful-secret-careful. An answering secret-keep-protect floated back.

“...are you sure?” Fragile hope dipped from the whispered words. Tim’s scent locked down in a way that was way too obvious to anyone paying attention, which hopefully no one was beyond Jason. 

“Did you not hear him? He literally came in yelling about a sick pup.” The two sounded like they were on the other side of the infirmary, where there were beds with privacy curtains. They must have the curtains drawn or otherwise Jason would have seen them when he came in even with his sick pup.

“That was him?” Wait, why were they in the infirmary? Were they hurt? He focused on Tim’s scent — since he was shutting down his personal scent, it was far too easy to pick up the scent of blood, antiseptics, and gauze. Tim was hurt, but patched up now.

“Is your nose broken? He’s literally pumping out comfort, it smells like a library.”

“The cookie smell was always stronger to me, makes me think of a bakery.”

“Oh, so you can smell it. Why are you doubting me?”

“Because how does Jason have a pup!” The scent coming from both omegas could only be described as did-he-seriously-ask-that? It didn’t matter how, only that he did. 

“...Tim, do you really need me to explain that?”

“No. no.” Jason appreciated the horror in Tim’s voice, knowing it would be much, much worse if he knew the whole story. Mypup-mine-no-matter-what was Jason’s reply. 

“Then don’t ask stupid questions. It’s his pup. Doesn’t matter how,” Tam replied. 

“A pup?” Tim mumbled, “...fuck. Now I have to save Bruce and Jason and a pup.” pack-alpha-alive??

“Jason can hear us, by the way. Jason, Tim thinks Bruce is alive.” 

“I don’t think, I know. Okay. Working with Ra’s paid off, twice actually. I found proof that Bruce is lost in time and where Jason is. Wait. Jason knows Bruce is dead — uh, assumed dead? Wait, he can hear us?” yes-sad-relief. Jason wasn’t exactly sure what ‘lost in time’ meant, but Tim sounded confident so he decided to go with it. Thank god. As long as Damian and him survive this clusterfuck, then the pack could be whole. Fuck, this would have been a great opportunity leave if Damian wasn’t so sick.

Also, Tim seemed nervous about Jason being able to hear him. Good to know he still had that effect on the alpha.

“His scent says he knew. And yeah, he can hear us, his hearing is fucking superhuman, I swear. And I’m not sure if you can save them right now, Tim, the pup is really sick. Like needing major medical attention, kind of sick. They’re getting moved to another base.”

“Wait, no, we can’t just leave Jason—”

“That pup is really sick, Tim. I don’t think there's a choice here. No way in hell would Jason leave that pup’s side, he would gut you for suggesting it.” The overwhelming scent of protect-pup-kill corresponded perfectly with one of the nurses being too fucking rough with Damian and making the pup whine. The nurse flinched. Jason growled at him for good measure, using his wrist to scent-soothe his pup. He could hear Dr. Wagner returning. Play-dead-danger

“Tim, I think the doctor is coming back. Pick a conversation for us to be in the middle of.” There was shuffling as Jason focused on Dr. Wagner. Tim started telling Tam about his plan to get rid of the Council of Spiders — which, good. With any luck, there would be some mutual destruction between them and the League of Assassins.

“Well?” he asked sharply. Dr. Wagner motioned for him to calm down, watching him carefully.

“Don’t shoot the messenger. Talia’s mad, but she approved of Damian getting flown out once I emphasized how dire his condition was. He will be moved to a base far better suited for medical care.”

“Good. How soon can we move?” 

“Now, ideally. Let’s get him wheeled to the medevac area and we can start getting him ready for the trip.” With that, Jason followed as they moved his pup out of the room and toward the helipad. He didn’t look back. Tim would figure it out. Probably.

Medical care wasn’t a priority for the League of Assassins beyond whatever was necessary for the insane projects that the immortal megalomaniac had going on. The recruits only had access to basic first aid, with some of the more proven assassins getting proper care in the infirmary for injuries.

This was a facility the vast majority of the LOA had never seen. This was where Talia would get medical care for anything not warranting a dip in the Lazarus Pits. Where Damian was receiving life-saving antibiotics. Where Jason was waiting for his pup to recover.

It took 2 days of treatment for his pup to wake up; another 12 days before he could leave the medical facility if all went well. Talia stopped by on the third day.

“I see my son is recovering well,” she commented, as Jason stared at her with tired eyes. Tired from his multi-day vigil at Damian’s bedside, where he refused to sleep for fear of nightmares of Damian seizing, sick, and smelling of death. 

There wasn’t an ounce of worry in Talia, as she scanned Damian for a mere second before addressing Jason. No regret at not seeing him sooner. Nothing. It made Jason shallow down a ball of fury and rage as she claims him to be her son but acts nothing like a mother.

“He is now,” he stressed, “but it was rough the first day. If he had gotten treatment any later, he would have died.”

“Yes, I was informed of that. I supposed you expect me to thank you for disobeying my orders.” Talia lifted an eyebrow, staring at him with disdain.

“No,” Jason asserted. He looked back to Damian, who was sleeping peacefully until Talia walked in and was now pretending to still be asleep. “No. I don’t expect a thank you. Just to inform you that I don’t know why you wanted us to stay in that room, but whatever the reason, it nearly cost Damian’s life. I hope it was worth it.” He heard Talia hum in thought, clearly trying to decide if she believed him or not.

By now she would have gotten testimony for the medics at the training base. She would know that Jason never visibly interacted with Tim or Tam. Hopefully the pair were good enough actors not to tip anyone off that they knew Jason was there. 

“I suppose you want an explanation?”

“I give zero fucks about anything you do, Talia. What I give a damn about is keeping Damian alive. So if you ever stop me from doing that again, I will fucking kill you and then myself.” Talia tried, and failed, to distract Jason with anger, so turnabout's fair play

“Know your place, Jason. I could still have you killed for insubordination,” Talia snapped.

“Like I give a shit. My place, as I’ve been told many times, is taking care of Damian. And I’ve done that. He is ahead on all of his physical and intellectual milestones. I’m doing my job and doing it well, Talia, so stay the fuck out of my way. I’ll respect your orders as long as they don’t interfere with keeping your son alive.”

“Listen here, you ungrateful —-”

“Talia.” Ra’s voice cut in. The woman turned to look at him. “I need to speak to the omega. Leave the room.”

“Of course, Father. We’ll finish this conversation later, Jason.” He nodded, doubting that heavily. Talia won’t come back, she had too many schemes to babysit.

Silence ensued. Ra’s watched Jason and Jason ignored him. He wasn’t going to speak first. 

“How many days are left in the boy’s treatment?” he asked. Jason was sure he already knew the answer.

“11 days. Assuming no complications.” Ra’s was going to threaten Damian’s treatment, that was the only reason he would ask.

“It would be quite a shame if his treatment ended early.” There it was.

“What do you want Ra’s?”

“Your cooperation. And services.” Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck. There were only two things Ra’s considered omegas good for and only one Jason had experience with.

“Another kid? Looking to replace Talia?” he quipped.

“Of course not. A clone. I encountered the new Robin, and I must say the young alpha impressed me. Timothy would make a great subordinate. Unfortunately, much like Bruce, his pesky morals are an issue. However, that should be easily fixed by raising the boy myself.”

This wasn’t a request. Talia was willing to hurt Damian but ultimately wanted him alive — she would kill Jason before killing Damian. Ra’s didn’t give a shit. He would kill Damian and Talia couldn’t stop him. Jason couldn’t just take Damian and go, the pup was too weak to move. He still had over a week of antibiotics until it was safe for him to move. He could risk it closer to the end of the treatment but leaving now could mean the infection coming back and it would kill Damian if Jason didn’t get him medical care soon enough.

Plus, if he tried saying no, Ra’s would kill Damian and then just do it anyway. Like how Talia did. Keep him locked up or sedated and tied down until the procedure was successful and they considered him broken enough not to fight back. 

It took months to make Damian, with most of that having nothing to do with Jason. According to the scientists — PHDs in biology, not even an actual medical doctor — the issue was making a viable embryo from two alphas. It just didn’t fucking work for reasons they couldn’t figure out. They ended up shooting Jason full of hormones and harvesting his fucking eggs to successfully make something viable.

However, a clone would be laughably easy compared to that. If Ra’s really wanted it to work on the first try, he would use the eggs that Jason knew the LOA had kept frozen. There was no delaying this until after Damian was better.

“Fine. I’ll cooperate. Just don’t separate me from Damian. It’ll stress me out and stress isn’t good for pregnancy, you know.” He had to do it. If he was lucky, implantation would fail and he would be able to get Damian out and not be pregnant. If he was — fuck it, it couldn’t be worse the second time. It just couldn’t.

“Perfect. I will have the doctor come in to start the process, I want this done soon.”

It was less traumatizing in a deeply dehumanizing way to go through embryo transfer a second time. The first time Jason was knocked out for it, so he woke up to the knowledge he had been violated in a life-alternating way. But back then, he was fighting it. Fighting to get out. To get away. So when the drugs wore off, he felt angry and ashamed and disgusted. Even while he couldn’t stand the idea of harming the pup, it took months before he saw Damian as anything other than an extension of Talia. To separate Damian’s existence from Talia’s actions.  

This time, he wasn’t. He wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t unconscious. He was being a model patient, ignoring the desperate need to pee while lying on the bed. It hurt less than he was expecting, like a pap smear almost. It… kinda made it worse. That it didn’t hurt badly. He didn’t want this. This should hurt worse. It didn’t.

He felt — disconnected from his body. Like a marionette on strings. He wasn’t controlling it, he was just going along. The process was quick, too quick. He blinked and it was over. The doctor — and this time it was a doctor, not a scientist — told him to stay in bed for 10 minutes and then he could leave.

He waited for the doctor to leave the room and then counted to 60 before getting up; he needed to pee. There was a bathroom in the room, but the need to rebel inched under his skin after being so cooperative. To pull his own strings. So to the bathroom in Damian’s room it was.

There was a familiar, sorta-friendly face in the hallway.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked Pru. He hadn’t seen the bald assassin in a while, with her finally getting sent on missions and spending time away from the training base. He almost missed fucking with her while she tried — and failed — to steal dessert from Damian. It was the least violent adult interaction he had. Yet here she was, in the medical base, looking kinda beat up despite her weird healing bullshit.

“Has a spider slit my throat. Lost my voice for a while, so I got put up in here to regain it.” Jason whistled, giving the scar a look when Pru pointed it out. It was gnarly scar, not that the beta gave a shit about anything like that.

“You survived an encounter with a spider? No wonder they deemed you worthy of this place.” Pru shrugged.

“Had a little help from a birdy. Real yappy one,” Pru said, her body language relaxed, but her scent was alert in a way Jason knew meant she was looking a lot closer at him than normal. ‘A birdy? Does she mean Robin?’

“Oh? That must have been annoying,” he replied, briefly gesturing that he was gonna keep walking. Pru joined him easily, no groaning or stubbornness in sight, which was not like her. This was weird behavior.

“Infuriating. But I owe the fucker a life debt, so probably shouldn’t complain.” Pru not complaining? That’s basically a declaration of respect coming from her and the only other people she respected were Talia and Ra’s. “Where’s your brat?” Did little stalker Timmy manage to get Pru on his side? Impressive. Jason didn’t think her morals would let her respect someone without a body count.

“Recovering. He was sick in the head.” 

Pru scoffed, “Aren’t we all? Isn’t that the fun of this place?”

“Fuck off. Not like that. An infection. Needed major antibiotics, but he’s mostly okay now. Got 4 days left on his treatment.”

“Damn. Do they give him pudding in this place?” Jason couldn’t help it, he laughed. Instant regret from his full bladder. Stupid fucking ultrasound.

“Fuck, don’t make me laugh, I’m gonna piss myself.” Immediate disgust from Pru. It almost made him laugh again but he held it in this time.

“Ew. The fuck’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing,” he replied, then grimached as the situation caught up with him, “just a medical procedure with an ultrasound. Which requires a full bladder.”

Pru looked mildly confused — and if he was being generous, concerned — as she now gave Jason a once over.

“What the fuck happened to you?” she parroted back to him. Jason just rolled his eyes and waved towards his stomach. Pru let out an “ah” of understanding.

“Pregnant again?”

“Potentially,” he shrugged, “Won’t know for a few weeks. But I got the test tube baby put in today.”

“I figured you got knocked up the traditional way,” she said, casually like the revelation meant nothing. Yet, the explosive puff of gunpowder disagreed — outrage on his behalf. Aw, Pru cared.

“Nothing about this place is traditional, babe.” He chuckled at the revulsion the pet name brought up, regretting it again just as quickly. “Fuck.”

“Serves you right. You should piss your pants.” 

He smirked, “Can’t help it. The only fun I’ve had in the last few months was teaching my toddler how to say fuck.” 

“You're teaching your brat how to curse?” He couldn’t tell if that tone was disbelief or approval.

“Damian already knows not to call me mama in front of Talia. He’s smart enough not to say fuck in front of other people if I tell him. It’s harmless.”

“You’re less lame than I thought you were.” Jason accepted the backhanded compliment with his normal amount of grace — none.

“Motherfucker, I’ve kicked your ass multiple times. And I’m a better shot.”

“Lies and slander, and you cheated.” Jason rolled his eyes, finally stopping in front of Damian’s room. There weren’t any guards in front of his room, since they didn’t consider Jason to be an escape risk with Damian still recovering. 

“You wanna see the brat? He should be getting lunch soon, you can try stealing his jello cup,” he offered. Pru was a bitch, but she was better company than Ra’s.

“Sure,” she said. Damian was awake when they went in, a happy-relieved scent at the sight of Jason which quickly turned into puppy rage when he saw Pru.

“Cariño, look. Your mortal enemy,” he announced. Pru waved sarcastically at the pup and the pup glared with all his nonexistent might at her. This was probably good for his development, right?

“Bitch,” his pup said very seriously, exactly like Jason taught him. This time Pru cracked a smile as Jason laughed. 

“So worth it. Alright, I’m gonna piss, you should tell him how you got your ass kicked by spiders. Just go light on the gore, more spooky halloween story than mission report, alright? Damian, no biting. You don’t know where she’s been.” His pup’s glare did not waver as Pru pulled up a chair. 

Jason excused himself to the bathroom, listening to Pru talk about how she, Z, and Owens got assigned to kill Robin and then had their asses kicked.

For someone he had little direct contact with, Tim Drake was leaving a hell of a good impression.

Chapter Text

After Pru left, it was just Jason spending time with his pup as they waited for the course of antibiotics to be done. He took a walk around the base in the morning to burn off energy (and map out the hallways) and then spent the rest of the day teaching Damian colors and numbers. The pup was smarter than he had any right to be. It would take at least 10 days before the doctors could reliably confirm if Jason was pregnant or not so Ra’s left him alone. Talia had already abandoned them after her one visit. 

Finally it was the last day of Damian’s treatment. The IV bag had run out, but Jason hadn’t called for the doctor or one of the few nurses employed at the base yet. Instead, he removed it himself and went back to giving Damian his lunch. Chances were no one would remember to check on them until much later in the day. The staff here was unorganized like that — frequently forgot about them.

Then the alarm went off. There was no time wasted as Jason dropped the applesauce he was feeding Damian and grabbed his pup. Quiet-calm smothered the pup, keeping Damian docile as they moved. A quick glance of the hallway revealed no guards yet so Jason hesitated for a moment to listen. There were distant sounds of fighting coming from somewhere on the left, so he went right.

The fighting stayed distant as he moved carefully through the base. A few guards came close to them, but Jason heard their footsteps and ducked into an empty room before they could be spotted. Cameras were certainly tracking their movements, but the guards were definitely too busy dealing with Bats to check them. A recording of their escape wouldn’t matter after the fact.

The low, near silent hum of the Batplane was a welcomed noise. Jason sprinted to it, deactivating the lock to open the door. Still had his biometrics saved. There was someone left waiting inside. A blond beta in purple, who looked surprised at his sudden appearance.

“Spoiler, right? Wasn’t expecting me so soon?” he asked, dropping the scent smothering on Damian. As his awareness of his surroundings returned, his pup got nervous and clung to Jason. 

“Yep! Jason, right? You got here real fast, like damn, you a secret speedster or something,” Spoiler snarked, staring at the toddler he was fussing over, “The whole fam is here by the way. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Bat, and Signal.”

“Or something. I got the feeling Pru might have been feeding you information, and if she did, then today would be the day. So I was kinda prepared to run at the first opportunity.” Jason took a moment to catch up on the names she just told him. “Also, Red Robin? Like the restaurant? When did he upgrade to a restaurant?” he replied, sitting down in a seat near her. Damian shuffled around in his lap and stared at the woman. 

“Purple,” he mumbled, earning a smile from Spoiler.

“Aw, yeah buddy, I’m purple. The best color in the world,” then she turned back to Jason, “I don’t know, Tim said something about getting too old and needing to make a new name for himself. Some alpha bullshit like that. It’s a recent change.” 

“Good job, cariño,” Jason nuzzled his pup briefly, “That’s Spoiler and her suit is purple. Like within the last two weeks recent?” Spoiler shook her head, but was interrupted by Damian before she replied.

“Blue is better,” the pup asserted.

“Heresy!” she cried out, looking offended but with no scent support it didn’t register to Damian. “I’ll get you a Spoiler plushy and you’ll see.” Then she redirected to Jason, “Like last few days recent.” He gave a low acknowledging hum.

“It would work better if it was a purple animal,” he advised. 

“What animal is purple? A bird? A fish? Oh wait, a poison frog, there’s gotta be a purple poison frog,” she rambled as she tapped her communicator.

“Hey! Our princess in the castle is currently in front of me.” A hard flinch followed shortly after. The Batpack must have not liked that.

“If they didn’t want me getting out on my own,” he called out, knowing the com could pick him up, “Shouldn’t have triggered the alarm. Of course I fucking ran.”

“You all hear that? Take it up with him that you didn’t get your dramatic rescue moment. Hull ass back, we’re still good, no assassins in sight. Spoiler out.” She tapped the com to mute, rolling her eyes at whatever was being said on coms. Jason checked in on Damian. The pup was still staring at Spoiler, wary but not outright scared. 

“Cariño,” he whispered, waiting for the pup to look back at him, “you recognize her, right? I showed you pictures. She can be trusted.” He didn’t know Spoiler personally, but he trusted his pack’s judgement (for now). “You’re about to meet a whole lot of people dressed like weirdos, but they aren’t going to hurt you or me. They aren’t dangerous. Got it?” 

“Ok,” Damian whispered, still clearly worried.

“Remember what I said about Talia?” he asked. Spoiler was watching the interaction, but pretending she wasn’t. He appreciated the fake privacy.

“Mother lies,” he recited. Jason nodded.

“Talia lies. You don’t have to call her mother anymore,” he explained, “And Batman will be here. Ignore whatever Talia told you. He’s my dad, which makes him your grandpa and he’s not gonna hurt you, okay?”

“Mo— Talia.”

“I know what Talia said. Ignore it. We can talk about it more later, but for now, ignore it.” Damian nodded again. Jason waited in case his pup had anything to ask, but it seemed he was done.

“Everything alright?” Spoiler asked.

“As okay as they can be. ETA?” he replied back. However, before Spoiler could answer, a black and blue blur tried to tackle him.

Tried because a certain overprotective pup sunk his teeth into him. Dick yelped, and reflexively went to push him off.

“Nightwing,” Jason growled out, which made the older man freeze, “hurt my pup and I will gut you. Damian, let go, he’s an idiot, not a threat.” Damian growled in response. “Now, Damian. Look, it’s the blue and black suit. You remember the blue and black suit.”

The pup hesitated before letting go, never dropping his glare. Jason reached out and tugged the pup into the seat next to him.

“Here, it’s okay, pup. They won’t hurt me. That’s Nightwing, I told you about him, he was just trying to hug me.” Damian was unconvinced, but he wasn’t moving to bite Dick again.

“No sudden movements, get over here.” Dick moved, still faster than Damian was comfortable with, but slower than before. Jason rolled his eyes as his octopus of an older brother wrapped around him. He hesitated a second before returning the hug just as tight. The scent of chocolate-covered popcorn was overwhelming to him, even with the scent blocker muffling it. 

“Little Wing.” The name was horribly wet sounding, accompanied with suspicious moisture on his shirt. He ignored the fact that there were also tears in his own eyes.

“Yeah, Dickie, it’s me. Don’t rush my pup unless you wanna be gutted,” he muttered, swallowing the lump in his throat. Fuck, it had been so long since he had contact with another omega. Since he had seen Dick. The older omega mumbled an “okay” into his shirt. 

Jason took mental bets with himself on who would be the next one back as a distraction. Damian didn’t know good tears from bad ones. He won/lost $20 when who he assumed was Red Robin (since he didn’t recognize the suit) popped in.

“Jason,” Tim breathed, eyes hidden under the domino, but Jason could feel the alpha staring at him. He was probably comparing what he was seeing to whatever description Pru gave him. Pru could be awfully creative. He wondered what exactly she had passed on.

“Tim,” unseen eyes snapped to him, “Stop with self-flagellation I know you’re doing. It wasn’t safe for me to leave. I’m fine. Damian’s fine. It was two weeks, don’t kick yourself for it.” Spoiler looked like she’d pull out a bucket of popcorn right now if she could.

“But they—” Red Robin clenched his hands in anger and cut himself off. Well, Pru definitely shared the potential pregnancy news. However, Jason figured Tim didn’t share it with the rest of the class or he wouldn’t have cut himself off like that. Spicy cinnamon came off him despite the scent blockers he knew everyone was wearing and the anger scared Damian. He reached over to scent Damian with comfort-safe-calm before addressing Tim again.

“Quit it with the anger! It’s upsetting my pup. I’m fine. What’s happened, happened.” Dick finally decided to drop the octopus act, but didn’t step far. Tim looked chastised and eased up on his scent until it disappeared under the scent blockers. He looked at Damian, who was leaning as far away from Dick and toward Jason as he could.

“So, the pup?” Dick prompted.

“How much did Pru tell you?” He directed the question at Tim, wanting to know what exactly was public knowledge here.

“She told us Damian was Talia’s pup.” Jason nodded in confirmation.

“There’s more to it than that, but yeah. We shouldn’t get into it now. Also, don’t ever say that to my face again. He’s my pup,” Jason explained, growling the last two words, as two more Bats reached the plane. Black Bat and Signal. Which just left B. Jason wondered if he ran into Ra’s.

“Noted. Won’t make that mistake again.” Spoiler punched Red Robin in the shoulder.

“Seriously ex-boyfriend? Less than 5 minutes and you’ve managed to piss off our special guest twice! Where are your social skills?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t expect a stalker to have good social skills,” Jason defended, smirking at Tim. The alpha’s face immediately reddened.

“I- I have good social skills,” he muttered under his breath. Everyone in the room ignored him.

“Is the pup okay?” Signal asked, looking concerned. Damian was glaring at everyone, growing more and more stiff and uncomfortable. He was rarely around this many people. Black Bat took a step towards him, which set off another puppy growl from Damian.

“Cálmate, cariño,” he soothed, “todo está bien.” He mostly spoke Spanish when they were alone because Talia didn’t like it, so hopefully speaking it here would help get through to him that they were safe.

“Pero, Mama,” his pup whined, but cut off when Batman finally decided to show up. Jason pulled Damian into his lap and watched B.

Bruce — and that was Bruce, not Batman — was stiff and awkward as he looked at Jason. Yet, he could tell that Bruce was relieved. A small shake of his head stopped Bruce from getting closer when he took a step in his direction, a quick glance at Damian who was staring at Batman with fear. It was the suit, the pup really didn’t like it. His or Black Bat’s.

“Later,” he mouthed. His pup was too anxious for him to just leave his side and Damian would freak out if Bruce got closer. Bruce nodded, reluctantly but understanding.

“Let’s go.” With that, the door closed and everyone moved into place for take off. It didn’t take long to get into the air. Jason encouraged Damian to lie down and started running his fingers through the pup’s hair. He was still uncomfortable but calmer now that everyone distanced themselves a little, making idle chit chat with each other. Tim settled near him, but made no move to directly interact with them. Just pulled out a laptop and started working on something with a lot of typing. He blatantly watched over Tim’s shoulder.

“I left a backdoor in the League’s system while I was there. Just going back in to do some cleaning up.” Jason hummed in thought.

