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Dick paces down the concrete street that is Bruce’s rich-person driveway for the third time, trying to convince himself to get back in his car and leave.
He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t even want to be here.
Seven seconds of accidental patrol overlap should not have been enough to break Dick’s stellar No-Bruce streak. He’s been doing so good! Donna’s been putting little silver star stickers on his calendar for weeks, both because Donna Troy is the best friend to ever friend, and because that is actually remarkable progress for him.
All this work untangling his sense of self from Batman, from Bruce, and here he fucking is.
So maybe he ran into the new Robin, caught the sweet scent still full of milky undertones and realized the kid must have presented. That’s fine. That’s normal. Jason’s what, thirteen? A little early, maybe, but still well within the bounds of normal.
So why is Dick tearing up the pavement outside a house he wants to be far far away from?
Dick isn’t even particularly close to the kid! He gave Jason his number, but it’s not like Gotham is his turf anymore. It’s not like Gotham is his home anymore.
It’s just when he thinks about Jason, a young newly-presented omega who is kind of technically his brother, alone in the looming Manor with Bruce’s intimidating presence and emotional constipation—
It’s dumb. It’s so dumb! Verging on sexist, actually, because Dick didn’t really give a shit before. Didn’t care about the kid Bruce is using to fill a Robin-sized hole.
(As if he could, as if Jason will ever be as in-sync as they were—as if Dick needed any more proof that being Robin had nothing to do with being his son.)
Dick’s not one of those gender essentialist idiots. He’s perfectly aware that omegas don’t need alpha protection, that people are not animals governed by instinct. And yet—
Here he fucking is.
He’s never felt like this before.
The gnawing need to have Jason in his sightline. The voice in the back of his head screaming, he’s not safe, he’s alone, he’s hurt, lost, scared—
It’s not like he’s never had omega packmates before—even though Jason is decidedly not his packmate. Donna and Roy presented at fifteen and twelve, respectively. Plus Garth is kind of the Atlantean equivalent of an omega, they think. (The biological differences between species are both fascinating and awkward to communicate.) And Dick’s protective, sure, but no more than he is over any of his friends. Nothing like this.
He feels fourteen again, instincts new and strange and wild. Every emotion starbursting into his scent. It’s how he imagines Kory feels all the time, passionate and emotion-driven, heart open and bared to the world. It was too much for him. Too… raw.
Dick learned to control his body’s reactions, learned to recognize that irrational hormone-driven voice in his head and confront it with cold hard facts.
Control is carefully rangled back one iota of logic at a time. Bruce taught him—well, Bruce taught him a lot, but self-control was always paramount to the mission. Even before Batman and Robin, Dick relied on his control over his body nightly. That lesson goes back to his days on the bars with his parents, chalk and training the only things standing between a good show and a tragedy.
Not that chalk and training did much good in the end.
Control and logic and when in doubt, return to what you know to be true.
He runs over the facts again.
Wayne Manor is one of, if not the, most protected domicile this side of the country. Jason has Robin training and Alfred has a shotgun stashed behind the ironing board. Bruce was surprisingly reassuring during Dick’s first rut. Jason has access to the best medical care and nesting supplies imaginable. It therefore follows that Jason is totally fine.
The completely logical conclusion fails to quench his anxieties. Same as it failed last night. Same as it failed every five minutes since.
Dick turns to pace back.
The creak of the old oak doors is the only warning he gets.
“Are you coming inside, or are you just gonna mope in the driveway until patrol?”
Dick jerks his head up, eyes widening. “Jason!”
An unimpressed thirteen-year-old stares back at him, nose crinkling. God, he’s small. Jason’s burgundy sweater dwarfs him, neck hole so large it falls off his shoulder, revealing the white button-down underneath.
“Why are you here?” the kid asks, voice thick with suspicion. Dick twitches, a flash of fury at the thought of Bruce’s new pet project acting like he owns the place.
Dick shrugs, playing at nonchalant. “Thought I’d check up on you in person. You never texted.”
Jason strolls a little closer. He’s not wearing a suppressant patch, so Dick can smell all that vulnerable milky sweetness. He wants to lovingly drag Jason to his nest and cover him in protective-alpha. Ugh.
