Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You smell different.”

Despite the low cacophony generated by the other patrons, Bernard should have heard just fine, but still, he gave a noncommittal hum, not quite registering the statement. He was too busy trying to puzzle out the baffling lab report that lay before him on the café’s lacquered wood table.

Across from him, his fellow omega and close friend Ariana Dzerchenko sat with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen clutched lightly in the fingers of the other. She took a slow, leisurely sip from her cup, levelling her friend with a patient glare as she waited for a beat. Then, two. Then,

Bernard’s head snapped suddenly, “Wait, really?!” he asked in a too-loud, excited whisper. A curious student glanced at their table, but neither of them paid any mind.

Ariana nodded solemnly, black strands jostling loose from her updo from the motion. “Definitely sweeter, like lemon tea with milk.”

Papers forgotten, Bernard lifted his uncovered wrists to his nose and took a great inhale. “Damn, I still can’t smell it.”

The omega woman gave him a wry smile, tapping her nose with the butt of her pen, “It’s really subtle, honestly. I probably only picked it up because we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Bernard blew out a breath and leaned back in his seat. Ariana had a point, he thought. They didn’t work in the same faculty, so it was rare that they met on campus. Plus, he had been on heat leave for almost two weeks and hadn’t been on the premises at all.

“It’s about time I did the blood test, right?” he asked, his eyes locked onto the ceiling, absently watching the fake vines twirl in the breeze.

“I mean, I’m not a health professional, but it would show by now, yeah.”

Bernard hummed exaggeratedly as if in contemplation, before chuckling to himself, “Claire’s gonna blow a gasket.”

His supervising professor, Claire Benson, was a mousy beta woman who somehow always seemed two broken pencils away from a mental break. A phenomenal bioengineer, though.

She had been one of his favourite mentors during his graduate program and had been lucky enough to be snatched up by her once he got his degree, despite having almost no experience.

“She values you a lot,” Ariana replied diplomatically. Typical.

“Only because I’m the only one she can work to the bone!”

“You have a good work ethic,” his friend told her teacup, “And besides, it’s not like you’re going on leave now.”

“True enough,” he acquiesced. He leaned forward in his seat, hunching over almost conspiratorially, “I’m so fucking happy, Ari, and also scared shitless. Is that normal? I don’t know if that’s normal.”

Ariana’s eyebrows were furrowed, and her eyes were focused on the essay she was grading. Her pen flew across the page, granting some poor soul damnation with every circled word and harsh underline.

“I’d say it’s normal, but as I’m neither a health professional nor have ever been pregnant, I-D-R-K.”

Bernard groaned, “Please stop saying that. Why do you talk like that?”

“My students find it funny.”

“More like torturous.”

“In any case,” she lifted her head, giving him her full attention. Reaching over the mess of strewn papers and stationery, she took his hands in hers, “Congratulations, Bernard, I’m happy for you. I know you’ll do amazing.”

Bernard moved to interlace their fingers, giving them a little squeeze. “Aw shucks, Ari. You’re gonna make me cry.”

His friend gave a twinkling chuckle, dark brown eyes crinkling in amusement, “Not unless you want to explain to your students why their papers are waterlogged.”

“Honestly,” he said, extracting one sheet from the mess as they released their hold on one another, “I’d be doing them a favour, because, what the hell is this? I know it’s a freshman class, but, like, wow—!“

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Bernard was crouched in front of the oven, watching intently as the chicken slowly browned in the baking dish, oil sizzling at the bottom of the cookware.

He wondered absently when he’d be able to teach their kid how to cook. Would they even like cooking? If two out of three parents were good in the kitchen, that’d count for something, right?

“Earth to Bernard? Do you copy?”

The omega startled, nearly tripping as he got to his feet, his apron fluttering around him. “Tim! Hey. Didn’t see you there.”

Tim rounded the kitchen island. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows before taking off his wrist patches and tossing them onto the marble countertop.

Bernard tugged him forward, rubbing their wrist glands together before bringing his mate’s hands to his neck and repeating the gesture. His eyes fluttered closed in satisfaction as he purred; the scent of cherry wood and citrus settled in his nose.

