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Chapter Text

He'd thought—when he'd found Batman, covered in Poison Ivy's pollen and staggering down an alley, he'd had to do something. He couldn't...Batman was the one good thing Gotham had left, and he couldn't let Batman get caught while he was so vulnerable. He couldn’t risk someone  else getting caught by a rutting Batman, especially if that someone else would tell on Batman when it wasn’t even his fault.

Rutting alpha, Jason thought to himself, a semi-hysterical laugh nearly making its way past the lump in his throat. Alpha.

The tension was palpable, at least on Jason’s end. Jason held so still he only let himself breathe when his lungs felt as empty as his stomach, like if he moved, if he gave up and believed that this was real, then reality would reassert itself, and Batman would go back to being the alpha everyone knew he was instead of the omega clutching Jason against his chest in a nest made out of plastic tarps in the corner of a warehouse and aggressively purring.

Tears pricked his eyes as Batman rubbed the bottom of his chin—which was covered, so there wasn’t even any point—over the top of Jason’s head, the same sleepy way Jason’s mom had scented him before she’d—when he’d been little. He’d been prepared to be used, been prepared for the grossness of how much he hated it combined with the way his body felt when clients touched him. He hadn't been prepared for this. It was so similar, yet so different.

Batman was in heat. He was in heat, and he was treating Jason like Jason was his own pup, and Jason hated it. The only reason he held still and leaned into the touch and whined for more pets when Batman’s hand stilled was because Batman needed to act like he had a pup until Robin showed up and took him home.

Jason closed his eyes against the tears and waited.

And waited.

Jason was pretty sure Robin had just gotten fed up with the stifling cuddles and had decided to leave Batman to Jason. Jason kind of hoped Robin would show up soon, though, so Jason could get away from the mixed up feelings inside him and maybe Robin would feel really bad for Jason and get him a hamburger to say thanks. Jason’s stomach gave him an insistent gnaw to signal its approval of that fantasy.

He’d just started giving up hope of ever being found when he heard a faint whirrrrr of Batman and Robin’s shooty rope guns through the broken window. Robin must have found them.

An hour ago, that would have been great news, because Jason would have thought that it would mean that Robin would give Batman an antidote and save Jason from having to give himself to a high and giant alpha who probably wouldn’t even remember what he’d done to Jason. Now, though…

Jason’s stomach twisted, but he forced his scent to stay at the even, only a bit afraid scent he was carefully controlling. Batman wasn’t his Mama, even if he gave nice hugs and having a packmate, or even the illusion of one, for the first time in two years was going to haunt Jason forever once it was gone. Jason dutifully bit back a lonely keen.

A few minutes later, Jason heard the shifting and groaning of wood as Robin climbed the rickety stairs toward their hiding place.

“—tracker’s leading me here,” Robin told someone. Was Batgirl around too? “I don’t know why he’d come to this place, though.”

It was only another minute later that the door squuueeeaaaaked open so slowly it set Jason’s teeth and nerves on edge. When Jason finally managed to force himself to raise his head a few moments later, he found himself staring up at Robin, who was standing frozen in utter shock in the doorway.

Batman also seemed to notice, and he snapped his head up, growling at the intruder until he realized who it was.

Jason jumped when Batman wrapped his arms around Jason’s ribs and stomach and rolled onto his back so Jason was lying on Batman’s broad, muscular, terrifying chest. He thought Batman was going to—actually, he had no idea what Batman was doing until Batman stretched out one arm toward Robin and chuffed meaningfully, and Jason understood.

Robin was coming to the nest or else.

Jason couldn’t really imagine what Batman, drugged and delirious, intended the or else to be, but they didn’t have to find out. Robin jolted, then unfroze and slowly approached until he was just a few feet from the nest.

Robin’s eyes bored into Jason, and Jason turned his face so his face was hidden beside Batman’s neck. It would have been better worse if Batman’s scent glands were uncovered, but it was still enough to hide Jason from a bit of the scrutiny.

“Agent A, I think we’re going to need a nest in B’s room,” Robin said quietly.

Jason dug his fingers possessively into Batman’s cape and Kevlar suit. They were going to leave, then. It had been nice while it lasted. Maybe Batman would give Jason a free pass to, like, steal his tires or something for staying with him for so long. Or maybe Jason shouldn’t steal from Batman, since Batman had been so nice to him, even if Batman had only even noticed that Jason existed because of sex pollen.

He’d expected Robin to just snatch Batman and steal him away, but instead, the wood beside the nest creaked ominously, and a warm arm was slung over Jason’s back as Robin wriggled in close. Jason stiffened, waiting to be pulled away and off Batman, but Robin just leaned forward to nuzzle the back of Jason’s neck.

“It’s alright, puppy,” Robin soothed. “We’ve got you now.”

And the way he said it, somehow…Jason didn’t think it was a threat.

Chapter Text

The urgent pit-pat of a tiny hand against his cheek snapped Dick from his dreams to the utterly horrifying reality of a small dark figure crouched over him in the middle of the night.

Dick yelped and lashed out, shoving the hellbeast crashing off his bed to the floor with a loud thwump and pained cry that sounded deceptively like a human child, but Dick lived alone, and he didn’t even know any children except—

“D—Dick?” the puppy whimpered.

Oh god. Jason.

For a panicked, confused moment, Dick thought he had forgotten he was in the Manor and had attacked a kid, a twelve year old kid, for the crime of waking him for breakfast, but then Dick looked around, and no, he was definitely in his bedroom in his apartment in Blüdhaven, miles and miles from where Jason—who was still twelve—was meant to be.

Bruce must have been around somewhere, then. Probably out in the kitchen,  making coffee and judging Dick’s cereal choices. Great.

The brief alertness faded, and he slumped back into bed with a groan. “What does Bruce want?”

Dick didn’t even care what Bruce wanted. Well, he did, but he didn’t. He wanted to get along with Bruce again, but they could stop fighting when Bruce stopped taking Dick being an independent human being as a personal insult.  