“Any case you can disable the freezer system in the two bases I was at? I’m pretty sure they still have samples on me,” he asked, being vague so it sounded more like blood samples than the frozen eggs he was actually concerned about. He didn’t want Talia and Ra’s using his body to make more pups without his fucking knowledge.

“Oh, don’t worry about those. They won’t exist soon,” he muttered, low enough that only Jason, and maybe Black Bat based on the reaction, could hear. ‘They’ sounded like it encompassed way more than what Jason requested. He leaned over to get a better look at the screen. It took a while to understand — hacking wasn’t his strong suit — but he did manage to understand that Tim was remotely activating the LOA’s self-destruct protocols. All the self-destruct protocols. Using Ra’s paranoid contingency plans against him. Nice.

“Good,” he stated. He sat back and checked on Damian again.

“So… Little Wing, how do you know Timmy? You seem pretty familiar with him,” Dick asked, teasing but also genuinely confused. 

“Talia kept me loosely informed of what was going on in Gotham. Don’t know much beyond names for the newer members,” he pointed to Spoiler, Black Bat, and Signal, “But she went deep on Tim. I’m 99% sure she was trying to get me to murder him on sight.” Jason didn’t want to mention having met Tim before. He did not want to deal with Dick’s teasing right now, when he couldn’t punch him in the face without scaring Damian.

“Why?” “How?” 

“Just good, old manipulation. She gave me a target — multiple actually — and then offered to help me plan revenge against them. Tried to get me to see her as an ally, I guess so I wouldn’t fight back,” he answered Dick’s question first, then addressed Tim’s. “I don’t think Pru knows this, so I doubt you do. I got dipped in the Lazarus Pit,” cue horrified gasps, “So she capitalized on the fresh Pit Madness to feed me bullshit about a rich alpha replacing me as Robin and that no one missed me.”

“I didn’t replace you.” “Little Wing, no, of course we missed you!” Dick tackled him again, this time gentle enough that Damian only tensed for a moment. A low protective snarl came from the cockpit. Jason was comforted to know Bruce still didn’t know how to emote like a normal person. It would be weird if he had gained emotional maturity.

“I know, she was full of shit. Although, you did replace me… Red Robin,” the derisive tone made Tim hunch, like he wanted to hide from the teasing he knew was coming, “You can’t tell me the sudden name change had nothing to do with the fact I used to be Robin.”

“Wait, is that the reason for the sudden change?!” Spoiler exclaimed. 

“No!” came the rushed response no one believed, “...Kinda. I just thought it sent the wrong message.”

“Eh, it might have? I got the Pit Rage mostly under control, but I might have punched you in the face if you showed up in the feathers.” No, he wouldn’t have but he appreciated the consideration. He stopped caring about who was Robin a year ago.

“So I was right! See, I do have good social skills.”

“Talia told you about Tim stalking us?” Dick asked, pointedly ignoring Tim’s last comment. Said former(?) stalker went back to his hacking, muttering about how he could navigate galas and other rich people shit perfectly fine. 

“Yep.” No, she didn’t, but Dickface couldn’t factcheck him. “Told me the new Robin was a creepy little fanboy. You got anything to confess, Red Robin? It’s awfully suspicious you followed around two omegas in shorts.” Indignant stutters slipped out of Tim, along with a return of the furious blush. Damian perked up at the funny noises. 

“That— that’s not, I didn’t. It’s not my fault you didn’t wear pants!” he defended. 

“So, you were looking?” he teased. Tim sharply turned back to his laptop to hide.

“I was a child, my actions were innocent and pure.” Jason scoffed at the excuse.

“That's a lie. Children aren’t innocent. Did you see how Damian sunk his teeth into Nightwing? I’m gonna have to get him checked for rabies.”

“Why are you still calling me Nightwing, we’re in the Batplane, it’s safe,” Dick interjected.

“Because my pup doesn’t understand that Dick and Nightwing are the same person yet, and it’ll confuse him. And taking off the mask won’t help,” Jason added as Dick immediately went for his mask, “he recognizes the suit more than the face.”

“He recognizes us?” Signal threw in. 

“More or less,” Jason made a so-so gesture with his hand, “I had photos of everyone that I showed him. He recognizes you, but he doesn’t like strangers. And he’s terrified of Batman and Black Bat.”

“Why?” Black Bat asked, which surprised Jason since he was told she didn’t know how to talk. Or at least, that was what Cain was trying to achieve. He guessed the years living on her own, homeless or not, would have let her pick up something.

“Your suit looks scary to him,” he replied. Black Bat frowned and looked at Damian, who hid his face in Jason’s side once he realized he was being perceived again.

“Oh. Why?”

“Because it looks like Batman.” She tilted her head in confusion. Jason knew that look. It made him regret teaching Damian the word ‘why’.

“Why?”

“He thinks Batman’s suit looks scary,” Jason explained. He kept rubbing Damian’s back, who started peeking cautiously at Black Bat.

“Why?” 

“Well, B specifically designed the Batman suit to be intimidating. A lot of kids are scared of it.”

“Yeah, that’s why Robin tends to handle the civilians instead of Batman,” Dick contributed.

“Why?” this time she directed it at Dick. His pup was sitting up a little, growing more curious about the answers.

“Robin is less scary. The bright colors of the costume makes it less threatening plus people associate Robin with being younger since Jason and I started so young,” Dick explained. Black Bat nodded, but was cut off before she could continue her line of questioning.

“Why?” his pup spoke up. Black Bat smiled encouragingly at him. Dick silently pleaded with Jason for help, but he shook his head.

“You jumped in, it’s your burden now. Why did you start so young?”

“Um. Is that appropriate for the pup?” Jason rolled his eyes and gave Dick a dry look.

“He was raised in the League of Assassins for almost 3 years. Just answer.”

“Uh,” he looked at Damian, “My parents —” “His mom and dad.” “— My mom and dad. Does he not know the words parents?” “Kinda? But mom and dad make more sense.” “Okay. My mom and dad died, and I was very angry, and Batman made me Robin to help deal with that anger.” Damian stared blankly at Dick.

“Why?” he continued. Dick floundered for a response.

“Because Batman thinks fighting is a good way to deal with grief,” Jason stepped in to save him, “Most of us are dumb like that.” There were shouts of indignation at that comment.

“I wasn’t in grief!” Tim lied.

“The object of your obsession suddenly disappeared. You were in grief,” Jason insisted. Spoiler was watching them like it was a scene in a telenovela. 

“I was not obsessed with you.” Jason just stared at him. “I wasn’t!” More staring. “...I’m gonna shut up now.”

“Dude, how much info did Talia have on us?” Signal asked, clearly weirded out by the thought. Jason shook his head.

“Nah. She really didn’t have a lot, just a lot of dirt on babybird here,” he reassured Signal.

“I feel attacked,” Tim stated, eyes firmly glued to his screen.

“You are being attacked. Be glad it’s just verbal,” he quipped.

Spoiler chimed in with “this feels like domestic abuse,” and that broke Jason for a hot minute. Because fuck, he might be carrying what could be considered Tim’s son and they didn’t know that. The hysterical tone in his laughter gained him concerned side-eyes from everyone.

“Fuck,” he breathed as the laughter slowly died, “I’m not explaining why I found that funny. You’ll find out later.” That didn’t reassure anyone, especially Tim who turned again to look at Jason. Still, he ignored it.

“Mama,” Damian tugged on his shirt, “hungry.” The pup climbed into his lap.

“Oh, we don’t have food other than MREs,” Dick said, worried.

“That’s fine, I have my own,” came the cheeky response as he fiddled with his shirt to reveal his chest. Seemed that Tim caught on and snapped his head away from the sight.

“You do? Where—” Dick asked, a question Jason didn’t bother to answer as he led Damian to latch on. “Oh. Isn’t he too old for that?”

“Nah, hasn’t grown out of it yet,” he replied, looking around the room to see that pretty much all the non-omegas were avoiding looking at him. Cowards.

“But doesn’t he have teeth?” Dick asked, shamelessly watching with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, since he was like 6 months old.” 

“Hurt?” Black Bat asked. 

Jason half-shrugged, “Sometimes. He’s accidentally bitten me before but normally it doesn’t.”

“You can get bitten while breastfeeding?!” Spoiler asked. 

“If they have teeth, yeah. He chewed on everything while teething.”

“...putting her up for adoption was definitely the right choice,” she muttered under her breath. Jason figured he wasn’t supposed to hear that, so he didn’t respond, but did underlined the mental note to talk to Spoiler. He really didn’t know anything about her.

“So, when do pups stop breastfeeding?” 

“Well,” he thought about Dick’s question, “I guess either when you or they decide to stop. I remember my mama still breastfeeding me until I was like 5 I think.” It was some of his earlier memories, having Mama feed him in her nest. It wasn’t an everyday thing by then, mostly when he was stressed or sick.

“Oh, wait, speaking of mamas, why does he call you Mama? I thought male omegas preferred like dad or papa,” Spoiler said. 

“Hispanic thing, I guess? I don’t know, omegas were always Mama growing up, male or female. Feels right to me.” It never even occurred to Jason to be called something else.

“Same,” Dick agreed, “in the circus, omegas were always mama, along with female betas. Although, I think I’d go by Tata if I had kids.”

“Inferior choice, but I respect it.” Dick rolled his eyes at Jason.

“We should probably change the subject so the others can participate,” he suggested. Jason racked his brain for a safe topic to choose.

“Oh, what happened with Game of Thrones? Has it ended yet?” he asked. Everyone’s face dropped at that. Damn it, that was not a good sign.

“It did and you are not going to like the ending.”

Chapter Text

The Batcave was as dark and gloomy as always. It was quiet, too early and too bright in the day for any of the real bats to be chirping. Still smelled like damp, sweat, and antiseptic. The Batcomputer looked bigger, there’s a workbench in the distance covered in half-assembled gadgets, and Alfred standing by the medical bay, at the ready even though Jason knew they gave him the all clear. Damian squirmed in his arms, twisting to look around the strange new space.

“Alfie,” Jason called out, taking a step toward the ever poise and composed Englishman. The old beta walked just a bit too fast as he made his way toward them, betraying his actual emotions.

“Master Jason,” he replied, the barest hint of being choked up in his voice. The older man stopped awkwardly in front of Jason and his pup, at the sound of the pup growling at the stranger coming too close. 

“Damian, stop,” Jason gently reprimanded, tousling the pup’s hair to distract him, “Sorry, it’s getting close to his nap time and he’s getting grumpy. You actually walked up slowly enough he would normally not react.” Once the puppy growling ended in favor of pouting, Jason let Damian down so he could hug Alfred unencumbered.

The grey-haired beta held on just as tightly as Dick. Jason relished in the hug for a moment before stepping back. Damian only had so much patience for this and he really didn’t want the boy in the batcave for longer than necessary. However, before he could fully break away, Alfred whispered a “Welcome back, my boy,” into his ear. He blinked back a reaction to that.

“Damian, this is Alfred. He’s my grandpa, basically. Alfred, this is my pup.” Damian was still wary, but compliant as Jason nudged him a little closer.

Alfred crouched down —oof, that crack did not sound good — and met Damian’s gaze at his level.

“Hello, young master Damian. I am honored to meet you,” he said. Damian stared at him, silent, until Jason nudged him again.

“Hello,” he said. Then after a moment, “Hair like mama.” Alfred smiled indulgently at the pup.

“Yes, it seems both Master Jason and I have the honor of having white hair, although mine is from old age, young master.” Damian just stared.

“We should go upstairs. They,” Jason turned around to address the rest of the batfam, “need to get changed so I can properly introduce them to Damian. And I don’t want Damian in the Batcave for much longer.”

“Jason, we need to talk—”

“Bruce,” the sharp tone shut up the older man instantly, “I am not a criminal. You are not going to interrogate me as Batman. You are going to get changed, and we are going to talk upstairs as family, not a bunch of emotionally-repressed vigilantes.” The alpha grunted sheepish and skittered away to the locker room.

“Whoa, he just pulled out the mom voice and B instantly folded,” Signal observed, slightly in awe. Jason ignored the giggling between his fellow pack members and picked up Damian before walking to the elevator.

“I took the liberty of preparing some refreshments, I was uncertain of when you last ate,” Alfred said.

“Thanks, Alfie. Damian should be okay, I breastfeed him in the plane, but I could use a snack. Any chance there’s chili dogs?” he asked jokingly. 

“There are. I got the recipe from the owner of that health-violation of a cart you liked so much.” Jason nearly stumbled in shock.

“Alfie. You made chili dogs?! Fuck yeah,” he cheered. God, he missed chili dogs. He was almost tempted to let Damian skip his nap so introduce him to a new food, but he did not want to deal with a cranky toddler later.

“Master Jason, language,” Alfred chided. Before Jason could defend himself, Damian piped up.

“English!” he answered. Jason smiled brightly at Damian before playfully bouncing him.

“That’s right! We’re speaking English. What other languages do you know? Tell Alfred what else you know.”

“Español. Arabic.” A proud smile replaced the scolding frown on Alfred’s face.

“Impressive, young master. Three languages is quite a feat,” complimented the butler. 

“Sí, cariño, muy inteligente eres,” Jason added on.

“Gracias,” Damian muttered into Jason’s shirt, suddenly shy at the attention. Jason kissed the top of his head.

“Alfred, you got a room set up for us? I wanna put Damian down for his nap. And it would be easier to talk without an anxious pup around.”

“Of course, Master Jason. This way.” Jason followed Alfred as he led him down the family wing of the manor, past what apparently was Tim’s room, then Dick’s, then what used to be his room, to what was previously an empty room.

The room had what looked like a full-sized floor bed, a bookcase where the top shelves were full of children’s books and the lower shelves had soft toys, with a matching night stand and dresser. The whole room had a soft white and green theme, with a circus-themed mural on the wall opposite the bed. Jason felt stunned.

“Wow. This room is beautiful, Alfred,” he said, walking over to the bed to put Damian down.

“Yes. The whole pack helped with putting it together. We wanted to make sure your pup has proper accommodations.”

“Thank you,” he said simply. He took another look around, this time evaluating the layout and eyeing the window on the far wall.

“Did you all ever update the security system or is it still just silent alarms?” he asked.

“Master Bruce increased the surveillance and number of sensors on the grounds and exterior of the manor,” Alfred answered dutifully.

“But nothing that would disable an intruder?” he asked for clarity.

“...I do not believe so. Is that something you feel is necessary?” he replied. Yes. Yes, it was.

“Absolutely. You think Talia is just gonna let us go? I know there are assassins stationed in Gotham, they fed her information.” They might have some time while the League was distracted figuring out the extent of the damage from the explosion, but not that much.

“Hmm. We will need to reevaluate security needs then. In the short term, what would you like to do?” Jason thought about it. He needed Damian to sleep, both because he was seeing the signs of Damian being overtired and because he needed to talk to his pack without a pup around. This room did not feel secure without him around though.

Well, it wasn’t like he was going far. They probably wanted to catch up in the family room and that was like a 30 second sprint. Just needed to slow down a potential intruder. Jason grabbed the bookcase and moved it in front of the window, then moving the dresser to further block that entry. Couldn’t do much about the door (locking it would also slow him down) but chances were high if they broke into a nearby room, they would set off an alarm with enough time to interfere.

“Is there a baby monitor, by any chance?” he asked. Alfred pointed to the top drawer of the night stand. Jason opened the drawer to pull out the baby monitor and accompanying printed out instructions on how to use it. Scanning the instructions, it seemed someone decided to modify it to be even more sensitive. Good. He turned back to his pup that was lying down in the new bed.

“It might take a while to get him settled down, and it would probably be faster if there wasn’t a stranger watching him,” he told Alfred. 

“Very well, Master Jason. We’ll wait for you in the family room, if you remember the way?” Alfred replied. Jason nodded, and with that, Alfred gently closed the door and walked away. 

“Alright, puppy,” he said to his pup, sitting on the floor next to the bed, “check in. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” the pup answered, distracted by the texture of the blanket on the bed.

“Okay. Are you sleepy?” Cue a big yawn from the little pup. Still he shook his head.

“No,” he denied. Jason nodded like he believed him.

“Okay. Are you scared?” he asked.

“Yes.” Jason reached out to comfort-scent his pup, going from top of head to neck to arms. He then nudged Damian to turn over and slowly rubbed up and down his back.

“The room is really pretty, isn’t it? There is a lot of stuff here for you.”

“For me?” came the sleepy response.

“Yep. This is your room. My family, my pack, they made this room just for you. You’re safe. I’m here and no one will hurt you while I’m here. I made sure the room was safe, didn’t I? And I’ll be here when you wake up. Okay, cariño?” he reassured his pup. Damian’s scent softened, nutmeg overpowering the clove and mixing with the everpresent milk-pup smell. 

“Okay, mama. Sing pollitos?” Jason smiled at the request.

“Los pollitos dicen, pío, pío, pío. Cuando tienen hambre, cuando tienen frío…” It took two verses before Damian's breathing slowed and deepened. He sang another two verses before he stopped rubbing the pup’s back, and another verse before he risked getting up to leave, grabbing the baby monitor. 

He made sure the monitor was on and working before he stepped away from the room, heading for the family room. The Wayne Manor was politely soundproof like most older buildings — enough that omegas couldn’t hear through the walls unless they focused their hearing or the noise was loud. Enough that Jason would struggle to hear Damian’s breathing from the family room, hence the baby monitor to soothe his own anxiety.

Approaching the family room, he could hear light chatter from beyond it. Sounded like Tim, Duke, and Steph were talking among themselves, with the occasional word from Cass. It seemed that the family reunion was just gonna be him, Dick, and Bruce in the family room then. That was surprisingly emotionally adept of them. 

Repressing the urge to brace, Jason walked into the room to be instantly crowded by Dick who leaped off the couch.

“Little Wing! How did you like the room we made for Damian? It was my idea to paint the circus on the wall. I wanted to make the whole room circus themed, but I was outvoted because it was ‘too busy’, and ‘too overstimulating’ and ‘too tacky’ which are lies and slander,” Dick rambled excitedly.

As Jason was about to open his mouth to answer — an insult about Dick’s lack of fashion and interior design sense — a hushed “Welcome home, Jason” cut him off. Not physically, the words were too muffled, too soft to be directed toward him. But mentally. His mouth closed, quip dying on his tongue.

Until this moment, Jason had been focused on practical things. Pragmatic. Getting Damian asleep, making sure the manor was safe, keeping Damian from having a panic attack, getting out of the LOA base, staying on Ra’s good side, keeping them safe from Talia’s manipulations, raising Damian, keeping himself alive, getting up everyday, not letting his captors win.

In a moment, reality settled in. He was home.

He shattered.

Breathing picked up, hiccups he tried to swallow down over the lump forming in his throat. Eyes warm then hot then wet. An aborted twitch of his hand as he wanted to hide, but Dick — the octopus he was — grabbed him first. Wrapped bare arms around him and pulled his face to a worn-soft shirt that smelled mostly of chocolate and popcorn, but with hints of coffee, sweet pea, peach, and pine. Apparently the newcomers kept up his habit of stealing Dick’s shirts, although the scents were too faint for him to determine which was who.

He cried harder at the embrace. A breakdown years in the making bubbling up and out of him. He followed, thoughtless, as Dick tugged him to sit on the sofa. He burrowed into the embrace of his head omega, baby monitor clutched to his chest.

Dick held him with a familiarity that was unfamiliar to Jason. They didn’t get along like this before, didn’t spend enough time together to even try. Dick was busy in Bludhaven and with the Teen Titans and with Nightwing and he was never around and when he was around he was fighting with Bruce and resentful with Jason. They spent more time tolerating each other’s presence than actively seeking it out and yet he was without hesitation, holding Jason like he was the little brother he never acted like. Like the progress they had made before he was kidnapped continued in his absence or maybe Dick learned how to be a big brother to the rest of the pack and now he was reaping the benefits.

Bitterness bubbled within him. ‘Why? Why now? Why wasn’t I good enough before?’ Yet he clung to the comfort. ‘Please, please, please, please stay. Don’t leave. Please.’ A whine built up in his throat, escaping through the stain in his jaw to keep it in. ‘Why weren’t you there before? I was alone. I felt so alone.’ Dick was on a mission. It wasn’t his fault, Jason knew that, he was on a mission, he was off-world, if he wasn’t maybe Jason would have talked to him. ‘But he wasn’t.’

Dick was trying to calm him down but his thoughts wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t breath, sharper and sharper gasps, chest heaving when he finally took a desperately needed inhale. A shift near him and he could feel other hands pulling him away from Dick, larger hands pulling him to a broader chest. A rainy, summer day cut through the smell of his own distress clogging up his nose. Bruce. Dad.

Dad held Jason like the pup he was not. He wasn’t a pup, he had one. He hadn’t been a pup since he was 12, hadn’t felt like a pup in much longer. But he felt like one now. He felt little in a way he never felt as an actual kid, aware and vulnerable and ashamed but clinging in spite or because of it all. Adults didn’t cry like this, adults didn’t break down at the realization they were safe and home and collapse into their older brother’s arms and curl up on their dad’s chest like he was going to protect them from the world. Adults didn’t do this, but pups did and Jason knew that no matter how old Damian was, Damian would always be his pup, and maybe, maybe Dad still viewed him as his pup. 

He shouldn’t. Jason wasn’t a pup. Jason killed people. He killed people to protect his pup and he would do it again and Bruce hated killing. The disappointment, the distrust, the walking on eggshells and stupid passive aggressive lessons about consequences when Bruce thought he killed that stupid fucking criminal that deserved to die. He wanted to but he didn’t because he didn’t want to disappoint Bruce but Bruce didn’t believe him and he disappointed him anyway. ‘I don’t want to feel rejected again.’ He pressed deeper into Bruce. ‘I don’t wanna feel like I’m losing my pack again. Please understand, please accept me, please, please, please…’

Dad tightened his grip on Jason, surrounding him with a thunderstorm that reminded him of curling up in the manor library to read, so protected that the loud booms and flashes of light didn’t bother him. Safe. Loved. No words because Bruce was never good at words and that was always a problem for the stupid alpha. Jason had to teach himself not to do that to Damian, to never let Damian wonder how he felt, that he loved the pup.

If he could get away with it, he wouldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t mention the killing, wouldn’t mention all the nasty people Talia forced near them that he had to kill, because they were threats and it was the only way to get rid of them. He couldn’t arrest them. He wouldn’t mention that Damian was genetically Bruce’s. There were enough similarities between Jason and Bruce, especially after the Pit, that no one would question it. Damian could be realistically played off as his. If he could, he would lie and say Talia fucked with the genes to make a ‘perfect’ baby but Damian was still his. He wouldn’t risk the rejection, the possibility of getting kicked out or being unwanted.

That lie wouldn’t last. Talia and Ra’s were cockroaches; they would emerge from the rubble soon enough. Nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse would end them and even then, they would figure out a way to survive. Eventually Talia would call Bruce and Bruce would pick up because he had a pathological need to know everything. Talia would tell him. She would tell him about the blood on his hands. She would tell him that Damian was their child, and he wasn’t, he was Jason’s but Talia would lie — but it wasn’t lies.

That was why he had to tell him. As the sobs ran out, and his breathing inched toward even, he knew he had to talk about it. All of it, at some point, but not all of it at the same time. He went limp against Bruce, listening to his heartbeat and Damian’s breathing. Tired. Numb. Dick shifted on the couch, growing uncomfortable with the resulting silence.

“Jay?” he hummed. “...Wanna talk about it?” He shook his head. “Okay. You don’t have to.”

“I do, because you’re going to find out anyway,” he refuted. No denial followed that statement. In a house full of paranoid vigilantes and detectives, no one knew how to leave well enough alone. They would investigate. They would know.

“Still, you don’t have to be the one to tell us,” Dick tried to reassure.

“If I don’t, you won’t get the full story,” he simply said. Dick shifted again, leaning in before backing off like he was indecisive. It was kinda funny to Jason, to see the Golden Boy so unsure. Maybe Jason looked as carved out as he felt and now Dick was second-guessing how to not break him again.

“And what’s the full story, Jaylad?” Bruce asked, gently like he was speaking to a victim or a witness. Like Jason was fragile. A distant part of him rebelled, but it had no energy.

“There’s a lot,” he started. Stopped.

“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted a heavy moment later.