“What’s on your mind? You didn’t notice me come in.” Tim’s eyes were searching, not unlike the calculating gaze he used as Cardinal. This one was mellower, though. Softened just for him.

“Ari said I smell different now,” he murmured into the alpha’s palm. He placed a kiss on both of Tim’s hands before releasing them. Tim easily shifted their placement to his hips and pulled him closer.

“She’s always had a keen nose,” his mate mused into the air between them. Bernard lifted his hands to Tim’s face, squishing the flesh lightly.

“I wanna do the blood test. I mean, it’s pretty certain by now, all we have to do is find out which of you two got lucky enough to catch.”

Obviously, he didn’t give a shit which one of his mates actually knocked him up; their child would be theirs no matter the specific genetic material. It would be helpful to know if he was going to have a partially alien baby, though.

“I can swing by the Cave tomorrow night. I’m on rotation today, so I won’t be able to get access without being seen.”

Bernard pulled away and sighed, leaning back on the marble countertop. “That’s kind of dramatic though, right?”

Tim levelled him with a flat look as he removed his neck patches and collected the discarded wrist patches for disposal, “Do you really want the Batclan hounding us this early on?”

The omega shivered, his mind flashing to the early days of their relationship. Tim’s family always meant well, but they could be a lot, to put it lightly. He blinked away the image of Dick Grayson’s face twisted in a sickly sweet smile as he questioned his intentions with his darling baby brother.

“Fair enough,” he muttered, making his way back to the stovetop. He picked up his stirring spoon from where it had been resting on a coaster before uncovering the pan and prodding at the pasta. With a fork, he picked up a shell and stuck it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. The sauce was near perfect, only needing a little extra spice, and the pasta was sufficiently al dente. Satisfied, he turned off the heat and placed the spoon over the pan.

Tim nodded, coming over to him and placing a kiss on his cheek, “We’ll take a sample after dinner, then. Conner’s gonna be home any minute now, so let me go freshen up.”

“‘Kay.” The omega turned his head slightly, planting his own chaste kiss on his mate’s mouth. “I’ll start plating.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The scent of soil after a spring drizzle enveloped him like a warm hug before Kon even entered the kitchen. He heard no footsteps as he spooned creamy pasta onto a plate, so his mate was definitely using his telekinesis. Despite this, he didn’t startle when he felt Kon bury his face into his shoulder. Nor did he flinch when he felt arms wrap around his waist, fingers slipping under his apron and shirt to rest lightly over his stomach, gently massaging the skin.

“Hello to you, too, baby,” Bernard teased, “Rough day?”

Kon tilted his head and placed a kiss over his mating mark, “Nah, not really. Just need to recharge.”

Bernard hummed, “I don’t know if you noticed, dear, but the sun went down a while ago.”

“Yeah, but,” the Kryptonian leaned closer to whisper in his ear, “You’re my sunshine, Sunshine.”

The omega blushed and rolled his eyes dramatically, “Sap.”

His mate chuckled into his ear, sending shivers down Bernard's spine, his scent spiking sweetly as Kon squeezed his waist. With one hand still wrapped around Bernard’s middle, Kon reached over with the other one, fully intending to snatch a piece of mushroom from the plate closest to him.

Bernard, absolutely not having it, smacked the hand away with his spoon.

“Ouch,” Kon whined, unnecessarily, “How could you, Bear. My own mate, in my own home.”

Bernard, non-pulsed, retorted, “Technically, the apartment belongs to Wayne Enterprises. And what happened to etiquette? Surely, Ma and Clark taught you better than that, farm boy.”

Kon licked the back of his hand where some of the sauce from the spoon had gotten on him. “Delicious as always,” he purred.

“You sneaky little—Kon!” Bernard shrieked as Conner attacked the side of his neck with kisses, his tongue running over his scent gland lavishly.

“Ooh~ This is tasty, too. Compliments to the chef!”

Bernard shook with laughter in his mate’s arms, the spoon slipping from his grasp, but instead of clattering to the counter or floor, it floated down as if carried by a breeze onto the marble.