Dick yawned, even the thought of arguing with Bruce wearing him out.

“He—he’s not here,” Jason stammered.

“Then why—” Dick froze.

The air smelled wrong. Sweet. Cloying. With faint metallic bitterness.

Ohhh.

Jason was in heat. And scared.

Why Jason had decided that Dick was the one to come to, Dick didn’t know, not when  he had Alfred and Bruce. Sure, Bruce was an idiot and couldn’t handle Dick growing up, but Jason wasn’t grown up yet. Jason was just a puppy, so Bruce shouldn’t have a problem with him. Bruce wasn’t even…the worst during heat. Snuggling with his almost-dad when he was deep in heat always made him feel safer.

Wait. Jason hadn't been an omega when Dick had seen him last, a few months ago for the first and only time. Was Jason presenting?

Dick yawned again and pulled back the blankets to make room for Jason. He remembered what it was like to present alone, without an older omega to explain to him what his body was doing and why it was doing it. He could understand why Jason would seek out the closest thing he had to a brother and a pack omega, even though coming to Blüdhaven all the way from Gotham, alone and in heat as a pup was a stupid idea.

“Come on in,” Dick crooned, projecting vague sleepy kindness into his scent. He still couldn’t see Jason in the dark, but he could scent the slight easing of the fear into wear anxiety. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Jason hesitated only a moment longer before scrambling into Dick’s bed and practically crashing into him. His small body trembled like a leaf, and Dick cooed and carded his fingers through Jason’s curly hair, trailing his scent all over the pup’s head. Sweet pup. He shouldn’t be so scared. He should have just had Bruce call Dick in the morning. Sure, they were fighting, but Dick wouldn’t have made Jason suffer alone.

“You’re safe now, little wing,” Dick purred, gently tugging Jason till the pup rolled onto his side with his back to Dick’s chest.

Little spoon, Dick thought to himself with a low chuckle.

Jason whimpered, and Dick rubbed his cheek over Jason’s and his hand  over Jason’s crampy stomach. Poor kid was deep in heat. No wonder he was so scared. He should have been in a nest for hours by this point, so he could feel safe and in control of his surroundings, not running around in the middle of the night between two of the most dangerous cities in the country.

Dick petted and massaged and scented his little brother till the pup’s trembling turned to sleepy sagging, then to yawns and nods as Jason fought to stay awake even though he needed to sleep.

“Shh,” Dick soothed. “It’s okay. You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you here. Go to sleep, pup. I’ll keep you safe.”

Jason flinched, then, tense and trembling, rolled over again till he could bury his face in the crook of Dick’s neck and press his nose against Dick’s scent gland. Dick bared his throat so Jason could smell the protected-wanted-you are mine filling Dick’s scent.

“Goodnight, Jason,” Dick whispered into his little brother’s hair.

A few minutes later, Jason was asleep, smelling safe and comforted at last. Dick purred and stayed awake to enjoy it just a little while longer before he drifted off too.

Chapter Text

The front door opened and shut with an urgency Jason usually avoided. Alfred paused, up to his elbows in hot soapy water. Was that an angry slam? Or an excited one? Was Alfred going to have to lure the boy out of his bedroom with promises of tea and biscuits, or was he about to be regaled on the wonders of his English class?

Though silent on the streets of Gotham, Jason had a way of pounding into rooms whenever he got excited, thus it was no surprise but relieving nonetheless when Alfred’s elephant of a grandchild burst into the kitchen rather than running upstairs and barricading himself behind his bedroom door.

“Alfred,” Jason hissed, his blue eyes wide and his freckles standing out against his flushed cheeks. “It’s an emergency.”

Alfred blinked at the words and pulled his hands from the sink. Despite the fervor with which he said the words, Jason seemed in no rush to go anywhere but toward Alfred, and he didn’t appear to be bleeding either. He was, however, carrying a small triangular prism very, very carefully.

Jason set the cardboard prism, several centimeters long and a few centimeters tall. Upon closer examination, Alfred realized it was a glue trap, used to trap pests. It was an inhumane sort of extermination, in Alfred’s opinion, to leave animals to suffer for hours or days before it might die, and as a result, Alfred had never used such traps. Where in the world had Jason found it, and why had he…

Jason turned the prism slowly, and ah. That was why.

Jason had such a tender heart. The sweet boy, of course, would steal someone’s trap to save a lizard caught inside. Despite the still mild confusion, Alfred felt a small beam of pride for the boy.

“It’s caught!” Jason exclaimed, and Alfred bent down to examine the poor thing. “I found it at school!”

There was a lizard—a skink, actually—lying half on and half off the trap, two legs and a sizeable portion of the torso glued down. Alfred’s first instinct was to submerge the trap in warm water, but the skink’s face was nearly encased in the glue, and to do such a thing would drown it.

“I see,” Alfred hummed to himself. After a moment, he touched Jason lightly on the shoulder. “Please fetch me a spoon, Master Jason.”

Jason pulled a plastic spoon from his pocket and pushed it into Alfred’s hand. “I was using this to try to get him out.”

…Alfred wanted to know how that had been attempted, but he didn’t see any physical signs of injury to the skink that might have resulted from…whatever Jason had done with the spoon.

Alfred turned the faucet on as hot as it would go, then held the spoon at the edge of the spray so it would fill slowly. Once the spoon  was full of water, he gingerly lifted the trap and angled it just slightly. He tipped the spoon so that the water would fall against the skink’s body and hopefully dissolve the glue.

Alfred was very conscious of how closely Jason was watching him and how Jason shifted anxiously from one foot to another.

“Would you fetch me a pair of scissors?” Alfred suggested, half from necessity and half just for Jason to have something to do.

Jason skipped to, rushing back with heavy duty kitchen scissors a moment later. Alfred accepted them with a hum of approval and carefully, carefully cut through the cardboard of the trap. Jason bit his lip as Alfred cut around the area where their patient lay, but he didn’t say anything.

Once that was done, Alfred was left with a small rectangle with a skink lying on it and a pair of sticky scissors.