Hang on.
Jason should be coated in Bruce’s steel parental musk. Why is he instead smelling like he’s fresh off the streets?
Well, no that’s not quite right—he smells healthy and there’s none of that sour fear that marks Gotham’s most vulnerable, that acrid terror that had Dick trying to scrub his mouth out with soap after his first patrol, but he smells packless and vulnerable. It’s a bright red flag screaming: no one will miss this child.
The thought of Bruce failing to look after the kid he took in, the thirteen-year-old omega that is in his house, has Dick biting back a growl. It’s unthinkable, but it’s Bruce, so it is actually very thinkable.
Thinkable, yet still out of character.
When Dick was a pup, Bruce would scent him every night before bed. Even after he presented, not a week went by under Bruce’s roof that he didn’t smell like he belonged there. And now Jason doesn’t even have that security net?
“Where is Bruce anyway?” Dick grits through clenched teeth. Maybe he needs to have a talk about not compounding your parental screw-ups on the next kid.
Not that Bruce was ever really his parent, but still.
Jason gives him a weird look. “He’s out doing recon.”
It’s probably for the best. No risk of them riling each other up if they aren’t in the same place. Still, something burns in him—Dick’s here, he’s back even though climbing the spiral gate made him want to vomit, and Bruce can’t even be bothered to be here?
“Alfred?”
“Went to the farmer’s market. His strawberry jam hook-up is in town, so he’s been going every day to make sure he doesn’t miss her.”
(Dick knows Alfred’s strawberry jam lady—Mrs. Beauregard, a sweet, if slightly deranged, woman who is also a professional goat rehabilitator. She moonlights as the best strawberry preserver in the state. He’d be alight with reignited jealousy over Jason getting the good jam while Titan’s Tower exclusively stocks Welch’s grape jelly—the squeezable kind—if the implications of that sentence hadn’t just torn up every instinct he’s been successfully repressing.)
“You’re here alone?” The completely ridiculous, utterly nonsensical thoughts start repeating again, underlying every conscious thought. He’s alone, he’s vulnerable, he’s pack and he’s packless—
Jason frowns at him, tiny face scrunching up. “I’m Robin. I can take care of myself.”
A low guttural sound the likes of which he’s never heard before escapes him. Jason flinches back and Dick instantly hates himself for scaring the kid. He takes deep breaths, trying to get his anger, and by extension, his scent, under control.
Jason looks a shade paler than before, maybe, but mostly he looks calculating.
Dick tries to take another deep breath. He closes his eyes.
It’s just—
Jason is Robin.
Jason’s used to taking care of himself, he was on the streets, he had to be self-sufficient—
Robin can take care of himself. Dick got good at compensating for all of Bruce’s many, many shortcomings. He can deal with the impossible standards and the critique and the constant pushing to be better, to be perfect—
Robin can take care of himself but he had Donna and Roy and Garth and Wally, and later Kory and Raven and Vic teaching him that he didn’t have to.
Jason has nobody and nothing except Bruce. Except Robin.
Dick escaped Bruce’s gravitational pull. He knows what it feels like—Bruce is a black hole of a person and Dick loves him but he needs space, he needs his own city, because otherwise he’ll be sucked in completely and part of him wants it.
Part of him wishes he had never left.
When Dick opens his eyes, he finds Jason studying him, stance a little more relaxed than it was previously.
“Weird alpha stuff?” Jason asks knowingly.
Dick bristles at being called out on his apparently visibly irrational behavior. But also Jason’s thirteen and small and he’s not wrong, so.
“Ugh. Yes.”
Jason looks like he’s weighing something in his head—head tilted, thoughtful little frown. “Wanna come inside?” Jason asks when he’s done deliberating.
Again a brief flash of rage, but it’s muted by the protective scrabbling inside his chest.
“Sure.” Clipped, but polite. Dick is nailing this.
Stepping into the Manor feels like the worst kind of familiar, feels like a home he’s outgrown and been stripped of. Fondness and grief and it’s a struggle, but he manages to keep the worst of it out of his scent. Bruce would be proud.