“I know you went to Ethiopia to meet your mother and that the omega traffickers grabbed you from there,” Bruce offered. 

“My mother sold me out,” he hissed, “She drugged me and handled me over to the traffickers.” Sharp inhale from the pack — including the members eavesdropping from the door. Should he tell them to come in?

No, he decided, let them stay out there. Too many people would make this harder.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Did you know she was working with the Joker?” Bruce tensed.

“I suspected, but there wasn’t anything definitive linking them.”

“She was. That’s why she sold me off, I think, worried I was gonna mess something up. She was embezzling and Joker blackmailed her for access to the shipments. Although, I was told that after by Talia so. Who knows. Could be a lie.”

“Then the Joker blew her up,” Dick said. 

“Then he blew everyone up,” Jason corrected. Silence again.

“The traffickers use drugs that cause so much distress, it mimics losing your pack. I think — I lost time there. They kept me drugged until suddenly I was with Talia and the League of Assassins.” They didn’t interrupt him as he gathered his words and courage.

“She. They tried to make an artificial womb but it wasn’t working. Too many failures. So she decided to use a non-artificial one.”

“Jay…” the horror in Dick’s voice almost made him laugh.

“She didn’t rape me,” he clarified. Could feel the collective confusion (but relief) in the air. “Still violated me, but it was more. Medical. Test tube baby. IVF. She had some genetic bullshitery she wanted, so. They kept me restrained and knocked out for most of it. I hated those fucking hormones, it felt like I was in preheat all the time. And the egg retrieval fucking hurt. Then they transferred an embryo into me and I woke up to being pregnant.” That’s enough on that for now. 

Bruce tightened his grip on Jason, a low growl vibrating through his chest.

“Eventually they stopped restraining me. I did— I didn’t give up, but I didn’t want to hurt the unborn pup. Even if I — I didn’t want to hurt him. So. They gave me some freedom. And after Damian was born, they left me more or less alone to take care of him.” Jason took a break to just listen to Damian over the monitor. 

“I died when Damian was 3 months old,” he stated. 

“What happened?” Bruce prompted. ‘I gotta do it. If it’s gonna make things harder, I need to know now.’

“Two assassins broke in while we were sleeping.” Pause. “I slit the throat of one of them while half-asleep. I killed the other too, but the fucker got a few good hits on me and I bleed out after.” The grip the alpha had on him spasmed, loosening and tightening again. 

“Jason. God, that, that must have been awful,” Dick said, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

“Yeah. Dying and getting thrown into the pit sucks,” he agreed flatly.

“Who were they? How did they get into your room, were there no guards?” Bruce demanded.

“They were the guards. Officially, according to Talia, they betrayed her. But. I think she told them to try and kill us. Me. I don’t really know what the target was, I just. Had to protect my pup.”

“Of course, Jason. That’s — you were protecting your pup. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Jason hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t respond.

“I, I’m sorry you went through that, Jaylad. I never wanted that, any of that to happen to you,” Bruce said. 

“But it did. And I killed them. And I killed other people too. Ra’s wanted to see what an omega dipped in the Pits was capable of and Talia would get child predators to be my teachers. Succeeded in really pissing me off because they would talk. About what they wanted to do to pups, what they wanted to do to my pup.”

“Jason—” Dick started.

“I don’t regret it. I’m not happy I did it, but I needed to protect my pup,” Jason cut him off sharply. 

“Of course,” Dick quickly agreed.

“Bruce?” Jason asked, still fully laying on the alpha, “Got anything to say. I know you have opinions about killing. And I killed a lot.” Bruce didn’t respond immediately. Palpable anxiety radiated from Dick as he watched them. Jason still felt too numb to do the same.

“...I’m glad you’re home, Jason,” was the eventual response. A flicker of distrust burned in his chest.

“That all you have to say? Because I remember the last time this topic came up, you gave me a pretty heavy guilt trip.”

“What? Bruce, what is he talking about? What did you do?” Dick asked, about two steps from accusatory.

“I,” he tightened his arms around Jason again, “Jason. I just didn’t want you to make a mistake. You were… impulsive as Robin. And that case, I know how angry you were on Gloria’s behalf.”

“Rightfully so.”

“Still, there are—”

“Consequences to killing. Opposite and equal reaction. Blah, blah, blah. I get it. I’m not — that isn’t the part that bothers me, Bruce. We can agree to disagree on what's right when the justice system fails. I am not in the mood to rehash that argument right now.”

“Then what, Jaylad?”

“You didn’t trust me. I didn’t go to Felipe’s apartment to kill him. I wanted to goad him into a fight so I could punch that small-dicked asshole in the face, but I didn’t fucking push him. He slipped. But you — I could see it through the fucking cowl that you wouldn’t believe anything I said.”

“I did believe you,” Bruce tried to reassure.

“You have a funny way of showing it. It felt like I was on trial, after that. Like you, like you were trying to collect evidence to bench or arrest me. I could feel the disappointment from you. And it fucking hurt.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shut up!” Jason snapped, “Don’t you fucking dare say you weren’t, like I made that up. I worked so fucking hard to be good enough, to earn being Robin, to earn my place in this pack and after that case, it felt like nothing I did was right. You were always watching me, waiting for me to fail. Ex-expecting me to.”

“I was concerned about you.”

“Didn’t feel like it when you took Robin away.”

“Bruce,” Dick said warningly.

“You were being reckless, Jason, and going to get yourself killed. I benched you for your own safety. Alfred and I felt like you hadn’t processed your parents’ deaths and wanted to give you time to do so,” Bruce tried to explain. 

“Wow, holy hypocrite Batman. Seriously? The entire few months after Jason got kidnapped was basically a long suicide via rogue attempt,” Dick retorted.

“Plus, you were also fucking wrong. I wasn’t suddenly mourning my parents. I was mourning the feeling of being secure in a pack, because my pack alpha was treating me like a fucking criminal and I felt abandoned,” Jason spat out.

“Jason—”

“Batman is such a huge part of your life, that sometimes it feels like Batman is the real person and Bruce is the fucking mask. I felt most like your kid, like pack, when I was Robin, when I was part of the nightlife. So when you took it away from me, indefinitely, without a fucking reason, after it felt like you were questioning my place as your partner for months, I didn’t know where th-the fuck I stood anymore.” More tears somehow materialized from Jason’s eyes.

“Little Wing,” Dick squeezed his arm again, speaking softly, “Fuck, I get what you mean.” His tone sharpened as he glared at Bruce, “You’d think he would have learned after I moved out to Bludhaven when he did it to me.”

“I.”

“God damn it Bruce, seriously, you—”

“Stop, Dick. You’re just rehashing the same old fight. I wanna see him use his fucking words for once,” Jason cut off what he knew was about to be Dick digging into Bruce. This wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about making Bruce feel bad about what he did or didn’t do. It was about it not happening again.

Despite the tense atmosphere, Jason stayed where he was as Bruce tried to string together a coherent response that wasn’t going to get him verbally shanked. Jason knew he needed the physical touch to ground himself from getting too angry (he really wasn’t looking to start a fight) and he suspected Bruce needed it too with how he clung back. It reminded him of how Damian would get too anxious sometimes when Jason had to reprimand him and he needed to keep some form of physical contact to calm the pup. A psychologist would probably have a lot to say about the fact Bruce reminded him of a toddler.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Err! Try again. That is not how that sentence should start. You’re the one that goes on and on about how our actions have consequences despite our best intentions, B,” Jason interrupted. Bruce huffed, slightly annoyed yet still contemplative. Jason shifted to get a better look at Dick who seemed…anxious, mad, amused, proud(?) and protective(?).

“I’m sorry,” Bruce started, haltingly like the words were being spoken as they popped into his head, “You — both of you — are my sons. My pups. My pack omegas.” Dick looked unexpectedly pleased with the reassurance. “No matter…if you are Robin or not, or… if you’ve killed. Jason, you are a part of this pack no matter what happened in the League of Assassins. You were trying to survive in a hostile environment and protect your son. It sounds like a lot of the circumstances were manipulated by Talia—”

“All of them were. And I was well aware of it, but I didn’t, I didn’t really have any other choice. Not when letting Damian get hurt was the other choice,” Jason interjected.

“No. You didn’t.” Bruce tightened his hold again. “You both are safe here.”

“Even if I don’t want to rejoin the nightlife?” Jason asked. Not that he could while being probably pregnant, but even after, he wasn’t itching to get back on the streets. Not with a pup waiting for him to get home safe and alive. 

“Even then,” Bruce asserted. The atmosphere in the room relaxed again.

“Even if I kill again? Because I might. Gotham is fucking dangerous and it’s a matter of time before someone targets Damian.” Bruce tensed at that admission.

“That. You shouldn’t—” Bruce cut himself off. 

“He wouldn’t be legally charged if it happened. Omegan pup defense is older than castle doctrine, and a lot easier to argue than self-defense. Omegas don’t have a duty to retreat if their pups are in danger,” Dick stated, practiced like he had said it many times before. Maybe he had, maybe it came up a lot while working as a cop over in Bludhaven.

“That… is true, but even so, it shouldn’t be an easy decision to make,” Bruce replied.

“I can live with myself if it happens. It did happen and I’m still around. I can’t live with myself if I let Damian get hurt when I could have stopped it, Bruce. I don’t understand how you let us go out and fight baddies because I get upset when he trips and skins his knee.” Bruce smiled ruefully.

“Not well, clearly. It’s… hard. I’m relieved you don’t want to go back into the field, Jason,” Bruce said. 

“You didn’t answer,” Jason pointed out, “Do I still have a place here if I have to kill to protect my son again? Because considering our lives, it’ll happen. I need to know, Bruce.”

“Yes. I will do everything in my power to prevent it, but yes, Jason. You always have a place in this pack, you and Damian,” Bruce asserted. Jason sighed and finally moved to sit up.

“Good. I am tired and my head hurts and I’m fucking hungry, so enough emotions for today. I want chili dogs. And for people to stop eavesdropping on us.” Jason raised his voice for the last bit, directing it to the people still hiding behind the door.

“Shit, he knows!” Stephanie whispered. Some hushed arguing occurred and then Tim was pushed into the room.

“Would now be a good time to mention that I blew up the League’s bases after we rescued Jason?” Tim asked casually, walking over and dropping on the loveseat. The sheer audacity to bring that up now — damn, Jason didn’t know if Tim was trying to altruistically get the attention off him or take advantage of the situation to escape a lecture.

“What.” Both Bruce and Dick said, shocked.

“I blew up the bases. Left a backdoor while I was in the League’s custody, activated the self-destruction sequence. You’re welcome, by the way. Now they won’t have the resources to harass Jason,” Tim explained readily.

“Eh. You’re underestimating how paranoid Ra’s and Talia are. They both have their own personal hidey holes. I know Talia has one in Gotham, with some of her crew,” Jason responded, shrugging, “But they will be distracted which buys me time to get Damian settled and this place upgraded. May I suggest electrified windows?” Tim immediately looked thoughtful, mind sprinting a marathon. As he did, Stephanie and Duke snuck into the room. 

“To stun would be kidnappers? We could do that. I can do that. In fact, I can draw up plans that make sure no one unauthorized gets into the Wayne manor.” Tim looked far too ecstatic at the thought, making Jason very thankful he was on their side. That was a supervillain in an alternate universe kind of look.

“Okay, Timmy, rein it in. You can’t go full Home Alone here,” Stephanie interjected, patting Tim on the head as she sat sideways next to him and shoved her legs in his lap.

“I don’t know, Steph, Home Alone was a good movie. It would be hilarious if an assassin got caught up in one of those traps,” Duke pointed out, sitting in one of the armchairs. Okay, so Steph was the one that smelled like peach and rose — little overbearing for Jason, but he would get used to it — and Duke was the one that smelled like an autumn forest. 

“Wait! Tim, were those bases evacuated?” Bruce asked. He was staring at Tim with concern and maybe a little fear. Cass and Alfred finally walked in, with Alfred holding a tray of chili dogs that Jason immediately made grabby hand towards. Alfred gave him a disapproving look but nonetheless handed the tray to him.

“Potentially. Can neither confirm nor deny, but it’s the League of Assassins. Does it matter?” Tim answered airily, before turning back to Steph, “See! Duke gets it. It would be cool.” Cass sat on the armrest next to Steph and Alfred took the other armchair. Cass was the sweet pea from Dick’s shirt, plus a hint of basil. Light. Jason liked it.

“Tim, you can’t just—” 

“Bruce, are you really gonna start this now? With Jason here. After the conversation you just had?” Jason watched the back and forth curiously as he started on his first chili dog. Fuck, it was sooo good. The chili was rich and meaty, well seasoned, the hot dog was greasy, and there were plenty of onions. God, he missed this. Jason did not stop the noises that escaped him as he ate.

“I-,” Bruce sighed heavily, “We will be talking about this later.” Tim waved off the concern, refocusing on the others, but Jason caught the alpha sneaking glances at him as he made very appreciative noises. 

“So, traps?” Tim prompted. 

“What about knock-out gas? That would be cool?”  Duke suggested. 

“Can be a bit tricky, but as long as we are snuck with non-lethal options, I guess it can work,” Tim faux-reluctantly agreed. Bruce’s left eye twitched. Ha. 

“Tim, isn’t there something you should be telling Jason?” Dick said, derailing the conversation. Jason immediately looked at Dick, who was in full big-brother-teasing mode, then Tim, who was embarrassed. He took another bite of his chili dog.

“Tell me what,” he said with his mouth full. Alfred shot him another disapproving look.

“Honestly Master Jason, manners. Do not speak with your mouth full,” he reprimanded. Jason swallowed and gave him a quiet sorry before going back to stare at Tim. Tim who was not meeting his eyes.

“Tell me what,” he demanded. He wasn’t really worried since Dick still seemed amused, but Tim’s nervousness rubbed him the wrong way.

“Yeah, Tim, tell him what?” Dick piled on. Tim shot him a nasty look.

“You know what. That mess was your fault too,” Tim snapped. Dick shrugged, throwing an arm around Jason.

“Maybe. But I’m not the one he’ll be mad at.” Jason narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“Mad? Why should I be mad? What did you do?” He asked. Tim flailed as he rushed to explain, nearly hitting Steph in the face who instinctively dodged.

“Watch it!” Steph shouted.

“Sorry,” Tim apologized, “A-and it’s nothing bad, Jason. Just. There were some legal shenanigans with Wayne Enterprises after Bruce died and the only official members of the Wayne Pack were omegas that had to be dealt with in a creative manner. It — you should get settled in first and then I’ll tell you about it. It’s nothing irreversible.” The rambling was not settling Jason’s nerves — what the fuck did any of that mean? — but he glanced at Dick and Dick was still very much unconcerned. So. It couldn’t be too bad.

“Fuck it, I’m too tired for this. Tell me tomorrow,” Jason let it go. If it wasn’t life-threatening, it wasn’t his concern right now.

“Aw, really Little Wing? Where’s your curiosity?” Dick poked him. Jason shrugged him off, clocking that Damian’s breathing on the baby monitor had changed. His pup should be waking up soon.

“Dead for now. Damian should be waking up soon, so I should go get him.” Jason set the tray down on the coffee table and stood up. He stretched a bit, trying to uncramp his muscles from curling up in one position for so long.

“If you have bribes for the pup, go get them now. We need to do proper introduction for everyone,” he said, then pointed an accusatory finger at Dick, “no touching. He’ll bite you.” Then pointed at Bruce. “Try to look less constipated.” Then Tim. “Don’t be weird.” Steph. “You seem loud. Don’t be.” Then he turned to leave the room. “The rest of you seem fine. Be back in a few minutes.”

As he exited the room, he could hear the rest scrambling to go get whatever nonsense they bought Damian. He let himself smile as he headed upstairs. It was good to be home.

Chapter Text

Damian focused intensely on the grass, petting it cautiously for a moment as if checking to see if it would bite before grabbing a little grubby handful and yanking. He brought it up to his face, locked wide green eyes on it — then promptly shoved it in his mouth. Jason chuckled as the pup’s face twisted up in disgust and he spit it back out messily.

“Ew,” Damian complained. 

“You’re not supposed to eat grass, Damian. You’re a human, humans don’t eat grass,” Jason explained, but the pup was unaffected. Damian just kept staring at the ground with distrust.

“Don’t like it,” he whined. Jason rolled his eyes and lifted his pup up so he was standing on two feet again.

“Why don’t you explore a bit more before you decide you hate the outdoors? Let’s go look at the garden, maybe if we’re lucky we’ll see a butterfly,” he suggested. He pushed the pup toward the flowers and let him lead the way. Damian glanced back a few times — checking that Jason was still behind him — as he toddled forward, slowly getting distracted by the pretty colors.

“Don’t eat the flowers, they taste bad like grass,” Jason told the pup as he did the same routine to the flowers. Stared like he was waiting for it to bite before reaching out to grab. The pup crushed the bloom in his hand, squishing and rubbing the petals, fascinated by the texture. Jason stopped him before he could grab another one.

“Careful, cariño. When you pick the flowers off like that, they die. Try being gentle with them,” Jason instructed, reaching out to touch the flower blooms. He didn’t want Alfred to get too mad at them.

As Damian switched to poking and prodding the leaves instead, Jason could hear someone walk up behind him. A quick sniff detected coffee and cinnamon.

“Hey Tim,” Jason greeted, not looking away as Damian moved on to examining the leaves — and there he went putting it in his mouth. Cue another disgusted look.

“Damian, just because it’s green like spinach doesn’t mean it’s food. Don’t put leaves in your mouth either,” Jason told him. He knew this plant was nontoxic, so he wasn’t too pressed about actually stopping Damian.

“Is Damian trying to eat Alfred’s flowers?” Tim asked, keeping a good distance from the pup. Damian looked over at Tim, considerably less anxious than yesterday, then returned to his staring contest with the flowers. Jason shrugged and motioned for him to step closer. The alpha shuttled forward, corners of his mouth upturned as he watched the pup with Jason.

“Kinda. It’s his first time outside, so I’m just letting him explore however he wants,” Jason answered. The slight smile on the alpha’s face flattened out, brows knitting together in disbelief as he continued to watch.

“Really?” Tim asked. A single nod to confirm, arms crossing as an odd sense of mourning bubbled up in Jason.

“We weren’t allowed to leave the base they kept us at,” Jason explained, tempering the resentment sparking inside him with a deep breath, “and the short run to the Batplane doesn’t count. I tried arguing he needed exposure to the outdoors, but that would devolve into talks about survival training and I dropped it.” His hands clenched, the tension running all the way up on his arms before he deliberately relaxed them.

He lightened his tone to a mocking kind of serious, “So, yeah, first time outdoors. So far he hates grass and leaves. He might be destined to be an indoor kid.” A snort escaped Tim.

“What’s wrong with being an indoor kid?” he quipped, ”I was an indoor kid and I came out fine.” Tim withered instantly under the dry look Jason shot him.

“You ran around Gotham at night, stalking Batman and Robin for years,” Jason pointed out, making Tim duck his head in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up.

“God, this pack is never gonna let that go,” he muttered, “Doesn’t that technically make me an outdoor kid?” He looked up at Jason, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

“Absolutely not,” Jason scoffed, “You’re an indoor kid that escaped containment.”

Tim’s face scrunched into disapproval, “I skateboard! How does that not make me an outdoor kid?” A brief look of surprise passed on Jason’s face. He didn’t clock Tim as the type, figured the alpha had too much of a posh upbringing for that. Then again, the alpha was parkouring all over Gotham chasing them, so maybe he shouldn’t be.

“How old were you when you learned?” he asked. 

“Like 13?” Tim answered, “...I might have started it to help keep up with you at night.”

“Of course it’s related to your stalking. I stand by what I said, if you were a normal outdoor kid, you wouldn’t have resorted to risking your life to follow us around.” The alpha sighed heavily

“I can see that there’s no convincing you of the truth,” Tim stated, conceding defeat. Jason let himself grin at that, suspecting that the alpha could have argued for hours if he wanted to. Briefly, the thought occurred to him if Tim Jr would end up the same, if that level of obsession was something Tim was born with or was it because of how he grew up. 

He didn’t know for sure if he was pregnant yet — it took longer for male omegas to build up b-HCG to detectable levels so he didn’t bother with using the pregnancy test he ransacked from the Batcave’s medical supplies. He wasn’t sure what answer he was hoping for although the pit in his stomach was telling him he was.

“So, you gonna tell me what Dick was referring to yesterday?” he asked, needing to change the subject before he got too lost in his own thoughts. Tim seemed to deflate at the reminder, shoulders slumping as he started fidgeting with the sleeve of the sweater engulfing him. Jason thought about teasing him for needing a sweater on such a warm February day — there wasn’t even any snow on the ground — but he had bundled up Damian in an actual winter coat so he didn’t.

Plus the alpha might — just slightly — have looked cute in the oversized sweater. Not that Jason would notice something like that.

“Yeah. Honestly, I’m shocked you don’t know yet with internet access. You didn’t google yourself?” he asked, trying but failing to sound lighthearted. Jason cocked an eyebrow at him.

“No,” he said, dragging the sound out, “Talia showed me my death certificate and I didn’t think a dead person would be worth googling.”

“Well. In this case, it would be. I maintain this is ultimately Dick’s fault, okay? And Bruce’s, frankly. This is both their faults. I was just cleaning up the mess,” Tim preemptively defended. Jason nodded, playing along for now.

“Got it. It’s everyone else’s fault. Wanna get on with it?” he prompted. Tim took a deep breath, steeling himself. He straightened up, shoulders back and eyes steady as he looked at Jason.

“Alright, look. Bruce let Dick think you were dead,” he started. Jason forcibly breathed out, shaking his head. 

“Are you fucking serious?” he asked. Bruce didn’t fucking tell the pack that he was maybe not dead.

“Yeah. He didn’t tell anyone, not Alfred, not Babs, Dick, and later me, that he suspected you were alive and not blown up by the Joker. In fact! Right after I forced myself into being Robin —- which is a story for later — I asked him. I asked him if you were really dead and he said yes.” Tim spoke through clenched teeth, his voice staining to stay level.

“That’s fucked up,” Jason commented.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Tim agreed, “Should you be cursing around the pup?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“Damian knows curse words, I just tell him they’re not safe for him to say without permission. Right, pup?” He crouched down to get his son’s attention.

“Fuck is bad word,” Damian informed them, much to Tim’s horrified amusement. Jason smiled encouragingly at the pup, leaning in. 

“That’s right, yes it is. And do we say bad words in front of Alfred?” he asked.

“No!” the pup exclaimed confidently. 

“Exactly, cariño. No bad words in front of Alfred,” Jason reinforced, kissing the top of Damian’s head before standing up.

“That is a dangerous game you’re playing,” Tim informed him, holding back laughter. He shrugged.

“He’s smart, he can handle it. Back to the topic at hand. So, Bruce kept you all in the dark about me potentially being alive, I’m guessing to spare your feelings if he was wrong or some shit?” he said, trying to decipher the Bruce-ism that led to the decision.

“Nailed it on the head,” Tim confirmed, “He did not tell us about that possibility until after we got the omega traffickers arrested, once he had solid proof that you were in their custody. Then he told us. And Dick punched him in the face before I could.”

“Yeah, he’s fast like that. I blame Wally.” Tim seemed to consider the thought.

“That tracks. So while I was dealing with that information and informing Babs and Alfred, and dealing with that fallout, Dick decided to get drunk.”

“He got drunk?” he asked incredulously. Oh god, Dick was a messy drunk. 

“He got drunk,” Tim repeated, “And like any reasonable, well-trained drunk bat, he started hacking.” Alright, not where he was expecting that to go, he thought Dick would have tried to trash the Batcave or something. Put glitter on all the Batsuits. Disco-ize them. Not hacking.

“Hacking what?” he asked.

“Every state and federal database that had you listed as dead and filed a court petition at a local corrupt courthouse to modify your death certificate,” Tim recited. Silence hung in the air as that information was digested.

“He got drunk and legally resurrected me?” Jason concluded. Tim nodded seriously, looking stressed at the memory.

“Yep. And since he was too hungover to tell us the next morning, people saw the court petition before we could wipe it. I was able to prevent it from making the news, but it seemed better to go forward than try and erase it.” Jason cocked his head.

“...You had no proof I was actually alive,” he pointed out, crouching down to stop Damian from picking up a worm, “Look, but don’t touch. Its home is in the dirt so leave it there.” Damian pouted but stopped trying to pick up the worm and just watched it wiggle into the ground.