“Will you take him for a moment?” Alfred asked.

Jason eagerly spread out flat hands to receive the skink, and he watched with no shortage of fascination as the little animal twitched and breathed a few inches from his face.

Alfred smiled at Jason and reached for one of the plates he’d just cleaned. He ran warm water again, just a few millimeters worth, and set it on the counter next to the glue trap.

“Let’s see if this helps,” Alfred suggested.

Jason nodded, that brave determination that made him Robin strong and rigid on his face. Such a sweet child; Alfred wished he could have taken a picture of that face.

Jason set the skink in the water, holding onto one corner to keep the skink’s nose in the air.

They let the skink sit in the water for a minute or so before realizing that their actions were having little to no effect except causing the skink to pull hard against his own skin in its efforts to avoid them.

Alfred, learned old man that he was, used all of the wisdom he had gained in his years of life and googled how to get animals out of glue traps.

“Master Jason, will you fetch the cooking oil.” Alfred took the skink’s rectangle from Jason, and Jason rushed  to the cupboard.

A minute and an ominous crash later, Jason rushed back out with a can of aerosol cooking oil. Just what they needed.

Jason watched with rapt attention as Alfred squirted the nozzle and sprayed plumes of yellow foam that nearly swallowed the skink whole. Alfred was a bit worried that the skink would drown in the oil, but then it wriggled. Alfred looked more closely, and one of the tangled feet Alfred had been sure would tear was free from the glue.

Heartened, Alfred sent Jason for a jar, which the boy returned with a moment later. After a few more sprays directed underneath it and around the rest of the glue to make sure the skink didn’t restick itself, the skink wriggled off the cardboard and into the jar.

Jason slapped his hand over the lid with a gasp. “Wow, Alfred! You saved it!”

Alfred smiled indulgently at the boy. Despite his outward shows of stoicism and a tough-child persona, Jason was very easily impressed.

“We saved it, Robin, my lad,” Alfred reminded him. He put an arm around Jason’s shoulders and turned Jason back toward the door. “Now let’s let him free. Do you think he’ll like our gardens?”

“Of course!” Jason cried. “They’re the best gardens ever!”

Jason’s exuberance warmed Alfred’s heart, and he kept his arm around Jason as they walked to the back patio, even though it was just slightly improper for a butler to care so deeply about the family he served. For once, though, Alfred didn’t mind. Jason was his grandson.

Chapter Text

It was cold.

Too cold. 

It had already snowed for days, days and nights and days again, and there was no end in sight for anything but Jason. The lady on the news in the corner store said there was gonna be a whole blizzard tonight. Then Jason had gotten chased out of the store before he could even steal a blanket.

Jason wasn't going to survive a blizzard or the days afterward where it would be so much harder to find food. His little rotted out room in the condemned apartment building had barely kept him alive the past few days, but he knew his luck wouldn't last.

Jason was tired. 

He knew he was so hungry, but so cold he couldn't feel anything anymore. He had fought so long to stay alive for just one more day. He'd lied, he'd cheated, he'd stolen, he'd...done other things too, sometimes cause someone made him but sometimes because he was just too hungry. His mama would have been so sad. His dad woulda beaten the guys up and then yelled at Jason for not fighting back, but Dad was gone too. Dead? Jason didn't know. He was at least in prison.

Jason didn't want to die, though. He wanted to grow up, or at least die in spring. If he died now, no one would find his body for days, maybe even months. Jason knew he was gonna die someday, but he didn't want to just be...left there.

Jason's dad wouldn't have been happy with Jason for what he'd decided to do, but Dad wasn't here to stop him or save him.

Batman sometimes parked in an alley near Jason's apartment. It was a smart place to leave his car, because almost no one ever came through this way, and it wasn't like Batman put it there every day. Jason wished he did. If the car had been there a few days ago when Jason was still desperate and hadn't given up yet, then Jason could have stolen the tires and sold them for enough money to get a cheap motel and maybe even food for the worst of the storm, but the alley had been empty all night.

It was too late to try that now. The chop shops would be closed, and Jason wouldn't last on his own till they opened.

Batman's car was there today. It felt like a death sentence, but it was the only way Jason was gonna live through the week. Some people said Batman liked little boys. Other people said Batman protected street kids. If either one of those were true, then Batman wouldn't leave Jason to die on the street.

Batman was taking a long time to get back to his car, though, and it was getting colder. Jason hugged his knees a bit tighter up to his body, trying to hold in any warmth he might have left. The pavement was so cold under him, and the car he was leaning against because he was too weak to sit up was sapping away any heat Jason had.

He hoped Batman would just come back already.

Would Batman be gentle with him? At least for their first time? Jason hoped that too, but even if he wasn't, he'd at least want Jason cleaned up, right? He'd let Jason have a bath, right? And then he could be warm again. Being pressed up against a giant man like Batman all night...that would warm him up too, but Jason wasn't looking forward to that part.

It felt like forever until Batman's shadowy form dropped into the alley. Jason sighed, his breath turning white like a ghost, and let the cold make him brave. He could do this. Maybe Batman really didn't like kids. Maybe he did. Either way, Jason was going to live.

Batman stopped a few feet from Jason, stiffening like he'd just noticed that Jason was there. Jason could understand that. It was probably pretty surprising. Most prey wouldn't offer itself up on a silver platter, but Jason wasn't gonna run away. He was done running.

Batman stepped a bit closer and knelt down in front of Jason. He tugged off one of his scary looking gloves and reached two fingers out to Jason's neck. Oh. He thought Jason might be dead. That was reasonable. Jason probably looked dead.

Jason should say something enticing. Beg, at least. He couldn't, though. His tongue felt frozen, his face felt frozen. He was too cold. Batman could understand the offer and the plea. 

Batman's fingers brushed his neck like searing iron, and Jason flopped his head over to chase after that brief bit of heat. Batman probably wasn't even that warm, but compared to Jason....

Batman jerked his hand back in alarm, and Jason whimpered. Why did Batman leave him? He was so cold, and Batman was so warm. 