They’re barely in the foyer when Jason side-eyes him and goes, “This isn’t a sex thing, right?”
Horror knocks whatever thoughts may have been percolating straight out of Dick’s head. “What? No! Why would you even think—” Dick bites down on the end of that sentence because there are a million reasons someone ends up at that conclusion, and they’re all fucking horrible.
Jason, tiny, puppish Jason, says, “Just wanted to be sure,” says it wry like the world-weary baby he apparently is.
That’s—okay. Okay.
Dick stuffs his hands in his too-shallow pockets. Of all the days to wear his white jeans. “So. Omega, huh? How’s that treating you?”
Jason looks at him flatly. “Loving it. I’ve always wanted to go on birth control at thirteen.”
Dick grimaces.
There was a right thing to say and that sure as fuck wasn’t it. Insensitive, probably—Dick still vividly recalls the roller coaster of hormones and people’s general shittiness that Roy dealt with when he presented young.
Roy had friends he could complain to (friends he could annoy into giving him the best snacks when he was in pre-heat, more like). He had Ollie, who tried, but more importantly, he had Dick and the Titans. He had pack.
Jason’s not pack.
Jason’s not pack but maybe he could be. Omegas need support systems—everybody needs support systems—and Bruce can’t provide that. Even at his best, he’s an isolating motherfucker.
“I have butterfly barrettes in my room if you want them,” Dick says, offering the first thing he thinks of that he knows is still there. Assuming Bruce didn’t pillage his room, but the man’s richer than God and he’s stayed out of Dick’s room since the humiliating-for-all-parties-involved incident back when he was fifteen.
Jason scowls, offended. “Why would I want that?”
The Titans don’t really do courting jewelry all that much, since they’ve pretty much been packed since their pre-teens. Still, Dick likes making the people he loves happy. He knows what small tokens his pack treasures. Kory likes butterfly barrettes. Garth has a soft stop for anklets that sparkle like seaglass. Roy likes personalized charms to pin on his quiver. And his car. And every bag that he owns.
He doesn’t know what Jason likes. He doesn’t know much about Jason at all.
It’s instinct to try to figure it out without asking directly, probing at Jason until he gets what he wants. But just because he likely can manipulate the kid doesn’t mean it’s the right play. Dick’s already frightened him and is still actively burdening him with his own pesky instincts. He owes the kid some truth.
“I want to get you something pretty, that you’ll like.” Dick shifts foot-to-foot, feeling all the anxiety of asking Kory out for the first time and feeling ridiculous for it because this isn’t gorgeous, out-of-his-league, star-bolt blasting Kory, this is a scrawny thirteen-year-old who vaguely occupies the distant brother space in his head.
“Courting jewelry,” Jason says, blinking several times in quick succession. “You want to cou—you want us to be pack?”
Dick blows out a breath. “Yeah!”
He didn’t ten minutes ago. This wasn’t the plan. There wasn’t really much of a plan in the first place, just the inexplicable, yet very powerful, compulsion to make sure Jason’s safe. But Dick’s always been good at rolling with the punches, and he is suddenly strangely sure that this is the right move. More than that, he wants it, wants the pack bond with a ferocity that surprises him, a ferocity that really did just come out of nowhere.
“You want to be pack with me?” Jason’s eyes are wide, unbelieving.
Astonished-awed omega scent fills the room, vaguely floral and so sweet and pleased that Dick kind of wants to die.
It takes so little to make Jason happy. The mere passing promise of pack and he’s glowing with happiness, flushed and smiling.
…Is Jason not packed at all?
“Do—” Jason hesitates, glancing at Dick and back away. “Do you want to see my nest?”
That’s—wow. Yeah, there is no chance in hell Jason is packed if he’s offering that sort of familial intimacy to somebody he barely knows. It doesn’t diminish the specialness of it all, not one bit.
“I would be honored,” Dick says through the lump in his throat.
Jason bounds up the stairs, double-checking that Dick’s still behind him every few seconds.
It occurs to Dick with all the agony of a sucking chest wound that he doesn’t actually know where Jason’s nest is.