“Yeah. I know!” Tim exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “But undoing Dick’s work at that point would have brought way too much scrutiny onto us. Plus…” he trailed off. 

“Plus?”

“I… was optimistic that we would find you soon and it would be for the better to just go ahead with resurrecting you.” Jason smirked at the confession.

“Aw. Cute. But unrealistic. Alright, so how? Isn’t there a process for that kind of thing, wouldn’t I need to be there to show proof of life?” Jason was kinda dreading the idea of the media circus that would bring, but it sounded like he might just be lucky enough to have avoided it all. 

“Well, this was during COVID lockdown—” Tim started.

“What’s that?” Tim stopped short and stared at Jason for a very long, very uncomfortable moment. Eyes wide and mouth twitching like words were coming to him, but failing to escape.

“You don’t know — how do you not know?” The incredulous tone made Jason’s hackles rise.

“I literally said earlier that Damian has never been outside. I had no access to the outside world other than Talia for most of it, and even after I kinda befriended Pru, she doesn’t really chit chat. So, I don’t know what that is,” Jason stated, hoping Tim would get on with it. He didn’t like feeling out of the loop.

“You missed COVID. Fuck, did you get the vaccine? We need to get you and Damian the vaccine.” Tim continued like Jason didn’t even talk.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said more forcibly this time. Not knowing was making him anxious.

“Shit. Okay, bringing that up to Bruce later,” Tim snapped out of his thoughts, “uh, global pandemic, the world basically shut down while people quarantined. Everyone was encouraged to limit in-person interactions, maintain a 6 foot distance, and wear masks everywhere. It got weird.”

“...Alright, in depth explanation later but I got it. I think. Keep going.” God, there was so much he needed to catch up on, it was exhausting to think about. Damian headed over to the trees, the two adults trailing him.

 “A lot of things moved to virtual meetings like court hearings. Especially here in Gotham, we actually had a really horrible outbreak early on so we switched to virtual ahead of the curve. A lot of court hearings were done on zoom — uh, skype but different,” Tim rambled, gesturing so much that he hit a branch, “Ow. So, when our court case came up, it was virtual. Dick and Alfred helped me with designing a virtual avatar to pretend to be you. Alfred insisted on making it taller because you were due for a growth spurt which I guess he was kinda right in retrospect. Bruce was against the idea, but we were pissed at him, so no one cared. Some fake DNA results from a lab and testimony under oath later and you were alive again. Yay?” That… was very convenient. 

“When was this?” Jason watched as Damian ran his fingers over the bark of the tree, focused on the sensation.

“Two years and four months ago, October of 2020.” Jason took a moment to take in that information. 

This was very convenient. People could be idiots (no one realizing Superman was Clark Kent was a main example) but even the most oblivious would notice that little TJ Wayne looked a lot like Tim, especially if Tim actually stuck around. Jason wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen there, but he was open to letting Tim act like a dad. Regardless, people would suspect things and he needed to get ahead of that before people harassed his pup about it. There were better options for a cover story if the public record was him getting rescued over two years ago.

“How did you explain the lack of any public appearance? How did you keep this out of the news?” he finally asked. He would need to deep dive on the internet later, see how far this actually went publicly.

“We kept the amount of people that knew you were… ‘alive’ very small,” Tim explained, “I set up a code to delete any emails or texts relating to you from pretty much every reporter in Gotham. A lot of people got blackmailed, bribed, or NDA’d into silence. We would tell them you wanted privacy after your traumatic experience.” Decent cover story except — Jason pulled Damian away from an ant hill, better tell Alfred about that later — for the missing existence of a pup.

“And during all of this, no one found out I had a son from said traumatic experience. Or got him a birth certificate,” Jason pointed out, steering Damian toward the water fountain. Maybe he would like splashing the water. He couldn’t see Tim’s reaction, but heard the full body sigh he let out.

“Yeah, in hindsight, that’s pretty big oversight. I mean, we can still claim the whole privacy thing. If anything, it has more weight now that we can say you wanted to keep your son out of the media circus. That’s believable. Some people might try to claim you were ashamed or we forced you to hide but people are gonna say stuff like that no matter what,” Tim rambled, before tacking on, “It’s not hard to forge a birth certificate, we did that for Cass.”

“Better make one sooner than later, though,” Jason commented, before the implications of being legally alive violently derailed his thought process, “Wait — if I was alive, does that mean I got an inheritance?” After Bruce died, all the official pack members of the Wayne Pack were omegas including Jason. Tim sheepishly nodded, the nervousness from last night coming back. Oh, he was getting closer to whatever Dick was teasing Tim about. The rest of the pack didn’t seem concerned or curious, so they must all know.

“Yeah. Which. Ended up kinda being a good thing?” There was negative confidence in Tim’s body language and it fell further as Jason just waited for him to go on. “Really! It was.” Tim took a deep breath and steeled himself, facing Jason head on again.

“Wayne Enterprises is pack property, not Bruce’s personally. So it follows the Wayne Pack inheritance rules and not Bruce’s will. And the Wayne Pack has very specific language about the inheritance of the WE shares. They have to be passed on to a born pack member that was born in the Gotham Metropolitan Area, otherwise it stays in a trust managed by the pack. Which adds a lot of red tape, which is bad if, say, you want to hide the expense of building a Batmobile in the budget. And you were the only one with papers saying you were born in Gotham.” Tim paused for a reaction.

“That…really?” Jason was shocked, “That’s a thing? Did Bruce know about that?” How the fuck did Mr. Contingency plans not leave something in place to deal with that? He could have forged Cass’s birth certificate to say she was born in Gotham instead of wherever she was.

“It’s a thing!” Tim threw his hands up as he exclaimed, “A very well-intentioned, but deeply annoying thing. I don’t know if Bruce knows about it, but the shareholders certainly did. And they were not happy.” Disdain dripped from Tim’s voice. 

“I’m guessing they didn’t like that some Crime Alley trash was inheriting the company?” he asked rhetorically. Tim nodded, clear annoyance on his face.

“They did not. So this part is … complicated,” Tim paused to choose his words, “Alright, there are different classes of shares with different voting rights and those voting rights are how shareholders control the company, it gives them the power to appoint the board that actually controls the company. Having different classes of shares is a way to keep the majority of the votes without having a majority of the shares. That’s what we had.” Tim frowned, glaring into the distance.

“That’s what we had until some idiot sold off some of those shares. We didn’t have a majority of the votes, we had 45%,” he complained, “Which put the pack’s control of the company at risk. The shareholders were fine with Bruce, they weren’t fine with you. Specifically, one of them, Victor Hargrave, saw you inheriting the company as an opportunity. He was trying to convince the other shareholders to side with him and essentially take control of the company from the Wayne Pack. Wanted to completely dissolve the board and replace it with his men.” Having never been taught much about business, Jason wondered how exactly that worked, but he would take what Tim said at face value. 

“I’m guessing this is where those legal shenanigans came in?” he threw out, although he didn’t know what Tim could have done to improve the situation. Unless he forged some adoption papers to make himself a pack member since he was born in Bristol and would have qualified. It didn’t sound like he did that though, there would have been no reason for Dick to make fun of him if that was the case.

“Uh huh,” Tim confirmed, “... promise not to be mad?” Jason hummed, stretching out the tension as he turned to Damian. The pup stopped playing with the water to look at him back.

“What do you think pup? Should I promise not to be mad?” he asked. Damian looked at Tim, who awkwardly waved, then at Jason, then at Tim, and then at Jason again. 

“Promise no be mad,” Damian asserted. Huh, Damian was starting to like Tim. Good.

“Alright, I promise not to be mad,” Jason stated, emphasizing the words for Damian’s sake. He wasn’t planning on it anyway. It couldn’t be that bad, whatever Tim did. He looked back at the alpha, waiting for him to continue.

“I got married.” Alright. So he married into the pack, why would he be—

“...Was it to me?” Jason asked, realizing why Tim had started this conversation by explaining that Jason was alive and the heir-apparent of WE.

“Yes,” came the answer immediately. 

“And you couldn’t have forged adoption papers?” he asked incredulously, eyes narrowing in disbelief and, frankly, suspicion. That was really the only option?

Tim shook his head, jaw tightening under scrutiny. “It was too late to be believable,” he asserted.

“Really?” Jason questioned, crossing his arms and staring down the shorter man.

“Would the courts even allow the adoption to go through with Bruce dead even if there were signed adoption papers? It seemed easier to convince people that we eloped in secret than that I was adopted after years of publicly refusing and after Bruce died.” Tim didn’t back down as Jason continued to stare skeptically.

“You couldn’t have married Dick or Cass? That also would have made you pack,” he pointed out.

“Wayne Enterprises has to go to a born member of the pack. Adoption counts, but marriage does not,” Tim stressed.

“But marrying me does?” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Legally, no,” Tim admitted, fiddling with his sleeves again. “Us being married changes nothing about the fact that you still own the company. It's an inheritance, not marital property, I have no claim to it. But it counted for the shareholders. They saw you as an easy target, but they respected me. I was raised to take over Drake Industries. I’ve met those shareholders through my parents long before I got involved with the Wayne Pack. I said I was taking over as CEO and they didn’t fight me on it. They cared about the perception, not the legal reality.”

Tim paused before adding on, “Also, I bought back our voting shares, so now we have 60% of the votes. That clusterfuck is never happening again.” Jason breathed out heavily.

“God. I hate business shit and rich people shit,” he complained, although the back of his mind was already figuring out how useful this could be for him. “Alright. Then the crisis was avoided?”

“Yep. Crisis avoided,” Tim confirmed. Jason continued to stare at him, holding his thoughts to himself, watching the other get progressively more tense yet not backing away. Damian, bored of playing the fountain, tugged on his pants for attention.

He picked up his pup. “How did the public react to us being married?” 

Tim made a so-so motion with his hand before replying. “Mixed. I backdated a marriage certificate to 2 months before Bruce died, back in late June. Publicly, Bruce went skiing in Argentina, went missing, and was presumed dead. Once talk about the hostile takeover happened, I revealed we were married. The rest of the pack backed me up on it.” Harder to say it was a lie if the whole pack was in on it. He bounced his pup slightly, considering if he wanted to return inside yet or not.

“So Bruce is the only one that doesn’t know?” Jason asked. Tim nodded, finally untensing as he seemed to realize Jason wasn’t going to kill him.

“Yep. After we got him back from the timestream, we were kinda instantly focused on rescuing you, so he hasn’t found out yet. Anyway, there were journalists that questioned the validity of the marriage in the beginning, obviously,” Tim gritted his teeth, reluctantly muttering out the next words, “But Steph decided to be helpful by tweeting fake stories about me being, quote, ‘a simp’, which then lead to old classmates from Gotham Academy sharing stories and now the internet is torn on whether we’re an awesome love story or future true crime podcast episode.”

Jason took a deep breath. “What. The. Fuck.” What did those classmates say?!

“Yeah.” Jason’s mind just kicked into overdrive as he started walking toward one of the outside benches. There were so many implications to this, so much legal shit he was going to have to go over, PR shit he would have to catch up on, but fuck, this was useful.

“I still need a birth certificate and social security number for Damian — wait is Damian an American citizen? He wasn’t born in America.” Jason didn’t really know how that all works, he had never had to deal with it. He sat down on the bench, placing Damian on the ground in front of him so he could try round two of playing with grass. This time the pup seemed content to just rip the grass out.

“I think he is, because you’re an American citizen. It’s just paperwork. I’ll add it to the research list.” Tim didn’t seem phased by the subject change, sitting next to Jason.

“You mean the forgery list. Alright, so we got married in late June, 8 months ago. How well does the marriage certificate hold up to scrutiny?” he asked.

“Come on, I’m not an amateur,” Tim scoffed, almost offended at the question, “I picked a courthouse that got bombed by Riddler, so there’s no one alive that can question it. It’s signed by witnesses and properly filed.” 

“Disturbing but effective” Jason complimented, “When did we start courting?”

“A little over a year prior, in April. Two years after your disappearance,” he rattled off. That was definitely a common interview question. Has he done interviews for this? They must have.

“We can gaslight the fuck out of the public,” he blurted out, the idea just occurring to him. He wasn’t unrecognizable, but he did look different enough that people wouldn’t immediately clock him, especially with a pup no one knew about.

“What?” Tim asked, not catching on quickly enough. Jason gestured to himself.

“I look different. If we photoshop me and Damian into the background of some public photos, we could claim they just didn’t recognize me. Get caught on a date then yell at the media for not realizing it. It’ll be fun watching the internet meltdown and it would make it all less sketchy if I wasn’t actually in isolation this whole time.” Win-win situation for everyone as far as Jason cared about.

“That… We can do that,” Tim agreed, “We would have to be careful where and when we photoshop, but it might make people less suspicious. Well, until the conspiracy theorists claim that you’re not you.” 

Jason scoffed, “They’ll do that no matter what. Who cares?” They would have to go on a date to get caught on a date. They would have to work on looking like a married couple in public, and talk about boundaries for PDA, figure out some funny domestic stories — looked like he would finally have the chance to use his acting skills for something fun.

“You realize that you’re now a stepfather, right?” Jason asked, tiling his head to look at Tim with a faint smirk. 

“I, yeah, I-I did put that together,” came the hesitant reply from the alpha. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, eyes shifting away briefly before returning to meet Jason’s. 

“And?” he prompted.

“And what?” Tim looked up at him like a confused puppy. 

“How do you feel about that?” he clarified. Tim didn’t know about Damian when he did all this, and it would be messy to undo, but he wouldn’t force the guy to be a parent for the sake of a cover. Damian had enough people claiming to be his parent in name, but not actions. He wasn’t confusing his kid further with this bullshit. 

“Well,” he breathed out forcibly, “I didn’t expect to be any kind of parent at 19. But I’m not against it? Like I don’t hate pups or anything like that, I just don’t really know what to do with them.” Tim fiddled with his sleeves again, looking uneasy.

“But as far as the public knows, we’ve been together for 2 years and Damian is 3. You would have to act like you do,” Jason pointed out.

“Yeah, we kinda made a mess of things there. It’s one thing for us to be acting like a married couple, we’re both adults, but I don’t. I don’t like the idea of making a pup play happy family for the media. And it sounds like you want to keep the marriage going so I don’t, I don’t really know how to pull that off,” Tim admitted sheepishly.

“We can keep Damian out of the public eye for now and figure that out. I’m not making my son play pretend for the media, don’t worry about that. You would have to build a relationship with him. And yeah, we’re staying married.” Tim relaxed at the reply, looking paradoxically relieved that Jason just said he would have to build a genuine relationship with Damian and not take the easy way out.

“I'm not against that. But why? I thought I would have to at least give you a closetful of courting gifts to have a chance here.” That was a weird measurement. 

“...Do you have a closet full of courting gifts?” he asked, suspicious of the other. He stared the alpha down, who flashed a nervous smile and weak shrug.

“Maybe,” he replied, flinching like his own voice hit him. It must have just occurred to him how creepy that would be. The first thought that occurred to Jason was ‘what size’. Like a hallway closet or a walk-in closet from the bedrooms. 

“Maybe?” he echoed incredulously. Tim hunched further down, like he was trying to hide in empty air.

“...It’s just stuff that I’ve seen over the years that I thought you would like,” he mumbled. Jason blinked, now reevaluating his mental image with the knowledge that this was years of collection.

“That’s… kinda sweet, little creepy,” Jason commented mildly. The other man perked up at the words.

“But not creepy enough to reject me?” he cautiously asked. Jason kept his expression neutral.

“I need to see the gifts first to determine that.” He shouldn’t be encouraging this. He really, really shouldn’t be encouraging this. But fuck it, they were already married. Tim seemed to pick up on the fact that Jason not immediately walking away was, in fact, a great indication of his chances and popped up like a wilted flower finally receiving sunlight.

“Okay,” he agreed readily, before asking his real question, “So, why are we staying married?” 

“Well, for starters, it would be weird for you to try and court me after we got divorced, which I assume you would want to do. The more important reason, because I might be pregnant.” He tried to convey how stupid he found that question.

“Might be? I thought you were and just didn’t want to tell anyone yet,” Tim said, cocking his head.

“Nope. Might be. It’s not confirmed until I have a positive pregnancy test. I already grabbed one from the cave, I’m just waiting to take it. I don’t want to deal with a false negative,” he explained.

“Alright. What does that have to do with us being married?” Jason looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Seriously, Tim? You’re gonna divorce a pregnant omega?” he pointed out.

“No! No, obviously not. But uh, are we gonna be able to pass it off as my kid?” Tim asked nervously, uncertainly, like he was already imagining the public backlash if they couldn’t. Jason started laughing at the question, a full-body belly laugh that left him breathless as he thought of anyone questioning Tim Jr’s paternity. The kid was literally more Tim’s than his.

“Don’t worry about that,” he managed to choke out, “That will be the easier part of this lie.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Tim said. Jason got himself back under control.

“You are,” Jason confirmed. He stared at Tim in consideration. The alpha wasn’t pushing for answers, which made Jason feel better. He seemed genuine about being open to being a parent and considerate about Damian’s feelings in all this. Jason didn’t think he was gonna reveal Tim Jr this soon, but it would make it easier to plan if they were on the same page. Plus, being married means he had a good cover story to fall back on no matter what happens between him and Tim.

“So, unlike Talia, Ra’s did not want a child of his own. He wanted a clone. That’s what I’m possibly carrying right now,” Jason informed him.

“Of himself?” Tim said, confused with the slight hint of growing horror. Before he could go too far down that road, Jason cut him off.

“No.” Now Tim just looked confused.

“Then who?” he asked.

“You, babybird. You impressed Ra’s and he wanted a mini-you to control.” Tim bluescreened and stopped breathing. Jason waited for him to break out of it on his own, but eventually it reached the point of concern and actual blueness on the lips.

“Breathe, Tim. Don’t pass out on me.” The alpha took a sudden, deep breath, like he was restarting.

“No one's gonna think twice about a son who looks like his dad, they won’t think it’s weird,” the words spilled out of Tim like he was figuring this out in real time.

“Plus, different upbringing means he might not be completely identical,” Jason added, “Did your parents restrict your food?”

“What.” Blank look from Tim. Jason poked Tim in the side, making him squirm away.

“You look underfed, and I’m trying to figure out if it is because you have a high metabolism or did your parents prevent you from eating so you wouldn’t get fat? Don’t lie.” If Tim was just genetically scrawny, that was fine, but if it was because of some stupid fat shaming bullshit, he needed to know.

“...Mother thought it was unbecoming to be overweight.” God damn rich people. All that access to food and they fucking starve their kids. It was fucked up.

“I fucking knew it! We are not doing that to him,” Jason growled. 

Tim nodded immediately. “Of course not.” 

“What else did you learn not to do?” he asked.

“What?” came the confused response. Jason leaned back, watched Damian throw the ripped grass in the air like it was confetti, endlessly entertained by the action.

“We learn what not to do from our parents. What did you learn not to do?” If Tim was going to do this with him, then he needed to know that the alpha wasn’t going to try and repeat whatever his parents did to him. He doubted a scrawny rich boy would end up as an obsessive stalker that decided to moonlight as a vigilante with a normal and healthy childhood. 

“... We can’t leave for months with no contact. Or leave him home alone for months. Or make plans just to forget them. Or forget his birthday. Or force him to go to galas when he’s sick or to eat food he’s allergic to because we forget he was allergic… And he gets frequent hugs.” Oh, if Tim’s parents weren’t already dead, Jason would be planning a murder. Everything Tim just mentioned was the bare fucking minimum expected of a parent and he swallowed down the growl building in his throat at the thought that Tim was deprived of that. Jason held out an arm, gesturing for Tim to scoot over. 

“Get over here, Tim.” The alpha hesitated, but a glare had him complying. Jason wrapped an arm around the smaller man, pulling him in close enough to feel how cold the alpha was despite the layers he was wearing. Tim tense at the contact, but gradually relaxed as Jason waited.

“That bar is in hell and I’m gonna need you to raise it before we trip over it,” he muttered, “we can do a lot better than that. And we will.” Damian, looking up at the movement, stood up clumsily and attempted to climb into Jason’s lap. The omega helped the boy up with his free arm.

“Sad?” the pup asked, settling in.

“Uh, no Damian,” Tim tried to move away, but Jason made no move to release him, “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Jason had enough tact not to mention the waver in Tim’s voice.

“Sad,” Damian repeated. His son did not.

“I— I was thinking about something sad, don’t worry about it,” he dismissed. Damian looked up at Jason, who gave him a quick kiss to the top of the head and softly told the pup to go back to playing. Damian nodded and climbed back down, returning to his growing pile of grass.

“Is it weird that I feel jealous of an unborn pup?” Tim said after a long moment. Jason considered the thought for a moment.

“Nah. I don’t think so. We are supposed to give our kids a better life than we had, right? So, can you really say you're doing it right if you’re not a little jealous. As long as you're also happy about it.” Jason was sure he would have moments like that now that they were out of the LOA and Damian got to grow up with everything he could give the pup. It was bittersweet in a way.

“I’m jealous he’s gonna grow up with a big brother. I always wanted a sibling when I was a kid,” Tim admitted.

“You have that now. Big pack, older siblings-in-law.” He shook his head.

“I’m not really part of the—”

“Shut up. We’re married and probably having a kid. This is the most pack you could be,” Jason interrupted, cutting off whatever bullshit he was about to say. Tim didn’t have a retort for that, so the two just sat for a while longer until Jason decided Damian had spent enough time out in the cold.

Chapter Text

“No, no — Damian. Stop,” Jason demanded, lightly grabbing his pup’s wrists. Damian shrieked, bright and giggly, while squirming which caused ever more water to tumble over the edge of the tub. Jason’s everything was soaked. He playfully stared down his pup, who immediately copied him, holding still for a second, two, three — and then snapped out of Jason’s barely loosened hold to splash him again. 

One very dramatic defeat later and Damian had settled down enough that Jason could actually start to wash him. He was interrupted in his endeavor by his phone ringing. A quick glance revealed Barbara’s contact name and a request for a video call.

“Hey Babs,” Jason greeted, answering the call. The screen showed an absolutely miserable Barbara. A flushed face, deep bags under the eyes, and her nose was giving a great impression of Rudolph’s. 

“I feel like death,” she complained, voice groggy and nasally. 

“You sound like it. Damn, did you get worse?” Jason replied. He had been confused about why Babs wasn’t at the manor the first night he was back until he got a call from a very ill redhead that knew better than to show up sick.

“I think so. I’m glad everyone is cutting back on patrol right now because I spent the entire night coughing my lungs out.” Jason gave a sympathetic wince.

“Oof. That sucks. Wanna see something cute to feel better?” Jason offered. 

“Is it your son?” Babs asked flatly.

“Don’t be like that. You know it’ll help,” Jason replied, “Cariño, saluda a Babs.” Jason turned the phone to show Damian, but the pup was more interested in the bath bubbles than saying hi. Still, he could hear the beta cooing over how adorable his pup was. He was piling bubbles on top of his head like a little crown. 

“Okay, that did make me feel better,” Babs admitted, “Isn’t it a little early for bathtime though?”

“Well, there was a paint incident,” Jason informed her, setting the phone on the edge of the tub against the wall. He gave it a second to make sure it wasn’t going to fall over before turning back to keep washing Damian.

“Paint incident?” she repeated, curiosity coloring her tone. Jason sighed loudly.

“This is fully Dick’s fault,” Jason stressed, cupping Damian's forehead as he rinsed off his head, “Dick bought Damian a painting set with these huge pots of paint. I said no, because Damian does not have the self-control for painting indoors and I didn’t want Alfred’s wrath. I know how sneaky my pup can be. I said when the weather was better, we could go outside and let him, but not today because it’s fucking raining.”

“Okay…That sounds reasonable. So, what happened?” Babs prompted.

“Well. Bruce talked to the Justice League today, to get them caught up on what was happening and how he was gonna fake being found in the wilderness. I went to go join him on that call so I could tell everyone that I’m not dead and surprise, I have a pup. Do not show up unannounced, I will kill you,” Jason continued casually. 

“Except for Wonder Woman,” Babs interjected.