A moment later, something large and heavy was draped over his shoulders. A blanket? No, Jason realized. Batman's cape. Batman was wrapping Jason in his cape. That was nice. It wasn't a lot warmer, but it would keep Jason from losing anymore heat, so that was good.

Jason raised his eyes to watch Batman, trying to figure out what was going to happen next.

Batman was staring at Jason like he was shocked still. Then, he slowly, slowly opened his arms. Jason didn't hesitate, even though it took him a couple seconds to be able to move, before tipping himself forward into Batman's waiting arms.

Jason sighed contentedly as Batman bundled him up and lifted Jason in his arms. Whatever else Batman was, he was warm, and Jason was going to live until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Cardboard wasn't the best thing to nest with, but it was endless and free on the streets. Practically every store, every restaurant, threw out dozens of boxes during the week, and Jason was just recycling by taking them out and hauling them back to the abandoned apartment complex he'd come to call shelter. 

The boxes were always taken apart, which was nice, because that made it easier to carry more of them and also made them flat and easier to work with. Jason couldn't be too obvious about hoarding boxes, though, or someone would notice, and there was only one real reason someone would be hoarding boxes like that. Jason didn't think he'd survive getting caught as an omega on the streets.

The first load, he laid flat, making himself a nice little layer of cardboard to sleep on, just a bit bigger than Jason was when he was all curled up. Luckily, that wasn't very big. He'd gotten another bunch of boxes and put those ones on top of the others, then another, until he had three layers of carboard between him and the floor. It was comfier than it could have been. 

The next thing he wanted were walls. Making walls was a bit harder, because nest walls have to be there to hold in the nest fluffy parts, but they can't be too high, or they'd block Jason's view of anyone who snuck into Jason's room. 

In the end, Jason took the boxes, then rolled them up like rugs and laid them around the sides of his nest. It didn't work that great, but it was still better than nothing. 

After the walls were kind of...not so much in place, but existing, Jason went out and got boxes and boxes and boxes until he had a ton. Then he fiddled with the top layer of the cardboard until he could peel up one corner, and he tore it back. When the layer came off, curled up like a bow, in his hand, Jason threw it into his nest, and he started  on the next layer of that box.

It took pretty much forever to shred the boxes so they were good for nesting on, but Jason didn't have a lot to do anymore. He didn't go to school, he'd steal something to eat later, and it wasn't like he had anyone anymore to...to be around. 

So Jason didn't mind. It was okay, really. His nest wasn't as good as the one he'd made with Mama, but when he laid his bigger blanket over the nest and tucked it in under the bottom layer of cardboard, it was pretty comfy. He had a smaller blanket that Mama had had in her nest, and that went over Jason while he slept. It didn't smell like her anymore.

Every few days, Jason would fluff his cardboard shreddings or add more. Once every week or two, he'd change out the base cardboard for new unsquished boxes that were a bit less hard. It made Jason feel like a real person to keep his nest so organized. He wasn't just another homeless omega or a street pup. He was an omega who could make good nests out of almost nothing, he kept himself safe, and he could steal tires like no one's business.

He was maybe not as good at stealing tires as he thought. 

He'd gotten away with all four, even managed to roll them back to his room from the alley a few blocks down. He was so tired though. Tired. Jason glared at the backs of his eyelids. That was a stupid pun. He was worn out, and he just wanted to sleep forever after moving those big tires so far and the stress of having taken them at all, let alone with how hungry he'd been. Tomorrow, he'd sell the tires off, and he'd buy something yummy to eat. And maybe a couple more blankets. It had been getting so cold lately.

A hand on his shoulder shook him until he realized that someone must have broken into his room. Jason blearily opened his eyes, trying to remember why that mattered. He was so tired, and he just wanted to go back to sleep. 

Huh. Batman. Maybe he was dreaming.

Batman was kneeling next to Jason's nest, not inside it, and watched Jason. Jason yawned and watched Batman back.

"You stole my tires," Batman said.

"Uh huh," Jason yawned and closed his eyes. He was going back to sleep if Batman wasn't going to say anything important. 

Batman chuckled and laid a hand on Jason's head, carding his fingers through Jason's nasty tangles to massage the scalp scent glands. Jason purred as he drifted back off to sleep. That felt nice.

Chapter Text

What's the point of Second Amendment rights if you're never going to use them?

"You want to watch, or you want to wait in the living room?" Elena slid the window up slowly, but it still shrieked in protest at her having the audacity to disturb its slumber. Not many windows were opened in this part of town.

The guy—did he say his name was Hector?—glanced over her shoulder at the chaos down below. "Will I be distracting you?"

El considered, then shrugged as she loaded her shotgun. "Maybe. 's long as you're quiet, you should be good."

"Don't want to mess you up. I'll watch from the kitchen." 

Honestly, he was pretty chill considering the fact that she had knocked on his door, shotgun strapped to her back, asking to use his window to snipe down into the street. Maybe if she didn't go to prison, she could give him her number and they could do coffee.

El knelt and seized her racing thoughts by the reins. Focus, her dad's voice whispered. Shit, he was gonna be proud of her after this. He'd taught her to shoot so she could bag a deer or two, defend herself and all that jazz, but she was going to be the first person in her family since her grandmother to kill a serial killer.  

Focus, she chided herself. She closed her eyes and let herself get settled.

Every sensation was magnified, grounding her to the each single moment she was in. All thoughts of the past, the future, even the present passed away, leaving her with only the calm certainty that her target was going to die.

El raised her gun and balanced the barrel on the windowsill. 

The coarse grains of old wood dug into her bare knees. Her blouse rippled over her skin in the light breeze, the lazy flow of fabric as even as the ticking of a clock. There was chaos down below, but it was an orderly chaos. The Joker would advance against Batman, Batman would beat him back, and again. 

El found the Joker in her sights, watching carefully for a moment of stillness, a moment for her to—

El's instincts moved faster than her mind; her finger tightened on the trigger, and only after the Joker collapsed on the ground in a puddle of his own blood did El realize she'd had a perfect lock on the Joker's head. She'd got him.