He doesn’t let his footsteps stutter. Doesn’t want the risk of Jason getting the wrong idea, thinking for even a second that Dick is backing out.
Luckily, Jason makes a beeline to his room. Dick wouldn’t have known which room was his, and doesn’t that just highlight how not-family they are. How not-family Dick is.
So disconnected from his former pack that he doesn’t even know which room is what.
Dick cuts the bad thoughts off at their source, taking shears to part of his brain that wants to drag up every hurt Bruce ever dealt. He can’t go there, not now, not here.
Out of mind, out of scent.
It was a guest room the last time he laid eyes on it—queen bed with a fancy neutral comforter. It’s since been transformed into an actual person’s room.
There are posters on the wall, a stack of Alfred’s classics on the bedside table. Half-completed homework is scattered on the desk, chewed pens gathered in a little vase. Dick has never seen a room in the Manor looking so lived-in that wasn’t his own. It’s with a vague sense of astonishment that he catalogs the graveyard of gum wrappers behind the desk lamp—conveniently not visible from the doorway.
Here, in Jason’s room, the omega scent is honey-thick. He could drown in it. It settles a part of Dick that’s been frantic since he caught that first whiff.
It also quiets some of the worst of his concerns that have bloomed over the course of their conversation. Jason has a nest that he clearly feels safe in. That’s something. There isn’t a hint of alpha scent, or even Alfred’s less obtrusive beta scent, but that doesn’t necessarily indicate neglect. Maybe Jason just doesn’t want them there.
Jason’s Robin and if there’s one thing Robin loves, it’s independence.
(Dick doesn’t think about what it means if Bruce and Alfred aren’t allowed in, but he’s invited at first sign of interest. He doesn't think about any possible significance. Dick doesn’t dream of prying—he doesn’t think his heart can take it.)
Jason perches on the edge of his nest.
“What do you like?” Dick asks again. Jason’s giving him so much trust and he hasn’t even been able to extend the simplest courting gift. What kind of an alpha lets things get so unbalanced?
“Wha—oh, you mean the courting jewelry thing?” Jason shrugs, kicking his heels against the bed frame. “I dunno. I’ve never gotten any before.” There’s a tinge of shame in his scent. Dick wants to bite everyone who didn’t appreciate his little brother—and not in a bonding sort of way.
“Okay,” Dick says slowly. “Well, what if I give you some butterfly barrettes for now, and we try other pretty stuff later?”
Jason stares up at him, blue eyes wide in wonder. “Okay,” he squeaks, voice cracking in a way that would be embarrassing for anyone else—it’s just painfully cute on him.
Within seconds Dick is in his room, yanking open the barrette drawer. There’s a fine layer of dust that plumes with the sudden motion, causing Dick to sneeze three times in quick succession.
Dick hovers over his collection. So many pretty barrettes, so little time.
He’d give them all to Jason in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid. Plus, they don’t even know if he likes barrettes! If he does, then Dick can give him all these and more. For now, he’ll have to select based on quality and the little he does know about his prospective new packmate.
He works swiftly, narrowing it down to just the top contenders in a matter of seconds.
Glittering midnight blue (would match Jason’s eyes), sparkling pink (fun and cute and as Dick can attest, looks great in black hair), green (the same shade as the Robin uniform), translucent shot-through-with-silver (gorgeous, fancier than the others).
Dick leaves the green and gathers up the cream of the crop.
He consciously slows his steps as he approaches Jason’s room. Busting in like he’s a cop wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Jason looks a little surprised to see him, like he thought Dick might’ve ditched him. That's too awful a thought, so Dick blows by it without digging into the guts of the thing.
“So this is what I picked for you,” Dick explains, fanning them out like playing cards.
Jason’s mouth opens and closes several times, complicated emotions working over his face. Eventually he gives up on words, fisting his hand in Dick’s shirt and tugging him into the nest.
Dick’s heart explodes with pure unadulterated joy. Everything in him turns to gooey mush at Jason’s awkward affection.
They curl up together in a proper cuddle, Jason’s head pressed into Dick’s chest, held tight in his embrace. Scents soaring, a feedback loop of positive emotion.