“Conner, you ass! Let go of me!” He wheezed in between fits of giggles as Kon’s fingers deftly glided over his sides.

“You guys seem to be having fun.”

Kon’s fingers slowed but did not cease their movements, leaving trails of gooseflesh as they danced on his skin.

The beta called over his shoulder, “Hey there, handsome.”

“Tim, babe, please save me.” Bernard panted out.

His alpha, traitor that he was, pretended to consider it. “I don’t know…It looks like you're having a blast, actually, maybe I’ll join.

“No!” “Yes!”

Tim laughed and walked over to the fridge. “On second thought, I’m on patrol tonight, so I need to get some food in me.” He pulled out a can of Zesti cola, the decaffeinated version because neither Bernard nor Kon would have it in the house otherwise, “Kon, go take a shower, you stink.”

Bernard couldn’t see the beta’s face, but he imagined he looked affronted. “I do not!” he stated, tone laced with mock offence.

Tim took an exaggerated slurp from his beverage. “Food’s gonna get cold.”

Kon sighed and planted a wet kiss on the side of Bernard’s neck before breaking away. “Fine, fine, you win.”

As Kon wandered off down the hall to the bathroom, Bernard turned to face the dark-haired alpha as he started to set the table.

“I hope a pigeon craps on your bike.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Tim responded lightly as he filled glasses with chilled water, setting them down gently at each placemat.

Bernard just sighed, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, setting down plates piled high with creamy mushroom pasta and baked chicken.

“Just cute?”

“The money’s a nice bonus, I suppose.”

“Ouch, Bear, you’re gonna hurt my feelings at this rate.”

Tim wandered over to him as he set down the last plate. Bernard twisted to face him and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “You’ll live.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Is it bad that I forgot that was something to think about?” Kon asked in regards to the possible hybrid status of their baby, from his spot on the couch with his head in Bernard’s lap.

They had finished dinner a little less than an hour ago, and now all three of them were in the living room, attempting to decompress after a loaded workday. Keyword: attempting.

It was only Kon that was actually paying any sort of attention to the over-the-top B-horror movie Bernard had absently put on.

The omega and his other mate were doing some ‘light’ work before turning in. Or in Tim’s case, heading out. Bernard was reviewing the questions selected by Claire for an upcoming assessment to be given to their freshman mechanics class. He technically didn’t need to submit any feedback until next week, but he really wanted to get on top of things.

He wasn’t sure what Tim was doing. It was a pretty even toss-up between reviewing business proposals and skimming through autopsy reports.

Tim hummed from his seat on the plush carpet, hunched as he was over the coffee table, “You’re not the one carrying the baby that possibly has alien DNA, so I suppose that’s understandable.”

Kon turned his head so that he was facing Bernard’s covered stomach. The beta lifted the old Gotham U sweatshirt he was wearing, exposing the soft plane of his middle to the air.

“What are you doing?” Bernard questioned, chuckling; Kon’s hot breaths were making him twitch.

Kon placed a slow kiss on the flesh above his womb, right where their maybe-Kryptonian baby was coming into existence.

“Listen here, kid,” Kon told Bernard’s belly sternly, “Kryptonian or not, I don’t want you giving Bear a hard time, ya hear?”

Bernard laughed as Kon gave his belly a few more wet kisses. “The baby doesn’t even have ears yet, Kon,” the omega said, carding his fingers through Conner’s hair, his work abandoned.

“Either way, it’s going to be more stressful than a human pregnancy if they’re a hybrid. I’ve been trying to ask Lois about it, what it was like with Jon, but I think she’s suspicious of me, so I haven’t been able to get anything straight.”

That tracks, Bernard thought to himself. Lois Lane wasn’t the type of person who took interrogation sitting down, especially if she didn’t know what it was for. They’d likely be unable to ask her properly until they told everyone.

Tim sighed as he shut down his laptop. He stood up gracefully, taking a few seconds to stretch out his back before turning to face them. “We’ll know soon enough. Then, we can plan accordingly.”