I just killed a man, she numbly realized.

Not a very good man, the no-nonsense voice in her head that sounded like her mother argued. 

She'd deal with whatever she was going to feel about it later. Until then, she had to get away from Mr. Stick-up-the-butt before he arrested her for doing what he was too chicken to do himself. 

As Batman moved toward the Joker's dead body, El yanked the window down, snapped the curtains shut, unloaded her gun, and set it to safety. Maybe Hector could lend her a towel or something to wrap over it, since that wouldn't look suspicious at all.

The door opened behind her, and a stunned Hector stumbled into the room. "You killed him. You actually killed him."

El managed a smile. "Not all heroes wear capes."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The little bird in his pocket cheeped sadly. Dick cheeped back, trying to match the sad note, but it was hard with his very human vocal cords. He was still too small himself to carry the baby in his talons, though, so this would have to do until he got home.  

“What’s that?” Brandon asked from the front.

Dick winced. He’d forgotten for a second that Alfred was too busy with tonight’s gala to pick Dick up. Instead, Bruce had sent Dick’s favorite driver. Normally, that would be fine, but normally, Dick wouldn’t have a tiny baby shifter in his pocket. Dick liked Brandon, but he couldn’t let anyone know that either he or the chick were shifters.

Shifters were rare. Few people knew that they existed; fewer people knew how to spot the way their eyes were just that slightest bit too vibrant or unnatural and too intelligent. The more people who did find out that someone was a shifter, the more disastrous things would be.

So it was that when Dick bent down to pick the struggling fledgling sparrow off the sidewalk outside his school, he wasn’t expecting to find blue eyes staring back at him in terror as a little heart beating so wildly that Dick thought it might burst.

He’d picked up the chick and tucked the bird into his pocket before slipping into the backseat of the car.

And now he had to wait.

And wait.

Finally, they reached Wayne Manor. The car seemed to crawl up the driveway before stopping at the base of the front stairs, and Dick had to force himself not to sprint out of the car. It would hurt the baby to shake him too much, and it might be injured too.

“Thanks, Brandon,” he said, barely remembering his manners.

“No problem, little man,” Brandon said, just like he’d been calling Dick since Dick was a kid.

Dick flashed a smile and winked, then slung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried up the stairs as fast as he could without hurting the chick.

As soon as he’d closed the door, Dick dropped his backpack, knelt down to the cold tile, and wrapped his fingers gently around the baby chick. The chick cheeped in distress as Dick pulled the chick from his pocket and set it on the tile in front of him.

“It’s okay,” Dick promised. “I’m a shifter too. I won’t hurt you.”

The little chick stopped, tweeting louder. Dick couldn’t tell if the bird was excited or angry or scared, but why didn’t the bird just…shift back?

Oh no.

“…Are you stuck in your shift?”

Being stuck in your shift was the worst. Being stressed or sick or injured could keep you trapped in one body or another for hours or days or weeks. Dick had been stuck in his human shift for weeks after his mom and dad died.

The chick didn’t look injured or sick, but it did look…ragged. The fluffy down and little feathers were ruffled and dirty, and it was too skinny. Dick couldn’t imagine that any parents would allow this to happen to their fledgling.

“Do you have a flock we can get you back to?”

The chick stiffened, then twittered mournfully and shook its head. Dick sighed, heavy with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, chickie.” They were just words, but the chick deserved to have its grief acknowledged. “My parents are dead too. I know how that feels.”

 The chick cheeped and shook its head, then laid down and tucked its head under its little wing. The tiny thing just radiated hurt and loneliness.

That wouldn’t do.

Dick shifted into his owl form and hopped forward. The chick didn’t try to pull away, but he didn’t look up, either. Dick covered the chick with his wings and gently preened the baby. This tiny, hurt little baby, had been all alone for who knew how long? Bruce had always had Alfred, Dick had always had Alfred and Bruce, but this little chick had no one.

Had had no one.

The little chick was Dick’s flock now, forever. He was adopting this baby, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

Chapter Text

Bruce thought he’d brought home a little boy. Alfred was inclined to believe that Master Bruce had brought home a duckling instead.

A very, very shy duckling.

The boy trailed him throughout the house most days. Tim was a small, quiet little thing, but his size-four light-up sneakers were, ironically, not made for sneaking. The slight scuff of rubber on wood always gave him away as he shuffled after Alfred.

Tim never directly said that he was following Alfred, and he never tried to interact with Alfred while Alfred was working, but if Alfred sat on the sofa to read a book, rested his arm along the back, and pretended that he was engaging in such uncivilized posture because he always did and not because he had noticed his tiny shadow looking dejected,Tim would eventually drift over and climb up to sit under Alfred’s and read one of the beginner chapter books Jason had picked out for his new little brother.

Alfred knew that Tim would be starting school as soon as they got the paperwork sorted, but he would miss these quiet afternoons with his youngest, newest grandson.

Alfred knew, of course, that children must grow up and go to school and college and sometimes years-long treks around the world, but the empty rooms of the manor seemed lonelier the more of them were filled with the children Bruce managed to acquire.

Perhaps Alfred was simply growing spoiled. If he were growing spoiled, he thought he could live with that.

Alfred lowered his arm from its place on the back of the couch so it was directly around Tim’s shoulders. The little boy gasped in surprise, but Alfred simply held Tim a little closer and placed a kiss on the top of his ink-black hair.

Tim was stiff for a long moment, and Alfred worried that he might have overstepped.

A shudder shook Tim’s whole body, snapping the boy from his daze. Tim’s shy smile was reflected back to Alfred in the vase on the coffee table. His little grandson pulled his feet up onto the sofa—Alfred nearly corrected him on instinct, but he decided to let it be this time—and melted against Alfred’s body.

Tim did have to grow up someday, and he had to go to school someday, but that was not today. Today, Tim—the sweet, sweet boy who’d gone through such hellish circumstances before finally being rescued into a family who understood what a treasure he was—Tim was pressed against Alfred, trusting Alfred to protect him, not to hurt him, not to leave him in his sleep.