Dick is melted marshmallow fluff.
He lays his cheek on Jason’s curls. He wants to press his face into Jason’s neck, scent him aggressively enough that he smells like Nightwing will be after anyone who tries to fuck with him, smells like he’s loved.
That would be—presumptuous. Too much, too soon.
It’s important not to trample boundaries. Jason’s at that age where kids are figuring out their own autonomy, and with him so newly presented…
The way he’s treated by alphas now will become his baseline. He already undoubtedly has no shortage of bad experiences in that department—Dick can’t overwrite them, but he can try and show Jason something different.
So instead, he runs a gentle hand up and down his back in a way Jason’s probably a little old for. He’s not complaining though. In fact, he’s the opposite of complaining—a puppish purr vibrates from his chest, breaking from newness.
Dick pauses for a split second. The purr stutters and he hastily restarts.
Time stretches like taffy, perception made hazy by the abundance of pheromones. It’s nice. He’s curled around Jason, smushing him and protecting him in equal measure. The purring is a constant, distant rumble, the heartbeat of their shared haziness.
The door opens and Jason goes rigid.
“Out,” Dick growls, pumping out enough protection-anger pheromones to kill a small mammal.
Jason shoves his face into the crook of Dick’s shoulder, cold nose smushing against his neck. The kid’s shaking, scared, and Bruce was not allowed into the nest.
Dick bares his teeth.
Bruce takes a step back, analytical gaze sweeping over them, no doubt cataloging their every detail. Dick does not care. He is so far past giving a shit. His little brother, his omega, does not want Bruce here—and why the fuck would he?
Jason and the horror of him packless packless packless.
“Jason, are you okay with Dick being in your nest?” Bruce’s voice rings loud and clear.
Dick kind of wants to rip his throat out. There wasn’t a hint of distress in Jason’s scent prior to Bruce opening that door. He was fine. He was safe.
Now he’s shaking against Dick, peaceful purring replaced by chattering teeth. Shaking down to his very bones.
“He’s fine!” Dick snaps. “He’ll be better if you go away.”
“Jason,” Bruce calls again. Jason whines from the back of his throat, high and cracking.
Dick is about five seconds from pulling Jason off of him and removing the intruder himself. Forcefully. “Get. Out.”
Bruce retreats—finally—and Dick buries his face in Jason’s curls again. “He’s gone,” Dick whispers, trying to sound and smell reassuring. The onslaught of aggressive-alpha pheromones probably weren’t doing Jason any favors. Dick tries to banish any hint of the conflict from his scent. “You’re okay, you’re safe, everything’s a-okay.”
“A-okay?” Jason’s tremulous voice still manages to convey his skepticism.
“Yep,” Dick chirps, just relieved that Jason’s talking. “It’s aces. Downright peachy. Swell as can be.”
“Why are you talking like a radio broadcaster from the forties,” Jason grumbles.
Dick laughs. This kid.
There’s a moment of silence, a moment of Dick thinking Jason’s settling again, a moment where he can see their return to blissful nest-time. Then Jason sniffles and Dick’s heart drops to his stomach.
“Do you think Bruce is mad?” Jason whispers.
Dick feels blind-sided, dropped in a conversation he doesn’t understand. That’s what this whole roller-coaster of a day has been, really. “I mean—maybe. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms, and I didn’t announce I was dropping by, so…”
And yeah, with that he can understand why Bruce might be shocked to find him nesting with the brother he had barely acknowledged. Doesn’t give the bastard the right to just barge in though.
“No,” Jason starts. He swallows compulsively a few times, clearly anxious, before trying again. “Do you think he’s gonna be mad that I let you in the nest and not him.” And—
Oh.
Dick… isn’t sure what to say to that. On one hand, no, Bruce respects his kids’ right to autonomy over their nests. He never got even the slightest bit peeved when Dick went through that phase where he didn’t want to nest with him—didn’t want to treat him like pack at all, in fact. Guilt over ‘replacing’ his parents, his first pack, as if such a thing was possible. Bruce weathered it all surprisingly well.