“... Diana is too classy not to text first. Anyway. I left Damian with Dick because I didn’t want to stress him out with more strangers. He’s had like two tantrums today and I don’t need a third. And I warned Dick not to open up the paint set. I told him whatever happens is your fault and you have to answer to Alfred. Then I left for 10 minutes, if that,” Jason told her, gently scrubbing a stubborn bit of blue paint off Damian’s arm.

“A lot can happen in ten minutes,” Babs commented, “How much damage was there?”

“It was a murder scene, Babs. There was paint everywhere. There was paint all over him, his hair, his clothes, the rug, the couch, the walls,” Jason gestured broadly with his hands, trying to encompass how far the paint had spread, “the fucking ceiling! It was on the ceiling.” Babs shook her head, the kind of fondly exasperated look on her face that everyone who knew Dick was familiar with.

“I am so glad we’re not having pups anytime soon,” she said, a hint of teasing and genuine relief in her voice. Jason took a deep breath before continuing his story.

“He left Damian alone with the paint apparently, seeing as he wasn’t in the room when I came back. So I grabbed my pup and I told Alfred what happened.”

“How much trouble is he in?” Babs asked, preemptively bracing for the answer.

“Alfred is still lecturing him and it’s been like 15 minutes now,” Jason answered.

She winced, knowing full well how a lecture from Alfred can cut deep, especially when it was a long one. “Damn. Sucks for him but deserved. Damian, what were you trying to paint?”

Damian deliberately looked away from Babs, not acknowledging the question as he started piling the bubbles on his head again, making the redhead pout on screen. Jason shrugged helplessly when she dragged her puppy dog eyes to him instead.

“Try asking in Spanish? It might work,” he suggested.

“¿Qué estabas pintando?” she asked, switching to slightly rusty Spanish. The accent was just a little off, but Jason was sure Babs would be better than him in no time. Everyone in this pack (or pack-adjacent) was a perfectionist. 

Damian continued to look intently at the bathwater, but this time he did mumble out, “El mar.” 

“Aw, do you like the water? Te gusta el mar?” The pup nodded seriously, although the effect was ruined by the bubbles he had piled on his head. Damian pouted as the bubbles slipped off, quickly trying to put them back. Not an outdoor kid, but was a mermaid. Great. 

“Is the pool still winterized?” Jason nodded, knowing exactly where Babs was going with that question.

“Yeah. It’s not warm enough, consistently enough, to get it ready. Also, Damian needs to learn how to swim before I let him near anything larger than a bathtub,” Jason stated. Should he pay someone to teach Damian? It was probably better to get a professional. Bruce taught him how to swim as part of Robin training, but he didn’t think that would work well on a toddler. He needed to figure that out before it kept him awake at night.

“There’s time to figure that out,” Babs’ voice broke him from his thoughts, “Anything else interesting happened? You’ve been back a few days now, settling in well?” Jason hummed in thought.

“As well as can be expected. Damian’s been acting out, which is either progress or a meltdown. Probably both. I talked to Tam, she’s enjoying her vacation away from our insanity,” Jason paused, before sheepishly mentioning, “I might have forcibly added a connecting door between my room and Damian’s.”

“Forcibly added?” she repeated, humor seeping into the words.

“Yes,” Jason confirmed, before moving on to cut off the teasing he knew was coming (‘it’s not paranoia if there are people after you’), “Tim told me about how we’re married.”

“He texted me about that,” she mentioned, before smirking — or trying to, sneezing ruined the smug look she was going for  — “You didn’t demand a divorce apparently.”

“For now. I’m letting him court me,” Jason told her. He paused a second, eyes catching on the ignored ocean-critter-themed bath toys. Courtesy of said alpha. “He gave me an obscene amount of courting gifts. Including stuff for Damian.”

“You know, we've been joking for years about Tim being a stalker, didn’t realize how real it was until this last year. I thought he just had a celebrity crush on Robin, not… getting called out for collecting your discarded pens,” Babs confessed. Jason blinked at the information. ‘Was that where they went?’

“...the pens have to be an exaggeration, right?” he asked, mostly for the sake of plausible deniability. He was curious if Tim still had those pens, if he had a collection of lost stationary.

“I genuinely don’t know. He might have a shrine in his closet.” The words had a strained light-hearted tone, like Babs was trying to joke, but also concerned that the joke might be true. 

“Nah,” Jason absentmindedly shook his head, trying to remember if he lost anything else at Gotham Academy, “He wouldn’t risk having that in the manor.”

“How are you so nonchalant about this?” Babs asked incredulously.

“I plead the fifth,” Jason said before changing the subject, “Selina stopped by last night, I introduced her as grandma to Damian.” Babs glared at him for a second, but rolled her eyes and went with the conversation shift.

“I know,” Babs groaned, “She blew up the group chat about being too young to be a grandma.”

“I aim to cause chaos,” Jason said, finally pulling the plug on the bath. “Ya es tiempo para secarse, Damian.” Damian pouted, not moving from his spot as the water drained away.

“No,” he said.

“Si.” Jason just dropped the towel on his head and started to dry his hair.

“Does Damian have a birth certificate yet?” Jason asked. Damian didn’t cooperate as Jason lifted him out of the tub, but there was no tantrum number three.

“Yes, still working on the supporting documents though. As long as no one digs too deep, he’s good,” Babs answered. 

“That’s fine, I just feel better with him legally existing. Harder for him to disappear that way,” Jason said, making sure Damian was securely wrapped in the towel before grabbing his phone. They exited the bathroom and walked the short distance to Damian’s room.

“I wanna see the door you added,” Babs demanded. Jason sighed and panned the camera, showing the vaguely door shaped hole in the wall. The dust and debris was all cleaned up and there was a temporary curtain hung over it which was pulled back at the moment.

“That is worse than I thought,” Babs observed. 

“It was a 3am decision. I think it’s better than it has any right to be,” Jason defended.

“Only in this family.” Jason nodded in agreement.

“Well, I gotta get Damian dressed. I’ll talk to you later, Babs. Despídete, Damian.” The pup looked at the screen then looked away without saying anything. Jason sighed and kneeled down, holding the phone in front of Damian.

“No sea tan pesado, despídete de tu tía. Dale, bye Babs.” Jason grabbed Damian’s arm to gently wave with. 

“Bye,” Damian blurted out, before turning and hiding his face in Jason’s shirt.

“Well, that’s better than last time when he glared at me,” Babs said.

“He even answered a question from you. I told you he doesn’t hate you,” Jason stood up, taking the camera off Damian, “Anyway, bye for real.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone now. Talk to you later,” she said, hanging up. Jason pocketed his phone and turned to his still towel wrapped son.

“Time to get dressed, habibi,” Jason said, deciding it had been a while since Damian had practiced his Arabic. He needed to be careful Damian didn’t get so used to speaking English he forgot. 

“No.” Damian pouted and clung tighter to his towel. 

“You need to put on clothes,” Jason stated. Damian shook his head stubbornly.

“No clothes. Clothes are itchy,” Damian insisted. 

“Okay. Then we’ll find something that isn’t itchy. Come on, let’s look,” Jason said, opening the dresser drawer to start pillaging through the options. He handed over different pieces for Damian’s judgement, knowing damn well the pup was just being picky. He already personally vetted the wardrobe and got rid of anything he knew would bother Damian. However, there was no rush for him to get dressed so Jason let him. Pick your battles and all that.

“No, too ugly,” Damian said, throwing a purple shirt on the ground. Damn, that was gonna break Steph’s heart when Jason told her later. He gave another shirt for Damian’s evaluation.

As Damian was staring at it, Jason’s phone went off again. Damn, he was popular today. This time it was a text.

Unknown number: u motherfucker. why did i find out u were alive from ollie! I thought we were bros!! 

Unknown number: also, Nightwing’s Flat Ass

Well, Jason knew exactly who that was.

Me: I hate that you made that your codephrase. Batman is a furry.

Me: Fuck off, Roy. I’ve had a lot going on. Also, who gave you this number?

Unknown number: dick after i spammed him a lot. and threatened him a little. do you really have a pup?

Jason watched Damian look back and forth between two bright, bird pun related shirts before throwing both into the growing pile of rejects. 

Me: Yeah.

Discount Hawkeye: me too!!!

Me: The fuck? You knocked someone up?

Discount Hawkeye: yeah. its a whole thing. her moms an assassin

Me:...cheshire?

Once a Trashfire…: ofc dick told u about that. IS NOTHING SACRED

Me: Saved up all your capitalization for that, huh.

Once a Trashfire…: shut up with all ur grammar and spelling. SO. playdate?

Jason narrowed his eyes at the screen. Sure, it could be Roy wanting to catch up and bond with a fellow parent/vigilante. But he was suspiciously quick to ask. He didn’t even know how old Damian was. 

Me:... are you just trying to get free childcare?

Questionable childhood crush: no

“Mama! This one,” Damian said, showing Jason what looked like the top half of a giraffe costume, complete with a giraffe head hood and everything. It was clothing. It was fine. He set his phone down to help Damian put on the shirt, the pup giggling as he messed with the hood. He gave it a few moments before redirecting Damian to find pants as well.

Questionable childhood crush: maybe

Questionable childhood crush: its hard being a parent and a vigilante. and ollie said you said you were retiring

Questionable childhood crush: and considering how long you were gone, they r probably the sameish age. unless this was a recent thing

Questionable childhood crush: is it a recent thing??

Questionable childhood crush: shit is it like fresh trauma?

Questionable childhood crush: i figured if u told them, u wer good but maybe not

Questionable childhood crush: i should shut up

Me: God damn, Harper. It’s fine, I’m fine(ish). Damian is turning 3 soon. He needs socializing so playdates are fine but you can’t abandon your pup until after we know they get along.

Seriously, why did I ever like him: Lian is 4! [Image attached]

Seriously, why did I ever like him: Cutest pup in the world

Me: (Dis)respectfully disagree

Jason snapped a quick picture of Damian sorting through the pants and sent it.

Seriously, why did I ever like him: ah. protesting wearing clothes?

Me: Yep. They’re ‘itchy’.

Dad and Arrow: yeah. Lian once spent 2 weeks in a grinch costume because she refused to wear anything else

Me: Grinch costume?

Dad and Arrow: ur son is a giraffe, u can’t judge

Me: Watch me.

Me: Seriously though. Don’t know if Dick shared anything, but the last few years have been. Rough.

Me: I don’t want to overwhelm Damian so maybe next month? I kinda want to do something for his birthday.

Dad and Arrow: Of course dude. Let me know and we’ll set something up.

Dad and Arrow:... need me to off anyone?

Me: No offense, but I don’t think you can take on Talia al Ghul.

Dad and Arrow:... i can TRY

Me: Don’t.

Dad and Arrow: ok 😞

“Are those the pants you want?” Jason asked, noticing Damian had stared at one pair of bright rainbow pants for a minute now. The pup nodded so he helped the toddler put on the colorful monstrosity. He took a picture of the final product.

Me: [Image attached]

Me: The cutest fashion disaster

Dad and Arrow: Not cuter than Lian

Me: Lies and slander. Anyway, we can catch up later, it’s lunchtime

Dad and Arrow: alright, ttyl

Jason shook his head as reviewed the whole conversation again. Roy could be so extra sometimes; it was why they got along. Hopefully Damian and Lian get along.

Jason eyed the mountain of rejected clothes. The pile could wait for later to be put away, it was lunchtime and he just didn’t want to do it. He would get to it before Alfred could complain. As he changed out of his wet clothes into some fresh dry ones, he heard his phone go off again. Jason half expected it to be Roy again, but it was a text from Tim instead.

Human Spy Camera: I told Bruce about us being married. Help

It only took a moment of focusing for Jason to pinpoint Bruce’s voice coming from the kitchen. Seems they also decided it was lunchtime. A quick detour to the nearest family room to set Damian in front of the TV (with his attention quickly captured by Zoboomafo) and Jason was ready to defend his (potential) future baby daddy from his unwitting baby daddy.

The atmosphere of the kitchen felt like a momentary stalemate. Like the echoing silence after a loud boom. Bruce and Tim were staring at one another. Bruce was glaring, hackles visibly raised as he stared down at Tim. His scent was… sharp. Tingly. Like the aftermath of a lightning strike. On the surface, Tim seemed nonchalant. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed but not tense, meeting Bruce’s stare with cold resolve and his scent locked down. 

To the outside world, Tim looked barely affected. It was the kind of cool, level-headedness that probably played great in the boardroom when he did whatever CEOs do. However, his scent leaked the truth of it to those sensitive enough to detect it. There were burnt bitter hints of coffee, of not-good-enough and not-pack and love-me-love-me-love-me. Jason held back a sigh, knowing that Bruce had made the situation far worse than it needed to be.

“Hey,” Jason said to break the tension. Bruce twitched, startled, and glanced over to Jason as he went to grab supplies to make PB&Js for him and Damian. ‘Oh, sweet. Peach preserves.’ 

“Jason, were you aware that you and Tim are legally married?” Bruce demanded. The tone was suspicious, like he was expecting Jason to say ‘no’ and reveal someone to be lying.

“Yes, I was,” Jason replied coolly, spreading peanut butter on two slices of bread. If this conversation went on too long, he didn’t want the jam soaking into the bread. 

“I told you that already, Bruce,” Tim said, exasperated, “He knows. He doesn’t want a divorce. He’s letting me court him.” The bitterness in his scent softened into frustration and annoyance as the attention was shifted off him.

“And you’re okay with this?” Bruce asked, not acknowledging Tim’s words. Jason rolled his eyes as he slathered jam on his sandwich, not deigning to look at the alpha.

“Yeah? I understand why Tim did it. The pack was in a tough position, one you didn’t prepare them for, and he fixed the problem. So what?” Jason replied. 

“There were other solutions,” Bruce criticized, “You have had too much of your autonomy taken from you. You were abused and forced into being a parent only to come home and find you were forced to be married!” A bit of a growl creeped into Bruce’s voice as Jason started on his second sandwich. The mild scent of cinnamon turned caustic as the words hit their unintended target, Tim curling in on himself as shame bubbled up. 

“Okay. And?” Jason said dismissively, “there’s always other choices. I’m sure there’s a drawer in your desk with presigned adoption papers he could have pulled out. And Tim was definitely disincentivized to do that, since being my packmate would have made courting me social suicide. Doesn’t change the fact that he did it to help the pack. That he wouldn’t have done it if there wasn’t a pressing need. He needed to do something, I don’t think it was wrong for him to pick the option he liked.” Tim relaxed as Jason spoke, his scent shifting to gratitude.

Bruce was clearly not comforted by that logic though. His scent still screamed anger-betrayal and protect-pack, with whispers of panic-protect-don’t-fail-can’t-fail-again. 

“It is manipulative. He’s forcing you to play the part of his mate,” Bruce accused. Alright, that was enough. Time for more direct intervention. Jason walked up to Bruce, furious on behalf of his courting-alpha/husband/stalker. Showing the intelligence otherwise missing from this conversation, Bruce lost the threatening posturing he had as Jason entered his personal space. Instincts telling him to not scare his pupped omega packmate.

“Bruce, I get that you’re in overprotective alpha mode. The last four years have fucking sucked. You can’t do anything to Talia right now, so you’re taking it out on Tim. Which is fucking wrong,” Jason snapped, “You’re acting like Tim didn’t fight by your side for years as Robin. That he wasn’t the one that figured out you weren’t actually dead and arranged for you to be rescued. That he wasn’t the one, incidental as it was, to figure out where I was. Without him, I wouldn’t be here right now. And neither would you! Or that he didn’t drop out of school to run your company and did it better than you. He’s literally been acting as pack alpha for the last 6 months, and as far as I can tell, did a decent job of it.” 

There was a moment of silence as Bruce digested Jason’s tirade. Tim’s scent leaked warm notes of pleased-embarrassed, which seemed to spur Bruce into speaking.

“Of course, Tim did a lot for the pack —”

Jason channeled all the disappointed energy he could into what he was saying. “Tim is sitting right next to you. Listening to everything you’re saying about him. And I bet you haven’t even thanked him once for everything he sacrificed and did for this pack while you were gone.” The anger in Bruce flagged at the accusation, finally overcome with the rotten scent of shame as he seemed to realise that he had, in fact, forgotten to thank Tim just as Jason knew he did.

“Tim,” Bruce looked at the younger alpha, looking chastised, “You did a great job supporting this pack as the sole pack alpha while I was gone. But I don’t agree with your decision —”

“For fuck’s sake Bruce, it’s not up to you! I’m the one directly impacted by Tim’s choices and I’m okay with it,” Jason interjected. 

“I — But why?” Bruce asked, confused and lost without his anger at the injustice inflicted on his son. Tim finally relaxed fully, hurt still simmering in the air but relief nearly overpowering it. 

“Because Tim is good people, even if he is a freaky stalker,” Jason admitted, “I don’t know him well, but from what I do know, I like him enough to not be bothered and give him a chance. I decided for us not to get divorced even though Tim and the rest of the pack were fully expecting that to happen. I bet they even had a plan for how to do it.”

“There are multiple plans, actually,” Tim offered. Jason gestured pointedly at Tim.

“See! Multiple plans on how to let me out of this arrangement. How is that manipulating me into anything when he was fully willing to let me off the hook as soon as I was actually involved?” Jason pointed out. Bruce shrank down, the scent of shame deepening.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered.

“What even was the point of this? Were you planning on kicking Tim out of the pack when he’s literally running Wayne Enterprises?” Jason asked. Bruce stiffly shook his head.

“No, no of course not. Tim is a valuable member of the pack, I wouldn’t kick him out,” Bruce insisted.

“You called him manipulative and that he was forcing me to be his mate,” Jason stated, “That doesn’t sound like a ‘valuable member of the pack’ to me.”

“I did not,” Bruce denied. 

“You did! Don’t play stupid, you implied it,” Jason said. 

“That’s what it sounded like, Bruce,” Tim agreed quietly.

Bruce stayed silent for a long moment. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, finally backing away from Bruce’s personal space, sensing his job was done. “Not even gonna try to apologize, typical,” he muttered, still audible enough for Bruce to hear. Bruce swallowed harshly.

“Tim. You — you were a good pack alpha. Are. Are a good pack alpha,” Bruce said, faltering, “I have not gone over everything you have done in my stead, but I know you’ve accomplished a lot. Jason is right, neither of us would be here without your actions. I am upset about the circumstances, but not because I think you are undeserving. If Jason is okay with this, then I will trust you know what you’re doing.” Jason bit back the urge to sarcastically say ‘good job’. It was progress and being snarky was not going to encourage him to continue the progress.

“...Thank you, Bruce. For what it’s worth, I don’t plan on forcing Jason to do anything and even if I was,” Tim gestured to Jason, “I’m pretty sure Jason could snap me like a twig.”

“I absolutely could and would,” Jason confirmed proudly.

“And speaking of my accomplishments, do you mind if we talk about what’s going to happen with WE?” he continued, “Because I have a lot of moving pieces that would make transferring ownership a bad idea.”

“Do you not want me to take over again? I thought you’d want to go back to college,” Bruce replied, frowning.

“I plan to, but I don’t see why I have to give up being CEO,” Tim said, causing Bruce’s frown to deepen. From angry and accusing to worried about Tim’s abysmal work-life balance. Only in this pack. Figuring the mood was as improved as he was going to get it, Jason grabbed the sandwiches he made and a bag of baby carrots and left the kitchen, feeling accomplished from a job well done.

Damian was still watching the show, blissfully unaware of any strife in the house. Jason plopped down next to his pup and handed him a carrot to munch on.

Chapter Text

Part of being Robin was knowing his own body — his limitations, his capability, and his current status. To know without thinking if that jump was doable, whether to dodge or block, if his reaction time was slowed, or if something was broken. Sure, Jason didn’t always respect what his body told him. Pushed past his limits and fought with broken ribs enough times to memorize Alfred’s lectures but he did so knowingly and that mattered.

The dream started off nondescript. Just Jason trapped in that prison cell they called his room, no furniture, no books, no connection to the outside world, nothing. It made time drag on, made the more than half a year feel like more than a decade. Locked away and forgotten. He was alone, alone in the room, alone without a pack, alone with his thoughts and yet — technically not physically alone.

He laid, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t moved in ages. His arms were stiffly at his sides, banned from resting on his stomach ever since he noticed the growing swell of it. His mind was blank — not absent of thought but blocked. Thoughts were unproductive. Thoughts lead to breaking the mirror in the bathroom for a glass shard and blood and ended with being restrained again. They just stopped tying him to a bed and he didn’t want to go back to that level of restriction.

The awareness that something was different was quick but confused. A fluttering in his stomach — no, lower. Behind his abdominal muscles. Faint, fleeting. Gone before he could come up with an explanation, partially thinking it was trapped gas but that didn’t feel right but what else could it be? He didn’t move. He didn’t react. He laid still, waiting.

Repetition. It came back, still faint, still weak. The flutter wasn’t really fluttering the more he felt it — the sensation was more like… a bouncing? Bumping against his insides? It viscerally reminded him of a goldfish in a plastic bag swimming into the sides. Bouncing off its invisible walls, recalibrating, and then running into a new one. The sensation was easily missed and easily dismissed if it were anyone other than Jason. Jason who was trained to know his body and know its quirks. Jason who had nothing better to do than stare at the ceiling and feel his body.

The realization it had to be the… thing inside him was sharp. It cut him in a way the glass didn’t. Cold heat washed over him, his skin frigid but his insides bubbling a sickening hot. The heat settled behind his eyes. The tears burned his skin. Fear froze him. An alien in his own skin when he wasn’t the intruder. 

It was the bone deep sense of wrongness, of foreign, of the point — not of no return, but no denial — that woke Jason. No gasp, no scream, but a harsh shift from sleep to awareness. Aware of the draft in the room, the mattress under his back, and the pup still sleeping by his side. Right. Damian still had trouble sleeping in the manor so Jason, more often than not, slept in his room, on a bed not big enough to fit him but such were the sacrifices a mama made.

He climbed out of bed, not looking at Damian, not addressing the mess in his mind and his body. He grabbed the baby monitor and checked security on the window and looked outside for any sign of intruders before leaving the room. He didn’t have a destination he wanted, so he figured the kitchen was as good as any. The manor was silent, past the time patrol was over.

The manor should be silent and yet he could hear the microwave beeping and the smell of the cheap hot chocolate mix that Alfred hated but both Bruce and Jason loved for reasons that had more to do with nostalgia than taste. It was a weird day when he learned that Martha Wayne and Catherine Todd bought the same brand of anything.

“Jason,” concern quickly settled over the surprise on Bruce’s face, “what are you doing up?” He didn’t acknowledge the question as he sat by the breakfast counter, crossing his arms over the surface and settling his chin over his arms. He stared at the alpha, who was dressed in the stupid rich people pajamas with a matching robe, but had an exhaustion in his shoulders that meant he hadn’t slept yet. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he finally answered, watching as Bruce got twitchy under his silence. He waited for the overprotective man to register the words, body not relaxing but shifting to deliberate lack of tension before he continued, “And you?”

“Couldn’t settle down after patrol,” Bruce replied, then gestured to the mug of hot milk and poorly incorporated powder, “thought a warm drink might help.”

Jason scoffed, shaking his head at the poor but familiar attempt, “How is it you still fuck up instant hot chocolate?” Bruce stiffened, pouting as he clutched the mug to his chest.

“This was how my mother made it,” he defended. Jason nodded numbly, having heard the explanation before and still finding a flicker of amusement that the great, late Martha Wayne couldn’t successfully make hot chocolate. It humanized her in a way that hurt.

“Well, Mama used water, but at least she mixed it well,” he joked, tone flatter than he normally would have but this was a well rehearsed exchange and Bruce didn’t miss his cue.

“The powder adds texture,” Bruce stated, taking a sip as if to prove he liked it that way. Silence settled into the room again. The omega watched as Bruce scrutinized him, not feeling up to fighting the attention. Or hiding from the scrutiny.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Bruce asked, hesitantly, sounding a lot less demanding than usual. Probably didn’t want Jason to yell at him in the middle of the night  — if Alfred woke up to break up a fight between them, they were both sleeping outside in the cold. Or maybe Bruce was tired of Jason leaving him with verbal wounds and bruised pride. He had to watch his tongue around Talia, but here he can wield words as knives and enjoy it.

“Not really,” Jason muttered, “Just… a bad dream. Memory if I’m being specific.”