He made his way towards them, “I’m heading out now, don’t wait up for me,” he said, planting a kiss on Bernard’s mouth. The omega let him go with only a cheeky lip bite. Conner, never to be outdone, got up on his elbow and used his other arm to forcibly drag Tim deeper into his kiss.

By the time the Alpha pulled away, both of them were flushed, and their scents had grown heavier.

“Be safe, love!” Bernard called out as Tim disappeared into the elevator, marginally less composed.

The omega looked down to see Kon staring up at him, cheeks still flushed, scent still heady and with an inquiring quirk of his eyebrows.

Bernard sighed dramatically, even as he noticed his citrus scent sweetening and felt a pulse go through his core.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispered, running one hand through Kon’s curls and the other down his face, his thumb prodding at his mate’s bitten lips.

Kon took his thumb into his mouth, smirking around it as he sucked and nibbled, “I can think of a couple of things.”

Chapter Text

The engine of his motorcycle hummed as Tim drove down the cave’s tunnel entrance. The sparse illumination from the overhead lights glinted off his helmet’s visor as he sped soundlessly through the last security checkpoint, and then he and his vehicle were cruising out of the tunnel and into the garage.

The bike lane was, predictably, empty. Save Duke’s cycle, as his younger brother was likely sleeping over at the manor.

The important bit to Tim was the fact that the cave was silent, sans the typical whir of machinery and the faint sound of bat wings fluttering and water dripping down from stalactites.

He pulled off his helmet with a sigh and placed it behind him on the leather seat. From one of the hidden compartments of his bike, he retrieved the plastic sample tube containing the blood he’d extracted from his mate the night prior.

He got off his bike, shoes barely making a sound as he headed towards the Cave’s lab. The air was musty in that permanently damp way, but as he made his way deeper into the heart of the Cave, the scents of his family pack lingered on every surface. They had long since bullied Bruce into letting them keep scent patches off when they were in the cave for prolonged vigilante-related business. The place was practically their second pack den.

It was honestly pretty lucky that no one was in the Batcave on that particular night. Bruce was in a meeting with the Justice League founders at the Watchtower, Duke was conked out upstairs after a rough week of exams and patrol, Dick was off-world with Kory and Mar’i, Damian was covering for him as Nightwing with Jon, and everybody else was on patrol.

So, yes, it was something of a golden opportunity that he planned to make very good use of.

He hummed quietly to himself as he prepped the blood sample for analysis. It was an obscure pop song that Bart had managed to get stuck in his head, so, by virtue of existing in his general vicinity, Tim, Kon, and even Cassie had succumbed to the brainworm as well.

When he was finished with the necessary tests, he primed the lab computer to compile the results.

As he waited, he began to clear the workspace, wiping down equipment and disposing of used tools. The monotony of his task gave his mind the space to wander, and, predictably, he thought of his mates.

Kon was most likely dead asleep, considering the time. Bernard was probably up working, though. The omega’s sleep schedule wasn’t as shitty as Tim’s, but he had a habit of getting sucked into a task and losing track of time.

We’ll all be getting sleepless nights pretty soon, he found himself thinking.

The computer beeped, drawing Tim’s attention back to the screen.

Human Chorionic Gonadotropin (HCG) level – 542mL

Kryptonian Genetic Marker (KGM) DETECTED.

The rest of the report contained the less pertinent details of blood oxygen level, red and white blood cell count, and blood viscosity, among other things.

Tim stared at the results in contemplative silence. He had been certain of what the results would be, so it was more of a confirmation than a revelation to see it displayed. Thankfully, he had already begun to prepare accordingly. His search for a suitable prenatal care provider was coming to a close, as he had already selected his top candidates; all that was left was to narrow it down.

With the population of metahumans steadily increasing, the healthcare system has seen a rise in professionals dedicated to providing care for the more unique members of modern society. For now, they were mostly doctors with metahuman abilities or retired heroes with medical experience, but gradually, the infrastructure was being built to train professionals in the field formally. He’d been lucky enough to be able to talk to the Justice League’s medical personnel and obtain suitable recommendations.