On the other hand, Bruce feels things deeper than he’s willing to admit, and sometimes those underlying emotions leak into his actions. He can be—difficult. Dick is intimately aware of exactly how difficult Bruce can be.
He’s taking too long to answer, fear beginning to turn Jason’s sweet scent acrid.
“No, no!” Dick rushes to reassure him. “Bruce isn’t—I’m sure he’s talked to you about how your nest is your space and your choice, right?” Because if he hasn’t, then we’re going out the window and the Titans are getting a Robin. Again.
“Yeah,” Jason mumbles. “But. ‘Freedom of choice isn’t freedom from consequence.’” And that’s a Bruceism right there—Dick would know it from tone of voice even if he didn’t have a decade of recitations ringing in his ears.
It’ll never stop being weird, the way Jason is living Dick’s past.
“Well, Bruce wouldn’t punish you for that,” Dick says firmly, because partially-estranged they may be, but he still knows Bruce’s character better than anyone.
Jason chews on his lip and Dick wants to chide him because he’s going to make himself bleed if he keeps that up, but Jason is already braced for a much rougher scolding and Dick can’t bring himself to open his mouth.
“He won’t even be—upset?” Jason asks. “I mean, I know he’s not gonna hurt me—he’s only said it about a million times—but that doesn’t mean he won’t get mad, and I can’t—” Jason wheezes. “There are a lotta ways to be upset and I can’t—I don’t know how to make him not mad at me—”
It’s a bad idea in several very important ways, but Dick leans in and gently scruffs Jason anyway. He stops hyperventilating immediately, breath slowing as his head lolls into the blankets.
Guilt is snuffed out before it can creep into his scent.
While not incredibly inappropriate, it is a little presumptuous considering how new their familial relationship is. Not to mention that scruffing is usually used for younger pups.
Dick sets every part of his to trying to make Jason feel safe. Scruffing strips away the mind and leaves you at the mercy of your instincts. There’s a reason it’s only really done between pack. Dick nuzzles at Jason’s head, his wrists, his shirt, trying to cover him in protective-alpha scent. It seemed to put him at ease earlier.
After a few minutes of concentrated effort, all of the stress vacated Jason’s scent. A few more minutes, and the purring picks up again.
Pride is dangerous, especially for alphas, but there’s nothing wrong in indulging for a second. It’s a mix of pride and relief, the protective pulsing of his blood compelling him to squeeze Jason a little tighter, to delight in the small body he’s wrapped around, keeping safe with his own body and heart and soul.
It takes several long, comfortable minutes before Jason starts shifting. Even then, he doesn’t seem to want away.
There’s no sudden spike of fear or panic in his scent. Jason doesn’t tense up the second he is physically able to. Which is good! It means Dick hasn’t screwed this whole thing up, that the comfort is real and not biology-enforced artificial. Jason is snuggled in his nest smelling happy and relaxed and safe. The minute movements are likely just to prove that he can.
Jason takes a breath in like he’s about to speak. It takes him a while to get around to it, but Dick stays attentive. He’ll be listening when his omega gets his voice to working.
“Do you think—” Jason cuts himself off, pushing his face into Dick’s shirt. Shy, not scared. Oh, that’s cute. Unbearably so, actually. That is an unexplored angle to the whole ‘little brother’ thing, one previously buried under rage and hurt. But now Jason’s kind of headbutting him and it’s so adorable Dick wants to squeeze him til his eyes pop out. In a good way.
Dick nudges his new baby brother. “Do I think what?”
“Maybe… maybe bracelets?” Jason says hesitantly.
Dick beams at him, already calculating how much of his salary will be sacrificed to his new brotherly venture. It’s a good thing he still has Selina’s number. She’ll know where to get the good stuff in a cost-effective manner.
“Of course,” Dick says, feeling all the good and joyous things in the world.
Bracelets. Ideas are already sparking to life, vague pretty concepts of the gifts he’ll one day give.
Something blue perhaps, shimmering shades of sapphire or aquamarine. Bands of silver, practical and shining around his wrists.
Then again, Jason would look right at home in Robin green.