Alfred hugged Tim a little tighter and smiled. Somedays were for the uncertain future. Sleepy little grandsons were for today.

Chapter Text

The knife fell from his trembling fingers, hitting the ground the same moment his knees cracked against the concrete sidewalk.

“No.”

The word was a breath, a plea, a prayer. No. No.

His fingers glistened in the weak glow from the distant streetlight as he reached out and pressed them against the wound. Why had he pulled out the knife? He knew to leave the knife in a stab wound to keep the victim from bleeding out, he knew.

Blood seeped under his hands.

He needed to put more pressure on the wound.

He willed himself to lean his weight onto his hands and cut off the flow of blood, but he was floating somewhere outside, far away from the lifeless corpse of the man he knew was already dead.

He was a murderer.

He was a murderer, and his family would hate him. The one good thing he had left in his life, the only people he loved who weren’t dead, and he’d killed their love just as surely as he’d murdered this man.

He needed to—to run, or hide. No one had seen; he could pretend—

A nearly-silent flutter of fabric in the wind, and any hope of saving himself was shattered.

“Robin, report.”

Tim said nothing. He didn’t move. His mind was too far from his body for him to move even if he’d wanted to.

Bruce inhaled sharply, now only a few feet behind Tim. “Robin.”

An armored hand closed over his shoulder, but Tim didn’t respond. This was it. Would Bruce throw Tim out? Take the Robin costume and leave Tim here for the police? Or would he take Tim to the Watchtower to have his memories stripped from him before he was arrested so he wouldn’t be a threat? Clearly, he couldn’t be trusted.

“A League Assassin…who killed him? Did you see?” Bruce knelt beside Tim, gathering Tim in his arms and pulling him from the corpse. It was nearly a hug.

Tim’s body still wasn’t working, but he needed…Bruce would be angrier if he thought Tim was lying, so he had—

He had to tell Bruce the truth.

His tongue was lead, his body was, and clawing himself back into his body felt like dragging himself up a sheer cliff. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.

Tim closed his eyes, swallowed, and tried again. “He—I—” Tim turned his face against Bruce’s chest, hiding like a child. “I didn’t want to do it.”

Bruce flinched, and Tim whimpered. He didn’t want Bruce to leave, he just wanted to be held. He didn’t mean to, it was an accident!

Gauntleted fingers threaded through Tim’s hair once, twice, then gripped the back of Tim’s head. A brief image of his head being slammed into the brick wall flashed in his head, but then Bruce dragged him forward, hiding Tim’s face against his neck and wrapping him in a true hug.

“It’s okay, Tim. I believe you. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Soft fingers drifts through his feathers, gently teasing out down and straightening the feathers that had been knocked all out of place by…by the alpha. Jason chirped in distress, and it was stupid, stupid. No one owed him any comfort, and it wasn’t even like anything that bad had happened, so why could Jason not stop crying? The working girls did it every night, and pretty much every adult ever liked…liked it, and Jason couldn’t even think about it without wanting to cry.  

“Shh,” Batman said, brushing a coarse thumb over Jason’s teary cheek. “It’s okay, pup. You’re safe now.”

Jason sniffled and squeezed his eyes shut tight. It was bad enough that Jason couldn’t stop crying, but it was even worse that he couldn’t control himself in front of Bat—in front of Bruce. The beta had said to call him Bruce, sometime between Dr. Leslie’s and the cave he’d brought Jason into before carrying Jason up into the fancy house.

Jason was pretty sure Bruce was Bruce Wayne. Any other time, he would have been interested by that, maybe even tried to sell the information if he could. Right now, he couldn’t imagine doing anything that would make the beta leave him.

Bruce trailed his wrists over Jason’s wings as he smoothed Jason’s feathers, scenting Jason either on purpose or unintentionally. Either way, it was doing all sorts of horrible things to Jason’s instincts, making him feel like he had a pack when he hadn’t for years and making him feel loved when that couldn’t be true.

The scenting must have been on purpose, though, or else Bruce wouldn’t be shifting his scent from a near-perfect mimicry of soft omegan sweetness to strong alpha protectiveness to Bruce’s own personal beta scent, but it didn’t make any sense. Adults only scented their pack, and Bruce had found Jason right after the alpha left him; he knew how damaged and disgusting Jason was. There was no way Batman or Bruce Wayne would want Jason in his pack. Jason must have been misinterpreting the gesture, or maybe Bruce was only trying to be nice, and he just wanted Jason to be good and calm until he could pass Jason off to social services tomorrow.

No matter the intention, leaning on Bruce’s warm, solid chest and being wrapped up in the beta’s strong arms was the safest Jason had felt in three years. He should be scared. Betas, especially rich ones who thought they could get away with anything, still hurt pups, especially street pups who no one cared about.

Between his emotional and physical exhaustion and Bruce’s gentleness, Jason couldn’t muster any fear. He just wanted to be loved and safe, even if it was only for a little while.

Bruce pressed a kiss onto the mess of Jason’s shower-damp curls, then carefully gathered Jason up into a strong embrace and stood up from his chair. Without even thinking about it, Jason rubbed his head under Bruce’s chin in the reciprocal gesture of a pup scenting himself with a grownup packmate’s scent.

They both froze, but before Jason could get the muscles of his mouth to so much as open, Bruce hugged him a little tighter and kissed Jason’s head again.

“You must be exhausted, sweetheart. You need to sleep.”

Bruce carried Jason across the sprawling bedroom to the huge bed. When Jason had first seen it, he hadn’t been able to hold back his scared chick peeps. He’d thought it must be Bruce’s bed, and there would only be one reason Bruce would bring his newly acquired omega chick to his own bed.