“Of your time in the League?” Bruce prompted. Jason hummed noncommittally, considering for a moment or two if he wanted to continue or leave it at that. He was tempted to stay quiet, but he needed to return to Damian eventually and he didn’t want to be in this headspace when he did. He could be pregnant again and he didn’t want to feel like that again. He couldn’t kick this down the line forever without something breaking.

“About being pregnant with Damian,” he admitted quietly, turning his head to the side to avoid looking at Bruce, “The first time I felt him move.”

“Oh.” That one sound was so lost it made Jason smile for a second. The Batman being at a loss for words would always amuse him. “Uh. How, how do you feel about that?” It was said like reciting a quote from a book.

A million different answers came to him. “Horrified.” Footsteps echoed in the room as Jason gathered his words. “Guilty. Angry. Disgusted. It was the first time I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. Where it shifted from the thing that happened to this thing growing inside me. The first time Damian was… a future pup. That could move. On his own. And I could fucking feel it.” A warm hand settled on his shoulder, the comforting smell of a summer rainstorm surrounding him. 

“I love Damian,” he emphasized, because he needed to say it, needed to remind Bruce, needed to remind himself, “I wouldn’t give him up. Ever. But I hate how it happened. I hate what happened to me. And I try to keep those separate, but it's hard.”

“That’s understandable, Jason,” Bruce tried to reassure him. The omega sat up, frowning at the marble counter as he tried to pull at the tangled mess of emotions and pregnancy and motherhood and all the things his dad couldn’t ever understand.

“The first month they kept me fucking drugged,” he shared, reflecting on the scattered memories, “I was furious. I tried to fight my way out anytime I could string two thoughts together. I didn’t — it wasn’t a pregnancy then. It was — it was just what they did to me. I didn’t even think about what I would do if I got out, I just wanted out.” The alpha squeezed his shoulder, closing his mouth when Jason shook his head. He wasn’t done and if he got interrupted, he might not finish.

“Then it was the restraints. Like the kind they put on violent patients in a hospital. Insurance to make sure I didn’t try anything while I wasn’t drugged. Which just left me with my thoughts. I couldn’t fucking stop thinking. I just. I felt so disgusted. At myself, at my body. At getting myself into the fucking situation and not being able to get myself out,” Jason hissed, nails biting into his hands as he clenched them.

“— It wasn’t your fault,” Bruce cut in. Jason shrugged, nearly throwing the alpha’s hand off.

“Felt like it was. I hated it. I hated myself. I — when they got rid of the restraints, I didn’t do anything at first. I didn’t know what to do. The pregnancy didn’t feel real but I could feel the changes to my body and I didn’t want it inside me but I couldn’t even think about hurting him. I. Fuck. I felt so trapped. I wanted to die, Bruce.” Jason felt arms wrap around him and he didn’t fight it as his dad squeezed the life out of him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re okay now,” Dad murmured into his hair.

“Makes me feel like a terrible mom,” the omega admitted, shame bubbling up inside him, “Like, like that there’s a part of me that resents my own pup, because how can I hate what brought him into the world without hating him. But I don’t. I don’t hate him. He was mine the second I had him in my arms.”

“Jason, you are the furthest from a terrible mother. Everyone in this pack can see how much you care about Damian. Everything you do is about keeping him safe and happy. I might not agree with some of the changes made to the security system, but they are admittedly effective. You decided to retire to take care of him, when a lot of heroes don’t. You are a good mother. It’s natural to feel…conflicted.” Dad paused, taking a moment to just pump out safety-pack in his scent. “What happened was violating. I doubt you're the first omega that’s felt like this. There are resources for dealing with this kind of situation.”

Jason sighed heavily. “Probably not. But I’m not sure how I would… how do I explain that I got kidnapped for a — a medical experiment by my dad’s crazy ex-girlfriend. It’s not like I can give them the full story. And I don’t want to lie about being assaulted, because I wasn’t. Not. Not like that.” It was an important distinction to him that it wasn’t like that.

“You don’t have to lie about being assaulted, there are… at home methods that would be comparable. It’s not your responsibility to explain your attacker’s motivation, you would just have to focus on what happened to you.” Damn his brain, the image he instinctively conjured made him physically gag hard enough to make Bruce panic. “Jason, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing I just — I imagined that and it made me want to throw up. I’m fine, Bruce. That. I’ll think about it, I — I know I need help, I just don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.” Bruce rubbed his back, like Jason had actually thrown up instead of just throwing a dramatic fit.

“Okay. Whenever you are, we’ll find the best there is.”

“You better.” Jason sat up, feeling the quiet in the room again. It wasn’t tense, but he could sense Bruce holding himself back. There was curiosity and worry and should-I? in the air and the quiet grinding of teeth he always did when he thought too hard.

“You have a question,” Jason stated, watching the other for his reaction. Bruce pressed his lips together and nodded. “Ask. Might as well while I feel like sharing.”

The alpha hesitated, “You’re tired. Now isn’t the right time.”

“It’ll bother me more if you don’t ask. It’s something about Damian, I’m guessing, and it will drive me insane if you don’t just get it out,” Jason told him. Bruce seemed to give at the words, nodding slightly. He did back up a bit, giving the omega breathing room again.

“You mentioned that Talia was trying to develop an artificial womb,” Jason nodded at that. He did, didn’t think that revealed too much. “It wouldn’t make sense to go through that effort unless she was trying to use her own eggs but avoid carrying.” Well, damn. He didn’t consider that implication. He was kinda hoping they would just assume she wanted to prove she could.

“If her goal was to just have a biological child, clearly it would have been much easier to find an omega or female beta to impregnate. No artificial womb necessary. Which means whatever she planned originally, didn’t include another parent that could carry. She didn’t have an option other than an artificial womb. I find it hard to believe she diverted so far from her original plan.” There was an edge of suspicion and dread in Bruce’s voice. 

“I don’t hear a question there,” Jason replied. Well, he bought himself some time before Bruce figured it out. Not too bad considering he never actually came up with a plan on what to say. 

“I know you said they retrieved eggs from you, but I find it easier to believe Damian is Talia’s biological son than yours. Are you really Damian’s other parent, Jason?” He stared at his head alpha, deliberating on if he wanted to lie or give a half-truth. He could certainly spin a story of Talia feeling that omegas were too weak to be involved in making her son, but deciding after the abject failure of her original plan that Jason was good enough. With careful genetic selection, of course. He did prove himself to Ra’s enough to be trained. He could sell it.

That would be turning an omission into a lie, though. While Jason was fine with failing to inform his pack of everything, he didn’t want to outright lie to his pack for god knows how long. Plus, Talia would reveal the truth eventually. He could just not answer. Walk away right now. However, that would confirm to Bruce that he was on the right track. If Bruce hadn’t already guessed the truth out of inherent disgust for the notion, he would figure it out soon. It would be much more awkward that way.

He didn’t really have much of a choice here, did he?

“You sure you want the answer to that, Bruce?” Jason asked, unable to resist procrastinating a little longer. The alpha visibly steeled himself.

“Yes.”

“Nothing I say changes the fact that Damian is my son, in ways that matter more than blood. You understand that?” Bruce took the time to answer, hopefully considering what it really meant to agree, before nodding.

“Of course, Jason,” he said. 

Jason sighed before muttering, “Okay. Remember that.” With that, he took a deep breath to prepare himself before speaking, looking at Bruce.

“Alright. I don’t think there is any softening of this, so I’m gonna be blunt. Your psychotic ex-girlfriend wanted to have your kid despite it being biologically impossible for two alphas and decided I was the easiest shortcut to make that happen.” Jason could see the moment on the alpha’s face when those words registered.

He went from the subtle stress lines of wanting-to-be-wrong-anxiety to blatant horror-filled wide eyes and slack jaw. His scent went unintelligible before he shut it down, leaving Jason feeling more vulnerable than he liked.

“There are so many things wrong with that sentence,” the words tumbled out of Bruce as the gears turning in his head grinded to an audible stop.

“As you figured out — her original plan was to make a kid without an omega. That didn’t work. They couldn’t even get a viable embryo, much less an artificial womb working. They used my egg to actually make the embryo viable but stripped it of — well, me. They replaced the DNA with a mix of Talia and you,” Jason explained, detached — adding on almost absentmindedly, “unless you tested the mitochondrial DNA, I think.”

“Damian is my son?” Bruce mumbled, brain still offline. The omega narrowed his eyes, holding back a snarl.

“He is not yours, anymore than he’s Talia’s. You are a sperm donor,” he said harshly. Bruce flinched — it was so small that most wouldn’t have caught it — and Jason took a breath and tried to calm down. Bruce wasn’t the enemy here, no need to stab him yet.

“I — I didn’t think past the fact that it didn’t make sense for Talia to create a child with you,” Bruce started, flat in tone and face, “I assumed that this was another Cain situation, where she just wanted to create the perfect assassin and had selected the optimal male beta from the League to do so. Fertility rates are low with alpha/beta pairs, but it’s not uncommon.” Bruce paused, seemingly searching for the right phrasing, “I didn’t really consider that I would be more… involved than I first thought.”

“Involved,” Jason repeated back, lightly mocking, “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Personally, I like ‘the consequences of sticking your dick in crazy.’” Bruce flinched at the accusation.

“Jason.” The tone was an attempt to be reprimanding, but missed the mark by a mile.

“Don’t try that shit with me, Bruce. You’re the one who dated someone that grew up in a murder cult run by the immortal egomaniac that was her father. After training with them for years,” Jason gave him a withering glare, “So you knew exactly their brand of crazy. You can’t tell me that relationship was ever a good idea.”

“It was a long time ago,” Bruce tried to excuse. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Not long enough. I just can’t believe you put me through a two hour long powerpoint about safe sex and didn’t take your own advice. Hypocrite,” he retorted. Bruce looked — uncomfortably — confused, with horror slowly replacing the confusion.

“Why do you think I didn’t?” he asked cautiously.

“Because I overheard enough conversations to know they didn’t use your hair or blood as a DNA source,” Jason choked out, gagging a little, “So if you did, that means Talia fished a condom out of the trash, which adds another layer to the preemptive fuckery of this whole thing.” At this point, Bruce looked as nauseous as Jason felt by the topic.

“I am so sorry, Jason. I should have done better to protect you from her,” Bruce said, guilt clear in his everything.

“Ugh, no. Bruce. Stop. Don’t start with that,” Jason groaned. He didn’t want this devolving to a pity party for Bruce at the ass crack of dawn, “You’re also a victim of the shit Talia pulled and while I will make fun of you for sticking your dick in crazy, what Talia did is not your fault. She baby trapped you by imprisoning and medically violating your adopted son. If you had somehow predicted that, I would be questioning your status as a baseline human.”

Bruce still looked like he swallowed a lemon. “None of that was comforting.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m stating facts. You didn’t know, couldn’t have known, and once you did know, you got me out. This is Talia’s fault, not yours. I don’t want to hear it, take your self-flagellation to someone else.” Jason glared at Bruce as he clearly geared up to argue.

“I — okay,” the alpha, for once in his life, dropped the subject and deflated, “What — what does this mean for Damian?”

“I know that you knowing he is,” Jason fake — real — gagged again, “genetically your son matters to you. I’m adult enough to acknowledge that. But I gave birth to him, so that matters more. Also, I don’t trust you to be his parent.”

“I’m in my 40s and adopted 3 kids,” Bruce stated, confused and mildly offended.

“Congratulations!” Jason replied with faux-excitement, “We were both robbed of our childhoods and you deal with your problems by beating the shit out of criminals while dressed like a bat. I at least can pretend to be a good role model for Damian.”

Bruce frowned, “that is a gross misrepresentation.”

“No, it’s not, it's the most honest one,” Jason said, “just not the most generous.”

“I’m a good role model,” Bruce defended himself. 

“You’re a good person,” Jason corrected, “but that doesn’t necessarily make you a good role model for a child. Every kid you’ve taken in, is involved in the nightlife.” Jason lifted his hand to cut off Bruce’s retort before continuing. “I know, we didn’t make it easy on you. But Damian’s circumstances are vastly different here.”

“I am familiar with being a dad, son,” Bruce reminded him.

Jason rolled his eyes. “To a nine-year-old with homicidal anger issues. To an 11-year-old that survived on the streets alone for 2 years. To a however old Cass was after surviving years of being homeless without the full ability to talk and badass combat skills.” Jason shook his head. “It’s not the same. Not that you’re any less of a dad, Bruce, but fuck. We were a lot more independent than Damian is. And willing to fight.”

“You don’t think I could handle it?” Fuck. Bruce sounded hurt and Jason hated that. But also. He didn’t.

“I don’t. You can barely manage to show up to a date with Selina who you claim to be in love with and knows your secret identity. You would choose Batman over Damian.”

Bruce’s face fell. “I would do anything for any one of you, I love my children.”

“But you would also do anything to protect Gotham,” Jason pointed out, “and that’s the issue. Be honest, if it was a choice between attending a Tee Ball game Damian was playing in and stopping the Riddler from blowing up Gotham, which would you choose?”

“That —” Bruce stopped, thinking carefully about his words, “I don’t think I’m morally wrong to say that saving lives is more important than a sports game. There would be other games.” Jason sighed — Bruce didn’t even entertain the idea of choosing to go to the game and letting someone else handle the crisis.

“Sure, I’ll agree with that,” Jason said, continuing with his point, “Except you already missed all the other games because of Scarecrow, or Joker, or Poison Ivy. And every practice. With the exact same reasoning. In fact, you were gone for weeks during the season because of an off-world Justice League mission and this was the last game. Damian begged you to show up. So, do you?” Bruce looked unhappy with the new context, but — Jason noted immediately — did not refute it. Didn’t try to say he wouldn’t do that or that it wouldn’t happen that way. He knew his dad well enough to know that wasn’t an oversight; that was an admission. 

“...Surely Damian would understand. I could make it up to him after,” Bruce offered.

“Wow,” Jason shook his head, “Didn’t even occur to you that you have no less than 5 capable vigilantes in this pack that could be sent instead to handle the situation, not to mention the extended family. Or hell, Justice League friends. Tell Flash to do it.” The expression on Bruce’s face indicated he did not like what Jason was suggesting. Jason did not care and made it obvious through the disapproval in his scent. 

“But you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you sat back and let them handle it, would you? No, you would be far too distracted to pay any attention to the game.” Jason couldn’t stop the judgement creeping into his voice.

“If anyone died, if any of you got hurt, I — I have to be there to protect you. All of you,” Bruce justified. The omega smiled sadly at that, knowing that Bruce was trying to express how much he cared for them, but hearing that being Batman would always matter more.

“And all of Gotham, right?” Jason pointed out.

“It’s what I created Batman to do. It’s what I’ve been dedicating my life for,” Bruce defended.

“That’s all noble, Bruce. But you chose to do that and that choice has consequences on your kids. Namely, that we will never be your first priority. That it’s okay to sacrifice the things that matter to us for the greater good,” his voice stained to stay even, remembering the few school events he invited Bruce to that were missed due to casework.

“Dick, me, Cass — we were old enough to understand saving lives to be more important. And most of the time, we were there with you, which helped. But Damian is too young to understand, to view it as anything other than he doesn’t matter to you. And eventually that will turn into if he wants to matter to you, he’s going to have to put on a fucking suit and I swear to god,” Jason’s voice turned threatening enough that Bruce instinctually backed away, “that if Damian puts on the Robin feathers before puberty, I will kill you.” He would. It was not an exaggeration, he would kill Bruce and get Dick and Tim to help him.

“I… didn’t consider that. But based on what you and Dick said in the past, that does seem to be a recurring issue,” Bruce admitted. Jason was glad to know that actually stuck with him. A little late, but better late than never.

“I don’t want Damian to feel like he has to join us. I don’t want him to join us. I would much prefer if all of you stopped being vigilantes and lived normal, safe lives, but I can’t stop any of you,” Bruce complained, “I am so relieved that you wanted to step back from crime-fighting.”

“What other choice did I have? What, was I supposed to abandon him every night? To risk orphaning my child to save others?” Jason asked rhetorically, viciously, scornfully. 

“I know that’s what you do. I know that’s what a lot of heroes do. You’ve made your peace with that. But for all the — complicated emotions I have about it, I gave birth to Damian. I grew him inside me and pushed him out. I fed him from my body. I kept him safe for years. I can’t leave him like that,” he grinned ruefully, “I can’t justify it to myself to risk abandoning my son just to protect someone else.”

“I would die for you kids,” Bruce stated.

“But would you give up Batman for us?” Jason shot back immediately.

“...No. I wouldn’t,” he admitted.

“You said me wanting to retire makes me a good mother,” Jason stated, softening the edge in his voice, “I think the fact that you can’t even conceive the idea of stepping back makes you a bad choice to be a father. And that is why Damian is my son and you are — complicated. I don’t want to completely cut you out, but you. You just can’t be his primary parent.” ‘Or even a reliable one,’ he thought. 

“Even if Damian knows you’re genetically his dad,” Jason finished.

“He knows?” Bruce asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Talia would call him the Son of the Bat and say that one day you would come for him. She made it sound like a threat. He was kinda scared of that,” Jason explained. Talia really made everything sound like a threat to Damian.

Bruce sighed mournfully. “Right. Damian is scared of me,” he noted.

“He’s scared of Batman. Not you,” Jason clarified. “Damian sort of knows the difference and sort of doesn’t. But he’s fine with you outside the suit.”

“Right,” the alpha replied, looking more weighted down than he did at the beginning. Jason felt a curl of regret in his chest — maybe he should have shelved this conversation for another time. “Where do we go from here?”

Jason shrugged, “We’ll figure it out as we go, I guess. You can try babysitting like a normal grandpa.” He paused, chewing down on his bottom lip as he thought about his next words.

“I’m, I’m glad you heard that from me and not Talia. Because god knows Talia would have been fucking weird about it,” he stated. Bruce nodded knowingly.

“It would not have been good to learn about this from her, that is true,” he agreed, “Thank you for telling me, Jason. I. I understand this is a sensitive topic for you. And this is terrible timing.”

“Don’t. Don’t thank me. It makes this weirder. There is no timing that is good timing for this conversation and. It’s fine. I could have left if I didn’t want to talk about it. Just make me hot chocolate and hurry up and be alive already so I can put shit on your credit card.” Jason wanted to be done with conversation already.

“You own Wayne Enterprises right now. And I think, technically Drake Industries too, while you’re married,” the alpha replied, jumping on the shift to a lighter topic. Jason scoffed, dismissing the implication.

“Yeah, but I wanna spend your money, not my money. And Tim’s money is already my money,” Jason replied. It was fun to spend Bruce’s money on ridiculous things. It made the news when Bruce Wayne’s credit card was used to buy a custom-built realistic looking appropriately scaled cat apartment for a cat-less household (it was donated to a shelter after). He even went back and gave the engineer more money to add a working subway. The videos were insane. Best money ever spent in Jason’s opinion.

“Okay. I guess I’ll be reentering the public eye with a bang. I'll make you some hot chocolate,” Bruce said, stepping away from Jason. He still looked worried, but seemed like he wasn’t brooding on it right now. Jason hoped the other gets some sleep that night, especially since he actually did feel a little better after unloading all that.

“Good. Hurry up, I need to go back to sleep before Damian wakes up at sunrise. He’s worse than an alarm clock.”

Chapter Text

Jason was in the kitchen, having (forcibly) relieved Alfred from dinner duties after noticing the older man wasn’t feeling well. Just a headache or not, he wasn’t taking any chances with the closest thing he had to a grandfather. So upstairs the stubborn beta went with some reheated soup and ibuprofen.

No dinner prep had been started, so the omega was free to make anything he wanted. The idea of cooking in the kitchen with his pup had him feeling nostalgic, so Jason decided to make a childhood recipe. He figured the other ‘poor’ kids would appreciate it — and the rich fucks were outnumbered. He voluntold Tim to go to the store and buy an ingredient that Alfred absolutely did not keep stocked. As long as no one told the old beta, it was fine.

“I want sword!” Damian cried, trying again to grab the knife in Jason’s hands. He adeptly avoided the pup’s sticky little fingers.

“No. I am using this knife. You are watching me cook. I know you want it, but it is dangerous for pups,” Jason chided, keeping his tone firm but not angry. He heard someone enter the kitchen, preceding the scent of buttery popcorn and bright chocolate. He didn’t bother turning around, keeping his eyes on his stubborn son.

“Why is Damian asking for a sword?” Dick asked, amused but with just a hint of unease breaking through the lightheartedness.

“Anything that's sharp is a sword to him,” Jason explained flatly, unamused by the antics of the pup. “And he really liked watching my sword lessons.” He dodged another attempted grab.

“Give me!” Damian whined, pouting with big, teary eyes. It was almost enough to make Jason feel guilty. Almost.

“Sit and watch, cariño. This is not for pups.” The pup pouted harder and kicked his feet, hitting his heel against the cabinet.

“I want little sword! I want cut.” Jason took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reigning in the urge to snap. He would not snap at his pup. He would not yell at his pup.

“No, Damian. You will hurt yourself. Sit and watch me dice the onion. I will move you from the counter if you try to grab the knife again.” With the recklessness of a child that did not recognize danger, Damian tried again, this time aiming for the blade instead of the handle.

“Okay, that’s it,” Jason snapped, setting the knife down to grab the rebellious pup. He carried the squirming boy over to Dick who had sat down at the breakfast counter and plopped him into the other’s lap.

“Oh, wait, wha—” Dick stammered as Damian redoubled his efforts to lash out, causing him to reflexively restrain the pup to avoid getting hit in the face by little limbs.

“You can sit with Uncle Dick until I’m done,” Jason told him, stepping back.

“No!” The word was defiant, tears of frustration appearing as he struggled in Dick’s loose grasp.

“Uh, Dami, it’s okay,” Dick tried to soothe the pup, “Maybe we can get you a toy sword?”

“Don't bribe him,” Jason admonished, briefly glaring at Dick.

“No!” the pup screamed, uncaring or ignorant of the attempt to calm him down. “I want help! I want sword!” Jason exhaled heavily and grabbed the struggling pup from Dick’s hold, hugging him tightly as he kept thrashing.

“Damian, knives are dangerous. I know you want to help me, but not with this. When you’re older, you can learn how to use them,” Jason told the pup gently, before steeling his voice and handing him to Dick again, “Since you didn’t sit and watch, you will sit here with Dick while I dice the onions and when I am done, you can sit with me again.”

“No!” Damian shouted, kicking again.

“Yes. You will sit here. I don't want you getting hurt.” The pup just dissolved into unintelligible screaming at this point, making Dick flinch at the volume.

“Cariño,” Jason called out, taking a few attempts until Damian actually paid attention to him. “Can you count to ten for me?”

“No.” Damian denied, thoughtless.

“Yes, you can. Come on, count to ten for me,” Jason encouraged. The pup struggled in Dick's grip for a moment, elbowing him in the stomach hard enough that he lost his breath momentarily.

“Fu—dge, he's stronger than he looks,” Dick gasped, surprised. Jason ignored him.

“Count to ten and when you're done, you can join me in the kitchen again,” Jason instructed the pup. Damian sniffled and flopped against Dick.

“O-one,” the pup hiccupped. Jason walked over to the cutting board and resumed cutting the onion he had laid out. “Two.” 

“T-tres?” The inconsistent code-switching had been happening more lately. According to what he read online, consistency was important for teaching multilingual kids and the only consistent part of Damian’s language acquisition was only speaking Arabic with Talia — and that was dead. He needed to figure out a plan that wasn’t ‘speak more Spanish or Arabic when he felt like it’. 

“Uno, dos, tres. One, two, three,” Jason corrected, emphasizing the last word.

“Four,” the pup continued.

“You skipped three.”

“Three. Four. Five.” The sniffles were disappearing as he rattled off the numbers, and when Jason looked over, he could see the pup’s face scrunching up in focus instead of frustration or tears.

“Six.”

“One, two, three, four, five, six,” Jason told him in Arabic, then switched back to English, "Six is next.” Jason finished up the dicing and swept the pieces into a small bowl, throwing the root away in the trash.

“Six, s-seven, eight.” He cleaned off the knife and left it by the cutting board.

“Nine. Ten.” Once Damian finished, he held his arms out to Jason to be picked up again. The omega didn't hesitate in obliging, freely giving the boy some affectionate scenting.

“Good job, Damian,” Jason praised. The pup didn't respond, just snuggled into his chest, instinctively rubbing his milk-pup scent onto Jason.