Instead of throwing Jason onto the bed and raping him for a second time that night, Bruce had immediately answered Jason’s peeping with soothing coos and carried Jason over to the armchair instead. He must have been grooming Jason for an hour at least, and he hadn’t even tried to touch Jason anywhere that didn’t make him feel more safe than he had before. Jason also was pretty sure this was just a guest room and not Bruce’s at all. The air smelled stale instead of like Bruce, and there were no personal things anywhere Jason could see.

Jason was so tired, too, Bruce was right. He stayed boneless as Bruce freed one hand to throw back the covers, and he let himself be lowered onto the softest bed in the entire world. He still felt a brief spike of anxiety, but Bruce just pulled the blankets back over him and brushed his hair back from his face.

“Goodnight, Jaybird,” Bruce said. “You’re safe here.”

Jason shouldn’t have believed it, but…Bruce’s smile and his scent were so gentle and kind. He shouldn’t have believed it, but he did.

Chapter Text

Bruce carded his fingers through the girl's damp hair. Every time his fingers snagged on another tangle, he oh so carefully separated the strands with his fingers. There were some snarls so bad he would just have to cut them out eventually, but he didn't dare even think about putting anything sharp next to her head until he knew for certain that she wouldn't panic and run away or thrash to get away from him and hurt herself on the blades. He was amazed that she was tolerating his touch so well this far.

Bruce had been horribly spoiled by his first pup. Dick had been horribly grieving, but Bruce understood that trauma, and he knew how to deal with it. Adopting an alpha pup who'd had a healthy relationship with his parents before their deaths had absolutely spoiled Bruce. He'd been absolutely unprepared for a starving, terrified, abused omega puppy with thirty different kinds of trauma like he hadn't been able to decide which brand of trauma to get at the store and had just bought all of them. Raising Jason, especially at first, had been a lot harder than Dick had ever been.

Well. Almost harder. Things were getting better with Dick, but they were still rough.

If he had been unprepared for Jason, words could not describe how out of his depth he was with a tiny little puppy who had dropped into a fight between Batman and the Joker, easily disarmed the Joker, and then disappeared. He had been worried sick about her, and he and Jason had spent two hours searching for her after the police had taken the Joker back to Arkham. When Jason was thoroughly exhausted and they clearly weren't going to find her, Bruce had called the Batmobile to them and helped Jason inside, only for the little girl to duck under his arm and sit down next to Jason.

She had been utterly filthy and looked completely starved, and the only scent clinging to her was loneliness and pain. She had no pack scent at all, even though she couldn't have been more than twelve. Maybe, if he hadn't looked her in the eye, he might have been able to take her to the hospital and let a foster pack take her, but her wide eyes, torn between fear and hope, had taken him captive in a way only two pups ever had before.

Alfred had stopped him from carting her away to a nest upstairs when they got home and insisted that Bruce at least try to figure out who her parents were. Bruce had relented and done a search for any missing pups of Asian descent under the age of fifteen in the United States, and when that didn't yield any results, he'd given her a glass of water and while she was taking a shower, he'd used the DNA and fingerprints left on the glass to search every database the Batcomputer had access to until he had a match.

Truly, this had not been how he'd seen his life going when he'd first donned the cowl. He'd figured he would have died in a blaze of glory after a decade or so, or he would be arrested and imprisoned for vigilantism, and the only people who would ever care would be Alfred and his shareholders. Now, he was gently petting the hair of David Cain and Lady Shiva's young beta puppy as she lay curled up on his guest bed in a pair of his son's Wonder Woman pajamas. Not only that, but the puppy didn't seem to understand any language he spoke, and Bruce had an unsettling suspicion that she didn't know language at all.

Cain had mentioned his theory, once before, that the best fighter would be one whose first language was violence. Bruce hadn't thought then that Cain would ever follow through on his plan to raise a child from birth without any verbal language; it had just been drunken rambling after a grueling day, or so he'd thought until now.

Bruce hesitated, then turned his wrist so the next time he pet her hair, the scent gland on his wrist left his scent on her head. She looked up at him, still very awake, and he met her eyes as he trailed more calm-caring-protective alpha scent on her. Her expression was hard to read and she kept her scent closely guarded, but Bruce hoped that she knew on some deep, instinctual level that Cain had been unable to touch, what him scenting her meant. He hoped she knew how precious and beautiful she was and how far he would go to keep her and her brothers safe.

Brothers. Jason and Dick were going to be her brothers, at least if Bruce had anything to say about it. He had a daughter now. A precious, tiny little beta daughter to love and protect for the rest of his life.

She continued to stare at him for several minutes as he covered her with his claiming scent, until finally, a tiny smile ghosted across her lips, then she closed her eyes and snuggled down farther into the blankets.

Bruce's heart skipped a beat. Her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he suddenly wanted to do anything to make her do it again every day for the rest of her life. 

He continued petting through her hair and scenting her until her smile faded, her body went limp, and he breathing turned even. Even then, it still took him several minutes and the knowledge that he wasn't going to be able to keep up with two young kids in the morning if he didn't sleep now for him to drag himself off her bed.

He stopped in the doorway and looked back at his new baby puppy. He was going to need to call Dick to come look at his new little sister, and he needed to ask Selina or another trusted women to help him buy the things a little girl would need tomorrow, maybe Barbara so he could get another beta female, and he needed to get a trust fund started, and he'd need to start the formal adoption process, and he needed to add her to his will...the list of need to's was never ending.

The list would wait for tomorrow, though.

Bruce knew that she wouldn't have been able to understand him even if she was awake, but he couldn't stop himself from whispering, "Goodnight, sweetheart," as he closed the door.

Chapter Text

He must have sensed the eyes on him. Halfway across the yard, his little scuttle came to a halt, and he glanced back over his shoulder. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of his iced tea. The boy tensed as Bruce leaned forward against the deck railing. 

They considered each other for a minute before Bruce crooked a finger, gesturing for the boy to come to him. The pup hesitated, then shook his head.

Smart pup. Or were baby foxes called something else? He couldn't remember.

The baby fox shifter hurried away with his ill gotten granola bar clamped in his jaws, fresh from Bruce's pantry. Bruce just hoped the pup hadn't broken another window; he'd left the kitchen door unlocked for the boy. 