“That was intense,” Dick remarked, half-smile on his lips as he stared at the now calm pup. Sounded more like he was at the end of a fight, after all the goons were down for the count then in a kitchen post-tantrum.

“Nah, that's like a 4 out of 10. Try handling a tantrum when he’s got his grubby hands on a dagger,” Jason looked down at his pup, cooing, “That’s right, you little psychopath. Almost cut my damn eye out.” Damian gave him a guileless smile, the innocent face not fooling Jason one bit.

“That is a terrifying image.”

“That’s motherhood,” Jason replied. “I thought you were going back to your apartment, why are you still here?”

“I am,” Dick confirmed, nodding slightly, “I just wanted to talk to you first.”

“Alright,” Jason said, looking at Dick suspiciously. He didn’t smell overly concerned or distressed, sitting relaxed and loose in his seat.

“Is this about the changes I made to the security system?” Jason followed up, leaning against the counter. “Tim gave me the schematics and I only made some small adjustments.”

“You added guns!” Dick exclaimed, incredulous. “I’d call that a pretty big adjustment.” 

Jason internally rolled his eyes, disliking this family’s dumb aversion to guns. They were useful and in no way more dangerous than the shit they already do. People died of broken bones and concussions, and that was part and parcel of vigilantism no matter how well trained.

“They’re tranq guns,” Jason defended, knowing full well that wasn’t the original plan.

“Only because Bruce talked you down from real guns,” Dick shot back, looking stern but there was a pop of salty-sweet popcorn betraying his amusement.

“And they would have been effective,” Jason insisted, pausing for a moment before smirking and continuing, “but I’ll settle for keeping them in my room instead.”

“You have a gun in your room!” Dick said, shock blanking his scent and straightening his spine. Damian jumped at the loudness, but settled back against Jason at the lack of reaction from him.

“Alfred gave it to me,” he replied coolly, with the full and comforting knowledge that no one in this house would oppose Alfred. None of them were stupid enough to piss off the man that actually fed and housed them. Or bandaged their wounds.

The shock abated. “He did?” The older omega furrowed his brow, a frown settling on his face.

“With a permit and everything. It’s a legal gun, you can’t take it from me.” Jason stared down Dick, watching how unsettled his older brother got at the notion.

“Gun?” Damian asked, tugging on Jason to get his attention back.

“Loud weapon, Damian. I showed you once, you don’t touch them,” Jason reminded him, looking down at his pup. Damian had been at some of Jason’s shooting lessons, with hearing protection Jason had to threaten several people to get.

“Oh. No point at me,” Damian recited dutifully.

“Exactly, cariño,” Jason reaffirmed, glad to hear some of the safety lectures stuck.  “Don’t touch and don’t point it at yourself. ” ‘Or anyone else, but good he remembered that part at least,’ Jason thought to himself.

“Just one gun?” Dick inquired, narrowing his eyes as he leaned in closer. Steely blue eyes studied Jason, who didn’t blink or buckle under the scrutiny.

“One handgun.” That was legally his. Jason was unsure if Alfred called on his own contacts or if he asked Babs to forge the paperwork, but the paperwork did in fact legally state he owned a handgun.

“Shotgun?”

“Maybe.” Not in his room, but Alfred did show him where he kept his shotguns and ammo. He should go over gun safety with Damian again, there were far more guns than he had been aware of in the house.

“Rifle?”

“Maybe.” Alfred had a few. He thought about getting a sniper rifle, although that would be hard to explain legally. That said, if Talia’s people stepped foot on this property, would it really matter? It wasn’t like they were gonna tell the police there were assassins after them.

“How many guns did he give you?” Dick asked, dramatically aghast — hand on his heart and everything. Jason resisted the urge to smirk, keeping a neutral expression as he met Dick’s eyes. This time Damian didn’t even react to the tone, just turned to look at Dick similarly unimpressed.

“Enough,” Jason replied nonchalantly.

“How many is ‘enough’? And they’re all legal?” The tone was clipped, although Dick didn’t actually smell mad — unnerved perhaps. Jason figured this must be why Alfred downplayed how much firepower he had.

“They all have a legal owner,” Jason answered evasively.

“That is NOT an answer,” Dick stressed.

“And yet,” Jason snarked, “It’s not like you’re on the right side of the law, Nightwing.”

“That’s different,” Dick rejected, instantly settling down and leaning back from the counter.

“Yeah, what I’m doing is legal. Omegan pup defense, Big Bird.”

“You,” Dick pointed at him sharply, “are going to end up as case law that some poor, tired, sleep-deprived law student has to memorize. I’m scared of what you’re going to do with that precedent.”

“I am not going to do anything,” Jason stated coolly, swinging his pup slightly to get a smile out of him. “Nothing but execute my legal right to protect my pups. In a city filled with maniacs.”

“God have mercy on whichever rogue crosses your path,” Dick muttered. “Because you won’t.” Jason grinned viciously at the comment, not the least bit ashamed.

“So, did you just come to yell at me about my gun usage?” 

Dick shook his head. “Nope, you started that conversation.”

“I guess I did,” Jason admitted, waiting for Dick to get to whatever point he wanted. If it wasn’t the security changes, then what did warrant Dick staying longer and risking rush hour traffic, he wondered.

“You handled that tantrum really well.” The non-sequitur made Jason feel wrongfooted. 

“Thanks?” Jason replied, confused at the backtracking. “I have a lot of practice.”

“How do you know how to deal with that?” The earnestness of the question just unsettled him more. Almost felt like the Golden Boy was asking him for advice. 

“I just… try shit? I don’t know, I figure it out as I go. Sometimes distracting him helps, sometimes I have to hold him while he screams his feelings.” He kissed the top of his pup’s head, setting him down on the counter. Damian seemed content to just listen for now.

“You make it look easy,” Dick complained. The omega held back a scoff, knowing damn well that nothing about Damian was easy.

“I make everything look easy,” came the cocky response from Jason instead.  

“I got into a fight with Cass yesterday.” The words rushed out, guilty and self-reproaching in tone.

“Oh? Weird. You are still breathing. What happened?” Jason asked, keeping the words flippant. Keeping the mood in the room light for now.

“We were working on a case — it was her case actually — and she was having trouble explaining how she wanted to handle it? And I got frustrated at her.” Dick sighed. “Might have been some yelling. It was a rough night.”

“You got mad at her because you didn’t understand what she was saying.” Jason did not hold back the judgement in his voice.

“I was trying!” Dick defended, hunching down under Jason’s gaze.

“Clearly not enough.” The accusation made Dick sink down lower, dropping his gaze. “Why is Cass not working with someone? Like speech therapy or sign language lessons.” Dick avoided Jason’s stare, squirming in his seat like a kid getting scolded by a teacher.

“Well, she was in Hong Kong—”

“She still needs to be able to talk, even if she’s in another country. Especially if she’s alone in another country.”

“She did fine before she joined the pack.”

“She survived.” Jason emphasized, knowing deeply the difference between survival and being fine. “Don’t get me wrong, Cass is impressive as hell. I’m jealous of her fighting skills. But at some point, she needs to do more than brood silently. She can’t expect us to read her mind.”

Dick stayed silent for a moment. “Bruce does that.” 

“Bruce is a cautionary tale, not a role model for healthy interpersonal relationships.” The head alpha was getting better, but shitting on Bruce was an essential right Jason wasn’t giving up.

“Tell that to Cass,” Dick grumbled. “And more to the point, Cass is an adult. What was I supposed to do? She left the country!”

“She’s here now, isn’t she?”

“She didn’t ask for any help.”

“Dick,” Jason said sharply, “Expecting anyone in this pack to ask for help is a fucking fever dream.” This was a pack full of people that hid injuries, neglected sleep, and constantly held the world on their shoulders. Help was foreign concept most of the time. “You’re head omega, you should have gone to her. I get that she’s an adult, you can’t force her, but you can sit her down and explain the options. You can stress why she needs it. Has anyone even done that?”

“I…am not sure.”

“You’re not sure,” he deadpanned.

“She didn't ask for help?” he defended sheepishly. Jason rolled his eyes.

“You act like an older brother who moved away for college, you know that?” There was an attempt at joking, but it came out harsher than he was aiming. Jason decided to double down. “And I mean that disrespectfully.”

“I know,” Dick agreed, distressed but accepting, “Being the head of a pack is hard. It’s nothing like being the leader of the titans. Like I’m not sitting there policing how much coffee Roy has drunk or if Donna did her homework.” Dick frowned. “I try to respect everyone’s autonomy, not be controlling like Bruce, but then everyone yells at me for not doing enough!” He huffed, clenching his hands as he stared down at the counter. 

“There’s a difference between being controlling and being supportive,” Jason started, thinking about Bruce’s particular brand of overbearing. “Just like there’s a difference between being accommodating and being negligent.” Jason paused, recalling his early days in the pack. “Dick, we barely had a pack bond when I ran off and I was a pup and fellow pack omega.” Dick hung his head, nodding softly.

“I don’t know where that line is,” Dick mumbled. “When I don’t push, I get blamed for not doing enough. When I do push, I get Tim running off to the League of Assassins to prove Bruce is alive.”

“It’s a thankless job,” Jason admitted, “And I know that better than most.” The omega rested his chin on Damian’s head, a bubble of guilt sprouting in his gut. “And maybe I’m being too harsh about Cass—”

“No, no you’re right,” Dick cut him off. “I should have pushed more with her. And I should have listened to Tim. With all the aliens and magic we know, why was it so hard to believe Bruce was actually alive?”

“Because you were grieving.” The words were soft, Jason recognizing that now was not the time to pile on. “And he was grieving. And without proof, it does sound like he was refusing to accept Bruce’s death. A therapist wasn’t a bad suggestion.” Realistically, if their lives weren’t a never-ending soap opera, it would be the right suggestion. 

If this pack had a Batmobile for every time someone came back to life, they would have three since apparently Steph was supposedly dead for a while. That was a genuinely insane thought, that they had less Batmobiles than people resurrecting from the dead. 

“I guess Tim told you about it?”

“I asked,” he clarified. “I wanted to know why he was there. For what it’s worth, I did tell him he was a suicidal idiot.”

“He was right, though.” Dick grimaced, breathing sharply through his nose before shaking his head. The corner of his lip turned up in a half-smile. “And he found you, so now he’s gonna throw that in my face anytime I try to say he’s wrong. He’s gonna be insufferable about it.”

“Yeah, you’re screwed,” Jason agreed, chuckling. Dick joined in for a moment, before sobering up.

“Would.” Dick halted, words collecting in his mouth. “Would you consider taking over being head omega?” Jason took a sharp breath, shocked at the offer. 

“The fuck. Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” A rueful smile appeared on his face. “I think you’d be better at it than me, Little Wing.”

“Are you just saying that because I got on your case about Cass?”

“No.” Dick shook his head. “I’ve been thinking it for a while.”

“You can’t be serious?” Jason? Head Omega? He had enough blood on his hands to fill a swimming pool and zero patience for anyone that wasn’t Damian. He couldn’t be the soft emotional heart of the pack — he didn’t even look like an omega anymore.

“Why not?”

“I —” Jason couldn’t say what he thought; it would start an argument and dinner needed to be made. “I’ve barely been in the pack a week. I’m still getting used to everyone.”

“I think even with that, you’ll still do better than me,” Dick insisted.

“Big Bird, I’m not sure about —” Before he could finish his sentence, they were interrupted by the front door opening. 

“Jason, I’m back.” Tim said as he entered the front door, just loud enough to be comfortably heard from the kitchen. Dick smiled at Jason.

“Just think about it. We can talk another day,” he said. Jason nodded, feeling distinctly off-balance.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay for dinner,” Jason offered. Dick shook his head as Tim entered the kitchen.

“Nah, if I stay any longer, traffic is gonna get unbearable.” Dick waved ‘hi’ at the alpha as he turned to leave.

“Do I have to send you with food or do you have groceries?” Jason called out before Dick could leave the room.

“I have groceries,” Dick asserted, looking put-off at the insinuation otherwise.

“Groceries other than cereal and milk?” Jason asked knowingly. Dick looked sheepish, smiling disarmingly at Jason.

Jason glared and pointed to the fridge, “grab something to take with you.”

“Okay, mom,” Dick teased, grabbing a container from the fridge. Jason glared at him as he held out his hand to Tim.

“Gimme,” he said. Tim diligently handed over the bag with a can of spam while Dick scurried out of the kitchen, saying goodbye to all the inhabitants.

“Hi Damian,” Tim greeted. “So, why spam?”

“It’s a meal Mama used to make and I’m craving it,” Jason replied.

“Craving it?” Tim asked, eyes trailing down to Jason’s stomach before popping back up. Jason mouthed ‘shut up,’ knowing Dick was still technically in earshot. It had been long enough that he could test and trust the results — but he was procrastinating on it. He would do it tomorrow. Maybe.

“Was feeling nostalgic,” Jason said, eyeing the knife and cutting board.

“Cariño,” he started, waiting for Damian to give him his full attention, “Do you want to watch me cook?” The pup nodded. “Then be good and watch. No grabbing.” He carried the pup over to wash their hands in the sink and then set him on the counter, next to the cutting board. Then he turned on the stove to start heating up the pot of water and the sauté pan he set there earlier. 

Then he opened the can.

“But serious, why spam?” Tim asked as Jason turned the can upside down to let the meat plop out onto the board.

“What spam?” Damian asked, poking at the block.

“It’s pork in a can. It’s cheap and tasty. It tastes good with spaghetti. There’s salad in the fridge from lunch, so green veggies are covered,” Jason answered. Tim hummed, leaning against the counter, watching the pair intently. There was a sharp scent of coffee — heavy but not threatening. It felt similar to jealousy but lacked the punch of it. ‘Envy, maybe?’ 

“Now, we need to cut the meat into tiny squares,” Jason explained to his son, picking up the knife. He watched Damian’s reaction for any sign he was going to misbehave again.

“Sometimes, my mama would have me just squish the meat,” Jason recounted, slicing into the spam. “She said it was to give me something to do. I think it was because she was shaking too much to hold the knife.”

Damian just looked curiously at Jason as he continued cutting. “Why?”

“My mama was sick.” Once he finished chopping, he poured olive oil into the pan to start heating up. “This is a pretty simple recipe. The sauce is just spam, onion, garlic, tomatoes and seasonings. Cream cheese if we had it. And spaghetti just needs boiling water.” Tim’s gaze felt like a physical weight at his back. It didn’t bother him — but if the alpha was going to stick around, he might as well be useful.

“Speaking of which,” Jason said, looking over at Tim, “Mind grabbing the cream cheese from the fridge for me?” 

The alpha practically sprinted to the fridge. “Of course.”

“Just set it on the counter next to me,” Jason instructed, checking to see if the oil looked hot enough. It did, so he poured in the spam to start cooking it, using a wooden spoon to start mixing.

“So, now, we cook the spam. Just until it gets a little color, then we’ll add the onion. You wanna throw in the onion, Damian?” 

“Yes!” Damian demanded. 

Jason chuckled at the enthusiasm. “Okay, but not yet.” He turned back to the pan as Tim walked behind him to drop off the cream cheese. He lingered by the stove, looking at the pan and pot.

“You know how to cook?” he asked. Tim shook his head.

“Nah. The closest I get is watching Alfred when I do my work in the kitchen. Why are you cooking it, isn’t it already cooked?”

“It is,” Jason confirmed, “but it tastes better if it’s pan-fried a little.” He stirred the contents once more before judging that it was cooked enough. “Alright, Damian, time to add the onions. Here, I’ll help you hold the bowl.” He pushed the cutting board back so Damian could scoot closer to the pan, then helped him hold up the bowl to dump it into the pan.

Most of it made it in. “Good job, Damian.” He stirred the contents again, making sure everything was properly distributed.

“Now. The onions need to cook for some time, until they look translucent. A little bit see through. Then the garlic, then the canned tomatoes.” Jason grabbed the bowl of minced garlic and pulled it closer.

“Want me to open the can?” Tim offered, reaching out for the can of crushed tomatoes.

“Go ahead,” Jason told him. He checked the pot — it was finally boiling. “You can drop the spaghetti in too.” Tim nodded as he took out the can opener. It only took a few seconds to pry off the top.

“How much spaghetti?” Tim asked, grabbing the box. 

“The whole thing.”

“The whole thing?” He asked skeptically, looking at the dry pasta. “that’s a lot of pasta.” Still, he dumped the entire box into the water.

“Watch the time for me. It should say the cook time on the box,” Jason instructed. “We’re feeding 7 people, five of which are active vigilantes. I’m worried it might not be enough.”

“Seven? I thought Alfred already had dinner.” 

“Alfie sick,” Damian told him. “Mama said go to bed.”

“He did,” Jason confirmed, “I’m not feeding spam to Alfred.” He stirred the mixture in the pot again. “I fully expect Steph to mooch off us tonight. Isn’t her mom working the nightshift?”

“How did you remember that?” Tim asked. “And yeah, she is. It’s her week on.”

“She bitches about it all the time, of course I remember. She’ll be here for free food soon enough.” Another stir of the pan and Jason reached for the bowl of garlic. “Time to add the garlic.” He stirred in the minced garlic.

“Garlic doesn’t need much time to cook, so we will add the tomatoes soon. I’m gonna grab the seasoning for the sauce.” Jason opened the cabinet above, grabbing a jar. “We’re just gonna use powered chicken bullion. It doesn’t need too much, not with the spam.”

“Wasn’t spam popular in England? Would Alfred really judge you for it?” Tim tilted his head like a dog, which had Jason holding back a teasing coo. He didn’t want to scare away his adult helper.

“I mean,” Jason thought for a moment, “I think it was? According to TV at least. But I think butler school probably changed his opinion on it. I don’t think he’ll approve of canned meat.”

“He has canned tomatoes,” Tim pointed out, like that meant anything.

“That’s different. Canned tomatoes are better than tomatoes from the store.” At the blank look from Tim, Jason dug in and continued. “Store tomatoes are picked under-ripe, because they don’t want them going bad before they get to the store. That leaves you with bland and watery tomatoes.” 

“But canned are better?” The brow cease on the alpha’s face made Jason want to squish him — in a nonviolent way. Lightly violent way.

“Canned tomatoes ripen on the vine and then are picked and canned,” Jason explained. “So, yeah. They’re better. Alfred has tomato plants, but that's no good when it’s too cold for them to fruit.”

“Ah. I didn’t know that.” Tim nodded lightly, filing away the information that in all likelihood was useless for him. “So that’s why there’s canned tomatoes here.”

“Yep.” Jason grabbed the opened can, handing it to Damian. “Help me pour this, Damian.” The pup held the can as they tipped it into the pan. Once they emptied out the can, he tossed it in the trash and grabbed the chicken bullion.

“Now, I should grab a spoon and scoop out the powder to add to the pan,” Jason said, twisting off the top. He held the open jar over the pan and sprinkled the power over the contents. “But this is faster and doesn’t require dirtying a spoon. But don’t do this.” He stirred the contents again.

“Why not?” Tim asked, tilting his head in the other direction now. 

“The stream can get into the jar and cause it to clump up. That's why you’re not supposed to shake spices directly into the pan. I do it anyway because it’s how I learned.”

“So, do as I say, not as I do?” Tim teased.

“I don’t like being a hypocrite,” he stated, smirking, “but exceptions have to be made.” He stirred the contents again, raising the heat a bit to get it to a boil a little faster. He grabbed the cream cheese and the cutting board, slicing it in half and adding half to the pan. He wrapped the rest back in the foil, then handed it to Tim with a gesture to put it back in the fridge.

“So, that’s the last of the ingredients for the sauce. Now we wait for it to start boiling, then lower the heat to keep it at a simmer. Then just wait until it thickens enough.”

“Thickens?”

“Come on, Tim. You know that water evaporates. Less water, thicker sauce,” Jason replied.

“Right,” Tim said, a bit of pink appearing on his cheeks. “Also, it’s been boiled for long enough. What now?”

“Now. You stain it.” Jason jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him. “The strainer is in the sink, you can just pour the pot into the strainer, then pour the noodles from the strainer back into the pot. People like saving pasta water to add to the sauce, but we don’t need it here.”

“Why put the pasta back in the pot?”

“Because it’s easier to mix it with the sauce in the big pot than the pan.” Tim nodded and grabbed the pot, carrying it over the sink. He tipped it over, then yelped at the burst of stream that hit him.

“Oh, yeah, careful with the stream,” Jason told him. Tim side-eyed him.

“Thanks,” he replied dryly. 

The sauce started boiling so Jason lowered the heat and stirred again. Tim carried the pot of the now drained pasta back to the stove.

“Put it on a different burner, even with the heat off, it’s gonna remain warm for a while.” Tim set it on the back burner then turned to look expectantly at Jason. 

“That’s it for now,” Jason said, setting the wooden spoon down. 

“Want me to set the table?” Tim offered.

“Sure, let Damian help you,” he answered, grabbing Damian and setting him down. “Go help Tim set the table, cariño.” Damian glared at the alpha, gripping Jason’s pant leg. “Damian, go help.” The pup reluctantly detached, stepping toward Tim.

Tim grabbed the box of silverware for the dining table, smiling awkwardly at the pup. “I guess it’s time to learn place settings. I’ll come back for the plates in a bit.” The two left for the dining room, pup looking at Jason as he followed Tim out. Jason waved at him.

Jason watched the sauce bubble for a while, enjoying the brief quiet. Damian had been clingy today, which he knew he should appreciate. Eventually the pup would be too old to want to be held all day — or at all. Still, he was glad for the reprieve as he listened to Tim ramble about table settings from the other room. 

After a few minutes, and the sauce thickening up nicely, Jason grabbed his phone and snapped a picture, sending it in the group chat without Alfred.

Image attached.

Me: Food is almost ready, if you want to start coming down.

Multiple people are typing.

Genderswap Barney(Steph): 👀 is that spam

Genderswap Barney: I’ll be there in 10

Silent and deadly(Cass): 👍

Solar powered flashlight(Duke): oh sweet. Omw down in 5

The whole damn circus(Dick): wait, you got on my case about cereal and you’re serving everyone spam?!?

Me: No rush, Tim is still setting the table

Me: This is a meal. The cereal you buy is just sugar

Me: There is salad. Eat it.

Genderswap Barney: yes mom

Solar powered flashlight: yes mom

Silent and deadly: 👍👨‍🍼

Me: I know where Alfred hides the cookies.

Me: I can choose not to grab them

Multiple people typing

A cry stole Jason’s attention. It wasn’t Damian — he knew that immediately — but it took him a second of confusion to realize it was Tim, who was creeping back into the kitchen with a cloth napkin wrapped around his hand. “Hey, so uh, Damian stabbed me.” Jason sighed heavily.

“Fork or knife?” he asked.

“Fork. But he’s holding the rest of the silverware hostage.” 

“Of course he is,” Jason muttered, giving the sauce another stir. He turned off the heat, deeming it good enough. 

“You need help with that?” he asked, gesturing to his hand. Tim shook his head, waving him off.

“I’m good, I didn't even bleed on anything. But you might want to stop Damian before he goes on a stabbing spree.”

“On it. When you get that taken care of, add the sauce to the pasta. Just pour it in and mix,” Jason told him, heading out of the kitchen to deal with the stabby pup. A part of him really hoped this was just Damian’s way of pushing boundaries and a part of him knew the child of two alphas wasn’t going to grow out of this. 

…Admittedly, Jason’s own temperament didn’t help. His first thought was to tell Damian he should have aimed for the femoral artery in the thigh or go for the eyes. Stabbing a hand hurt, but it wasn’t disabling.

Chapter Text

As much as Bruce tried to instill the importance of maintaining the separation of the nightlife and civilian life, no one really listened to him. Sometimes a vigilante just needed to pop upstairs to grab a USB from their bedroom or check on some files on the Batcomputer in their pajamas. No one was wearing a mask with their pajamas; that would be weird. If someone showed up in the cave unannounced, there were bigger problems to worry about.

So it wasn’t the sight of Tim in yoga pants and a ratty t-shirt at the Batcomputer that peaked Jason’s curiosity. It was the fact that according to the schedule, he had the night off. Not ‘off of patrol for case work’ but ‘mandatory rest day’. He should be upstairs, if not in bed catching up on the sleep every vigilante desperately needed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking the night off?” Jason called out, wandering over to see what Tim was working on. The younger alpha was hunched painfully over the keyboard — giving Jason neck pain just by looking at him — and clicking through surveillance pictures and what looked like a 3-year-old police report.