Any other pack leader might have, would have, tracked the scent of the intruder till they'd found the fox after the first incident, and his youth wouldn't have been enough to save him. Bruce had been a bit annoyed at the mess, and even more annoyed at having to let a human onto his territory to fix the window, but the fox wasn't the first starving pup he'd met.

He still only dared to come close when he didn't see cars parked out front, but he still came back even though he'd run into members of the pack more than once during his little incursions. This was the second time Bruce had seen him.

Bruce downed the rest of his tea and dumped the ice cubes on a particularly pathetic looking bush. 

It might take a while, but the pup was his.

Chapter Text

Jason wanted to not care, but he caught himself holding his own breath during the long, hushed moments between the boy’s ragged breaths. He wasn’t even trying to match his breathing to Tim’s, but he just—

The silence hung like a dead man, and he could never be sure it would break.

Jason had known Tim was young—fifteen, maybe sixteen—but he hadn’t been expecting Tim to be so fragile. He hadn’t been expecting a child.

Tim was easier to hate as a concept. Bruce’s new son. Replacement. Summoning anything but worry was a lot harder sitting alone in the room with a kid on death’s doorstep. The few sparks of fury he managed to drum up fizzled out unimpressively within seconds.

Jason ran a hand through his hair with a long, tired sigh. How long had he been sitting here? It felt like an eternity, but a quick glance at his watch told him something closer to four hours. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d sat still that long; he just wasn’t built for that, but he was too exhausted to pace.

He couldn’t sleep, though, not when the kid was so delicate he could shatter at a moment’s notice and be dead just because Jason wasn’t paying attention not when the kid could wake up and try to escape or attack him at any moment.

He was lying to himself, and he knew it.

But he couldn't sleep.

Chapter Text

Black water splashed onto the cold white tile of the kitchen floor. Dick looked from the large tank to Bruce, who was standing above the tank with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his white shirt soaked with the black water and a perturbed knit to his brow.

"Bruce. What did you do?"

Bruce shrugged. "Shopping."

Why Bruce wanted one hundred gallons of dirty water, he didn't know and couldn't guess. He'd learned over the years that despite seeming to be a normal person ninety-three-point-seven percent of the time (Dick had done the calculations) sometimes, Bruce did what could only be described as traumatized eccentric billionaire stuff. Dick didn't understand it, but since Bruce tolerated Dick's traumatized eccentric circus peanut stuff, Dick cut him some slack.

Just as he was turning to leave, sudden motion caught his eye. Dick's eyes widened, and he turned back to stare at the water in the tank. The water was rippling, but Bruce hadn't touched it.

"Is there something in there?" Dick asked, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them, then crossing them again.

He hated fish. Not dead, delicious fish served up on a plate, but the live wriggly ones with their slime and their will to live had disturbed him ever since that one incident. 

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, a small white hand slammed against the glass. Dick gasped and jumped, Bruce didn't.

Dick stared at him, flustered. "What is in there?!"

The black water sloshed as something rose up, revealing pitch black hair, followed by glowing blues eyes staring out of an ashen face. A boy. Bruce had brought home a fish child.

"What did you do?"

Chapter Text

“Wow, you seem tired,” Dick said loudly, despite Jason only sitting across the table. “Maybe you should lie down after this game. You go first.”

Jason opened his mouth to say that no, he was not tired because it was literally not even eight o’clock, and he wasn’t a baby, thank you very much. Then he bit his tongue, drew a card—a pink card with a snowflake--and moved his green gingerbread man all the way from start to Queen Frostine’s land almost at the end of the board.

He wanted to tell Dick to stop cheating at the game. Jason could kick Dick’s butt in Candyland on his own, but he bit his tongue harder. It was getting dark. Jason should just be glad that Dick was even bothering to show him any attention at all, even if it came in the form of a lousy boardgame neither of them wanted to be playing.

As expected, Jason won the game within two minutes, and Dick exaggeratedly conceded defeat.

Jason rolled his eyes and exaggeratedly yawned. “Well, I guess it’s so late. I’d better go to my bedroom and not think too hard.”

Dick’s brow furrowed in brief alarm, and Jason blanched. The bite in his tone was just as obviously suspicious as Dick’s over-loud excuses.

“I know you were cheating, Dick,” Jason laughed awkwardly. “You don’t need to let me win. I’m not a little kid.”

Dick relaxed, then snorted. “You literally just asked me to get you a book off a high shelf. That’s pretty little, don’t you think.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “The book was Hamlet.”

“Not even a big Ham, just a little Hamlet.” Dick shook his head. “Perfect for a little Jaylet like you.”

Jason scowled, but whatever. Jason would make Dick eat his words next time he had to explain literary themes to Dick for his foster brother’s school essays. Part of the reason he was reading Hamlet in the first place was because it was in Dick’s syllabus, a fact that Jason was pretty sure Dick didn’t know.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” Jason said eloquently, the way Alfred had taught him. “And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

The reference flew straight over Dick’s head, and his foster brother burst into a fit of laughter.

“Hey!” Jason objected.

Dick slapped his knee, doubling over with the force of the hilarity.

“You can’t go all baby butler on me like that,” Dick wheezed. “’Goodnight, sweet—’ why are you so cute? Warn me.”

Jason scowled again and threw his coaster at Dick, but that also flew over Dick’s head.

“I’m going to bed,” Jason snapped derisively.

He wouldn’t really. He was going to go practice his delivery in his room while pacing around. With Bruce and Dick gone, the only one he might run into was Alfred, and at least Alfred appreciated his thespian flair unlike certain dorks.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” Dick called as Jason stomped to the door. “I’ll catch you on Broadway someday.”

His delivery was all off and his accent atrocious, and Jason shot Dick a look that he hoped conveyed that.

“Goodnight.” Jason slammed the door behind him and scurried up the steps to his room for a long night of practice.

After all, since Dick clearly couldn’t act like he wasn’t Robin, Jason was going to have to get very good to keep pretending he didn’t know.