“Aren’t you supposed to be retired?” Tim snarked back. 

“The gym down here has better toys,” Jason remarked, “I haven’t gotten a good workout in nearly a month between Damian being sick and settling here.”

“Well, the training area is all yours.” Tim gestured in its direction, not looking away from the screen. Jason was mildly surprised — and deeply offended — at the lack of attention. 

Frowning, he leaned closer to the screen over Tim’s shoulder, deliberately invading Tim’s personal space like he was owed it. The alpha’s breathing stuttered as he froze, hands hovering over the keys. From this close, it was obvious how fast Tim’s heart was beating; it sounded more like he had just finished running a marathon than sitting in a chair. ‘Oh, playing calm, cool, and collected huh? I wonder how long it’ll take to break that,’ Jason thought, suppressing a vicious smirk at the fun he was about to have.

“What are you working on?” Jason asked casually, acting ignorant — or uncaring — of the lack of distance between the two. He kept his scent light and curious, hiding the growing amusement he felt under the soothing aroma of a quiet library. There was an audible gulp before fingers slowly tapped on the keys again.

“Cold case. Disappearance of a college student from 3 years ago. Just giving it a fresh set of eyes,” Tim answered, tone impressively nonchalant for a man who was starting to sound like he was going into cardiac arrest. There was only the barest whiff of interest and attention, of light roast coffee enriching in the air. Jason hummed as he considered the situation and — more importantly — his options on how to mess with Tim.

“No new information?” he asked to confirm, backing off to look at Tim directly. The younger man shook his head, briefly looking frustrated as he glanced back at the screen.

“Nah, nothing new. I just like looking over them every once in a while. Make sure we didn’t miss anything,” Tim told him, looking over to meet Jason’s deceptively neutral stare. The alpha didn’t fidget or look away, passively meeting the stare with the air of a CEO speaking to a subordinate. It just fueled Jason’s desire to break that composure.

“In that case, how about you take a break and spar with me instead?” Jason offered, leaning in once more to watch as the alpha’s eyes dilated at the prospect. Those same eyes quickly trailed down and up, taking in Jason’s choice of outfit. He had been planning on working out, so was wearing just a loose tank top and shorts. Nothing out of the ordinary, not scandalous certainly but enough exposed skin to be tempting he was sure. Especially for an alpha Jason assumed was extremely touch starved.

“Uh, you sure?” he asked, voice not squeaking but just barely. Jason smirked, turning away to walk toward the training area. His scent shifted to more brown butter than regular chocolate chip cookies as anticipation-amusement colored it. A subtle but noticeable shift as it buried the scent of books. Perfectly masking the mischievous i-will-make-you-regret-ignoring-me lying just underneath it.

Overreaction? Maybe. Dramatic? Certainly. Fun? Absolutely.

“Better than just mindlessly lifting weights. Come on, alpha.” There was a clanking of keys and frantic footsteps behind him; a flare of INTEREST and whiff of disbelief-dream? bubbled up before Tim restrained his scent again. He didn’t look back to witness his first victory, instead focusing on stretching and warming up as he reached the padded sparring area of the Cave.

“Are you sure this is a good idea considering…” Tim trailed off, leaving Jason to fill in the obvious blanks. Still, despite the expressed concern, Tim followed his lead, stretching and cracking loose a few joints that had gone stiff. A low groan escaped the alpha as something popped.

Jason watched, amused at the display but with sharp eyes catching the flash of abs when his t-shirt rode up. Being the lean type of muscular meant it was easy to forget that Tim was just as capable as the rest of them — but even with the boost of alphan physiology, Jason was confident he could crush the alpha. The idea was weirdly but deeply appealing.

“I appreciate the concern, but you would have to actually manage to land a hit,” he quipped. Tim frowned — slightly indignant — as spice-hot cinnamon burned through the room.

“That’s awfully cocky. I’m just as trained as you,” the alpha replied, bolstering the words with a confident stance.

“I know.” Jason said, setting the baby monitor he still carried around in the corner. “But I got a lot of practice fucking up alphas and the League of Assassins doesn’t hold back on its training.” Tim acknowledged the words wordlessly with a nod, worry still etched on his face.

Jason sighed — mostly annoyed, slightly appreciative of the concern — and turned to face Tim.

“Look. The floor is padded, no excessive force, we mutually avoid any abdominal hits to keep things fair, and focus on pinning the other to the ground. It'll be fine. I fought literal assassins while pregnant with Damian — it’ll be fine.” Then Jason dropped his voice, aware that there were cameras and microphones in the Batcave, although none directly in the training area. “Might be my last chance to spar before confirming that whole… situation so let me enjoy this, alright?”

A nervous smile and a reluctant nod was the response, but with no further objection, they began.

Tim started off defensively — clearly still nervous. Jason had no such reservations and rushed in, with a speed and fluidity not expected of someone his size. The alpha was caught off guard, as most were, and it took only five seconds to overwhelm and pin him to the floor by the neck. 

Jason stared down at the younger man under him, scrutinizing his reaction at having lost. Tim didn’t seem mad at being beaten so quickly; instead his eyes held an almost reverent gaze. His scent was a blatant that-was-the-most-attractive-thing-I-have-ever-seen. It warmed something deep in Jason, a pleasant ripple of interest he hadn’t experienced since he was barely not-a-pup and crushing on his older brother’s friends.

He never got the chance to do much flirting when he was younger, the consequence of having age-inappropriate attractions and being antisocial in high school. Or more accurately, being forced to be antisocial. No Bristol snob wanted to associate with a Crime Alley brat even if he was the son of the richest alpha in Gotham. Although, maybe that would have changed if he had stuck with theater a bit longer. There were some nice betas in the cast of that play — and in hindsight one of them might have been flirting with him. ‘Huh.’

Point being, the lack of romantic experience and the sheer amount of violence in his life meant Jason didn’t know how to play nice. Or rather, he didn’t want to play nice — and apparently Tim didn’t mind that.

“Going easy on me?” Jason taunted as he lightly squeezed Tim’s throat. “Don’t.” He felt the movement under his hand as Tim swallowed nervously.

“Got it,” Tim rasped. The mix of awe and arousal sharpened in the air, widening Jason’s grin as he pushed himself up and off.

“Round 2?” he prompted, dropping into a ready stance. Tim gingerly stood up, this time catching Jason off guard as he rushed the omega without warning. He narrowly sidestepped the ambush, keeping Tim at a safe distance as they circled each other.

The impasse didn’t last long as Jason’s patience ran out and he dashed in, aiming for the other’s legs to trip him. The smaller man dodged and quickly returned the favor. The two fell into a rhythm, focused more on unbalancing each other. Tim seemed hesitant to hit Jason, even on safe zones like the arms so Jason similarly held himself back. Couldn’t accuse him of not being a good sport.

“So why are you looking at cold cases when you’re supposed to be taking the night off?” Jason said, redirecting Tim’s momentum to wrench an arm behind his back. 

The alpha struggled. “I didn’t choose to take the night off.”

“Well, that is why it’s called mandatory rest,” he commented, “Not vacation.” Tim managed to twist out of Jason’s grasp, going back to circling the larger man.

“Yeah. Annoying and inconvenient. It was either the cold cases or contingency plans,” he replied.

“Or you could, you know, rest,” Jason suggested. Tim scoffed, getting a foot hooked around Jason’s ankle and momentarily knocking it out from under him. The omega recovered his balance before he could hit the floor.

“Boring,” Tim stated, watching Jason wearily for his next move. He wasn’t tricked by Jason’s feint, prolonging the stalemate between them.

“I can think of a few activities that would be more fun than hanging down here with the bats,” Jason replied, tone shifting to lightly suggestive. His scent flared in the air, losing some of the sugary notes — further displacing the calming hints of paper and ink as a deeply omegan note took root. Tim took a visible deep breath, slight shudders passing over him as he clearly got distracted.

Jason lunged, keeping his body low as he aimed to grapple Tim to the floor. The slippery alpha dodged under his arms, barely avoiding it. The glare Tim shot him made his smirk. Then he shifted his weight in a distinctly familiar manner, one Jason recognized by heart.

“Stop trying to distract me,” he hissed before attempting to use Jason’s larger statue against him. It was a classic Robin move, and as such, far too familiar to work. Tim dipped low, pivoting right under Jason’s reach to sweep his feet — but anticipating the move, Jason jumped over it. Normally there wasn’t enough time to react, the move was designed to be too quick, but with forewarning it was easy.

“Can’t handle multitasking?” Jason heckled. “It’s practically the entire job. You need lessons?”

“Oh shut up!” Tim punctuated his exclamation with a roundhouse kick aimed at his thigh. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Jason admitted, absorbing the impact. The hit was definitely nowhere near Tim’s full strength, but it still mildly hurt. Not enough to bruise, he reckoned as he let Tim back up.

“Fine. I’ll go easy on you. You have a contingency plan for turning into a worm?” Jason asked, changing the subject to give Tim a break before the alpha melted into a flustered puddle. Outwardly, the alpha looked focused on the spar but Jason’s nose didn’t lie — the heavy fragrance of dark roast betrayed where poor little Timmy’s thoughts had strayed. 

“What?” Tim froze for a moment, leading to Jason pressing his luck again but the alpha dodged. “Is this your version of ‘would you love me if I was a worm’?”

“Yes, but better. Who cares about love —” He evaded another kick. “ — when you should be focused on not getting eaten by a bird.”

“Well, I DO have a contingency plan for that,” Tim stated. Jason blinked, eyebrows raising at that, not actually expecting it to be the case. Damn, that was some impressive paranoia.

“Really?” he replied, closing the distance again. Tim nodded.

“I have an enchanted talisman from Zatanna that prevents me from being forcibly transformed into an animal.” 

“That’s slightly impressive,” Jason admitted, falling into a rhythm of exchanging light blows, most telegraphed enough to be blocked, “but do you keep that on you all the time, or just as Red Robin?” Still, the foresight to already have that was kinda hot, especially since Bruce hated magic. Which meant Tim was also going against the old Bat and that satisfied his inner rebellious teen desire to always fuck with Bruce.

“Well, I don’t really expect Tim Drake to encounter a lot of magic-welding enemies so mostly when I’m just in the cape,” Tim responded.

“Then what do you do when some magical maniac crashes a board meeting to turn the CEO into a worm,” Jason logically pointed out.

“Why would they do that?” The alpha sounded completely exasperated.

“Because Wayne Enterprises drove them out of business, their family business at that, and they want revenge. They crave it. They learned this specific spell so they could crush you like the worm you are,” Jason dramatically narrated. Tim sighed heavily, slumping his shoulders for a moment.

“Why is that so plausible?” he grumbled. Jason smirked as he caught Tim in a headlock. 

“Because our lives are a constant barrage of monster-of-the-week bullshit. So, what do you do?” Tim stayed quiet as he struggled in Jason’s hold. 

“Well, I could just start wearing the talisman as Tim Drake. It’s small, it fits in my pocket.”

“Lame. In this scenario, you don’t have it. What do you do?” Of course, Jason knew the obvious answers. Disrupt the casting, block the spell with a chair, use a mirror to reflect it back, etc. Boring. ‘If he gives me a boring answer, I’m giving him a strike.’ 

“It’s game over if I turn into a worm,” Tim reasoned aloud, more to himself than to Jason. Still, Jason responded, nodding in agreement.

“It is. Worm in the middle of a conference room? You stand zero chance. You can’t run, you can’t hide, you can’t fight. You’re dead as soon as someone steps on you.”

“Plus, I can’t trust the board’s ability to keep worm-me alive,” he continued, still muttering to himself. It sounded like he was gearing up to something — or rather, pre-justifying his answer. That boded well for Jason’s entertainment.

“You shouldn’t. They’d probably use the opportunity to take you out themselves,” Jason speculated, adding to whatever argument Tim thought was necessary. It sounded like the kind of thing business people would do. He’d believe it. 

“Some of them would, especially Hargrove if he was there. He’d ‘accidentally’ step on me without hesitation.” ‘Ah, right. That asshole. I should see if I can create a situation that warrants me punching him in the face,’ Jason thought, already filing away plans for some public gathering, drunk witnesses, and some kind of easily disproven reputation besmirching insult to accuse him of saying. ‘Maybe that their marriage was a sham? Then it could double as a pregnancy announcement.’

“So, what are you doing, Mr. ‘bout to be bird food?” Jason asked, rounding back to the topic on hand.

“I’m using one of the board members as a meat shield.” Jason laughed, letting Tim trip him onto the floor although he kept the other from pinning his arms down. That was not the ‘right’ answer and exactly the kind of thinking Jason actually wanted to hear. If he wanted actual contingency plans, he’d look in the Batcomputer. Or ask Bruce.

“That is cold, Timberly,” Jason complimented as their struggles started to resemble something like wrestling.

“It buys me time to neutralize the threat and I trust my ability to keep the worm-board-member alive. I would actually make it a priority.” Finally, Jason flipped them and held Tim’s wrists above his head as the alpha defended his position verbally, but not physically.

“Cold and calculated.” The words rumbled out of Jason. He grinned sharply, looking down to meet steely blue eyes head on. “I like it.”

“That's the best plan I got if it happens and I have no magical protection on me. With time, we could get an actual countermeasure installed in the building. Play up the Brucie being the JL’s sugar daddy angle as an explanation,” Tim rambled as he tested the hold Jason had on him. He pushed back with a remarkable amount of strength considering the lack of leverage the position gave him, muscles tensing in his arms as Jason watched from his vantage point.

Jason smothered a chuckle — it definitely wasn’t the best plan for any Bat’s standards, but it was funny to imagine CEO Tim Drake just ruthlessly pull someone in front of him to take the hit — and settled more of his weight down on Tim to trap him, straddling his abdomen. 

“Not bad on round two, by the way,” Jason told the alpha that was thoroughly trapped and immobilized underneath him.

“You were playing with me the whole time.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his position to be more comfortable for himself. Judging by how Tim stiffened, it was the opposite for him.

“I got trained to be an assassin, and a lot of the people I killed were alphas. You’d be dead if I wasn’t,” Jason drawled, leaning in close.

“I believe that,” Tim replied, still with zero resentment at having lost. The alpha looked flushed, which could be from exertion but the way he kept strict focus on Jason’s face made the omega think otherwise. Tim was being a very good boy and not looking down Jason’s shirt despite having a great angle to do so. That was a level of respectful that one wouldn’t expect from a stalker — although it could just be self-preservation. He was within ripping out throat range.

“Round 3?”

“Do I stand any chance?” Tim asked, a smile indicating he was still being good-natured about it.

“Nah. You’re a good fighter, Timmers, but I got more experience, size, and a longer reach. You’re not gonna beat me in unarmed combat,” Jason bragged.

“Not yet.” The determination and confidence in that one word kicked up Jason’s blood more than the spar did. The little alpha could certainly try.

“That’s the spirit, Tim. Better get used to being on your back,” Jason purred into the alpha’s ear, pulling back to watch as Tim’s blush deepened. 

“What did I do to deserve this,” he groaned, his voice strangled by embarrassment. Yet, his scent still showed how much he liked this, like he couldn’t repress it.

“You decided to stalk me.”

“If this is a punishment, I think you’re doing it wrong,” Tim snarked.

“If I’m doing it wrong, then why do you sound like you’re in pain?” Jason shot back, pressing down on where he had Tim pinned. A whimper escaped the younger man.

“Because you’re evil.”

“Thank you.” With that, Jason helped Tim get to his feet so they could start round three.

This time, Tim did markedly better, clearly a quick learner — or perhaps he finally realized how little he actually needed to hold back. After a few exchanges, Jason decided that Tim was adequately distracted enough for some underhanded information gathering.

So far little Timmy had only completed the first stage of courting — Interest. It was a simple stage, an opening act for the resulting relationship. Traditionally from alpha to omega, a gift to show their interest in the omega. Reciprocation from the omega was optional, although increasingly common nowadays. It wasn’t unheard of for a beta to do it as well, if they were interested in an omega. Hell, last Jason heard on the subject, some omegas had started initiating courtships too.

Lazy alphas would default to something generic like flowers or chocolates, while better ones would actually personalize their gifts for their chosen love interest. Jason was pleased to note that the mountain of gifts he received were hyperspecific to him. 

Wonder Woman merch (including signed items), a Pride and Prejudice inspired chocolate bar, several lockpicks, a few first editions of some of his lesser known favorite books, and several children’s toys were just some of the highlights. His personal favorite was an album filled with candid photos of Crime Alley that showed how it was more than just its reputation. Cityscape photos taken at sunset, kids playing in the streets, and some shots of him as Robin interacting with the community. Tim was certainly one sneaky fucking stalker and talented photographer.

With such an intense opening act, the omega was burning to know what the hell Tim had planned for the next stage.

“So, is this your gesture for protection? Proving yourself via spar?” Jason asked casually. The third stage of courting was an alpha proving they could protect the omega. Shitty knotheads sometimes paid people to create an ‘opportunity to be a hero.’ Regular folks in Gotham often bought their chosen omegas a new gas mask or some kind of self-defense weapon. The capes community was fond of sparring to provide their worth.

“What.” Tim said flatly, face scrunching in confusion.

“I mean, helping with dinner yesterday could count as providing. You did run to the grocery store for me.” Provision — proving one could provide for an omega — was diverse in how exactly courting alphas (or others) chose to showcase it. Some went with flaunting money — like fancy restaurants — while others went for skills — like cooking or changing a car’s oil. Going to a grocery store and buying something on behalf of an omega could count —- but it would be insultingly low effort.

“That’s not — No.” Irritation settled in the air, cutting through the pleasant aroma that had been building up. Jason kept his posture loose and relaxed as they continued to trade light hits.

“Why not? I’m okay with it.” He wasn’t, and Tim probably knew that, but hopefully the indignation would blind him. Anger was a good way to loosen lips, after all.

“To quote your own words: that bar is in hell and I’m gonna need you to raise it before we trip over it.” Jason failed to repress a laugh at the response; that sounded like what he said. God, was that an exact quote? Could Tim recall everything Jason had ever said to him? That couldn’t be.

Right?

“Are you sure? It would make the process faster if we just called it that,” he said, injecting as much sincerity as he could fake into the words. Tim growled, his actions becoming more abrupt as they continued their spar.

“You are not undercutting my effort by accepting something I would have done for literally anyone in the pack! If I cared about fast, I wouldn’t have spent years designing a custom home or bribing the owners of the ice cream parlor on 34th to stay open and change nothing, or — ” Tim cut himself off, realisation setting in. 

“You did that on purpose,” he hissed, throwing himself at the omega. Jason smirked and knocked the alpha to the ground, this time pinning Tim down on his stomach with his arms held behind his back.

“Well, yeah. I was curious what enthusiastic display of intense attention I was gonna face next,” Jason replied, easily holding the struggling alpha down. 

“God, I can’t believe I fell for that,” Tim muttered, giving up and sinking into the ground. “You could have just asked, I would have told you.”

“Really?” Jason asked skeptically. Most alphas were secretive about their plans, wanting to surprise the omega. Sometimes to disastrous effect, especially in the last two stages. Nesting and Grooming were, after all, very intimate and very personal activities. Easy to get the wrong color or texture for nesting supplies, and there was so much room for error when it came to personal care products.

“I would. There is very little I wouldn’t do if you asked,” Tim told him. Jason leaned over, bearing more of his weight onto the alpha. A soft gasp escaped Tim as he was crushed into the ground.

“So, if I asked you to bark like a dog,” Jason breathed into his ear, the words taunting.

“Please don’t,” Tim pleaded. His face was red again, either from the lack of oxygen or embarrassment. Jason stared, mind cataloging all the little twitches Tim made.

“You really would do anything I asked,” Jason stated. The ‘even if it was humiliating’ went unsaid, but not unheard. ‘I know he blew up the LOA for me, but violence from an alpha was expected. Willingly giving up his pride? That…that means more.’

“I would,” Tim confirmed, before breathlessly continuing. “I — I know that’s kinda pathetic. Not very alpha-like.” The self-depreciating tone made Jason frown and he eased off the alpha, nudging him into turning over although he kept him pinned to the ground.

“I don’t exactly follow the textbook definition of an omega. Pretty sure I could kick Batman’s ass on a good day. You calling me a bad omega?” Jason shot back, figuring getting the man defensive on his behalf would work for cutting through the heteronormative bullshit.

“No!” The indignation burned his nose. “You’re perfect and anyone that doesn’t agree is blind.” The growl at the end bubbled something hot in Jason. That was better, no sad mopey Tim allowed here.

“Back at ‘cha, Baby bird. I hate when people tell me what to do, so you being so willing to take orders is…” he dragged out the words, a cocky smile appearing back on his face. “Refreshing.” It was the same feeling he got back in Tim’s room all those years ago, the realization of just how much this guy was obsessed with him and how much that — shockingly — wasn’t a problem for Jason. 

“Really?” Tim said, brow knitting as he looked up at Jason skeptically. “That doesn’t match past precedence. I don't think Donna or Roy or Kori are really the kind to take orders.” There was no way he just happened to name all the people Jason had a crush on when younger. Someone fucking blabbed. His ears burned at the realization.

“Who the fuck spoke ill of the dead?” he demanded, stifling his embarrassment. He glared down threateningly at Tim, who looked back with a thoughtful expression, eyes somehow both focused on him and staring into the middle distance.

“Dick. He was drunk and reminiscing," Tim informed him, glint in his eyes like he was cataloging Jason’s reactions. The heat spread further as thoughts of what exactly a drunk Dick might have shared assaulted him. 

“...Isn’t it basic fucking manners not to talk about someone’s childhood crushes? It’s not my fault I like pretty, competent people,” he grumbled, glaring at the matted ground under them.

“And me?” The words were soft and hesitant. Jason rolled his eyes, still glaring at the ground.

“Just because you’d jump off a cliff if I asked you to doesn’t change anything about your looks or your competence, Red Robin. Don’t go fishing for a compliment. You got a working nose.” Jason leaned in, listening to the hummingbird-fast heartbeat as he whispered in the alpha’s ear. He ignored the warmth branding his cheeks. “I think it’s obvious how much I’ve liked this spar.” At the prompting, Tim breathed in sharply. There was surprise, disbelief, and then a spike of arousal in the air. ‘Huh. Guess he thought it was just a ploy.’

“Fuck,” he breathed, “...Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Need a cold shower?” Jason teased, pressing in closer. Tim stilled completely, seemingly holding his breath.

“I need you to not be straddling my lap right now,” he intoned, strain visible on his face. Jason pouted dramatically, making a show of rolling his eyes as Tim continued the statue act under him.

“Fine.” Jason stood up, crossing his arms as he stared down at Tim displeased. “Ruin my fun. I guess it’s late enough, we should turn in.”

“Oh, I’m not tired, I think I’ll go work—” Jason growled, stopping Tim in whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

“Nope. I will sit on you if you go anywhere other than upstairs,” Jason threatened, glaring at the alpha.

“That’s not a threat,” Tim whined, despite the fact that he looked genuinely terrified — and turned on. Aroused and afraid was an interesting scent combination. He wondered if it was because Tim feared Jason would rip his dick off if he overstepped. 

Because he would rip Tim’s dick off if he overstepped. Flirting was fine, but they did not have enough rapport for him to push any further than that. Although, he would warn the alpha first. Give him a full second to back off before suffering the consequences.

“Then why are you so scared by it?” he taunted, voice dropping low and sharp as he watched Tim squirm.

“Because I’m too young to die!” he shouted. ‘Smart boy,’ he thought.

“Then we’re in agreement. You’re going the fuck to sleep. Go save your progress and logout,” Jason ordered, tone stern and final.

“Yes, dear.” The sharp glare Jason shot at him made Tim scramble to get up and run to the Batcomputer to — hopefully — logout for the night, leaving Jason to watch as the alpha walked away. 

Jason didn’t really agree with Tim's hangups on the whole ‘alpha’ thing; he had seen the thirsty tweets about Tim Drake-Wayne. Granted those same tweets also said that Jason's been murdered by Tim and that the pack was covering up his death, but that many people being willing to sleep with a supposed murderer says a lot about his attractiveness. It was still 50/50 on whether people found the stories about Tim from high school cute or concerning.