Hybrid pregnancies were always a risk, especially between human and alien races; he knew from Dick the kind of weirdness and uncertainty that could arise from it, and Kon had heard plenty of concerns from Clark. Nevertheless, it was his job to make sure that absolutely nothing went wrong for him and his family, and he intended to do everything in his power to make it so.

“Hello, little brother.”

Tim did not startle; he was trained better than that. But he did tense. Imperceptibly, to the average person, but still.

The thing was, his older sister was definitely not the average person. Cass walked up behind him on feather-light feet and wrapped her arms around him, her tart cranberry scent blanketing him in warm recognition and affection. Tim’s own cherrywood diffused out to greet it, mixing in an olfactory cocktail of familial love.

“Hey, Cassie. I thought you were out today.”

“Shoulder wound,” she muttered into his shoulder, “Jason called Alfred.”

Now that she had mentioned it, she noticed her right arm wasn’t wrapped around him as firmly as the left, likely to not aggravate her injury.

“Well, that’s probably for the best, then.” He didn’t ask why she hadn’t told anybody; their family was scarily good at concealing injuries, and old habits tended to die hard.

“What is that?” Cass was squishing her face into his cheek, her eyes looking over his shoulder at the computer screen.

He blew out a little breath. So much for keeping it under wraps; he definitely couldn’t hide it from Cass now. At least she’d keep it to herself if he asked.

“That,” he said casually, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he set up the file for printing, “is Bernard’s HCG level as of last night. He’s about four weeks along if my estimate is accurate.” It was.

He felt Cass smile even if he couldn’t see it, and her scent sweetened with joy. “You are having a baby,” she said excitedly.

He replied softly, his own scent deepening with his sister’s infectious happiness, “Yes, we are.”

Cass released him, darting back lightly and twirling around with soft, weightless steps. Tim turned around, his face bright as he watched her dance in gladness. She came to a stop in front of him and took her hands in his, her dark eyes crinkled and shiny as a smile split her face.

“Congratulations, Tim!”

Tim smiled, wholesome and sweet, back at her, “Thank you, Cass.

She pulled him into a proper hug and, mindful of her shoulder, Tim returned it gladly. “You are very happy,” she whispered into his chest, “but scared. It will be alright.”

He huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, I know. It’s gonna be a hybrid pregnancy. So many unknowns, y’know.” So many ways things can go wrong. “But, I’m mostly happy, though. So happy.”

The printer beeped softly, and Tim broke away from the embrace to retrieve the papers. Cass stood beside him, her presence radiating warmth and assurance, no doubt already anticipating all the catastrophizing his mind was doing.

“Listen, Cass,” he said, turning to face her, the computer working on destroying all the data he’d just retrieved, “We’re not ready to tell the others just yet, so if you could keep it quiet for now that’d be great.”

He saw his sister’s brow furrow slightly as he processed his words, “Not too long, the others will figure it out soon enough.”

Tim sighed, part fondly, part weary, “Yeah, I know. We just need to process before Bruce gets into grandpa mode,” he joked.

Cass smiled sweetly, probably thinking of how Bruce reacted to Dick breaking the news of baby Mar’i to the family. He still had the clip of his dad’s face going slack, his stoic mask crumbling in unexpected emotion.

With one last hug and a quick scenting, Tim bid his sister goodbye and headed in the direction of the garage. He had a pep in his step, as silly as it sounded. For once, with genuine certainty, he felt like his future was bright.

Chapter Text

Funnily enough, it wasn’t the sound of retching that woke him up.

In his dream, he had been flying. The cool breeze rushed through his hair and past his ears as he zipped through the open skies. It was a nice dream; simple and ultimately meaningless. The kind of dream he’d forget about in the morning.

So, yeah, he’d been flying over lakes and grassy fields and farmlands when—bam!—he got his in the face by something. A duck, maybe?

The point is, it startled him awake. His eyes snapped open, and for a few seconds, his heart raced. He took a steadying breath and grounded himself in his surroundings.

He was in bed, half covered by the comforter. Tim was next to him, his breaths even and his heart rate steady. Conner could feel the alpha clutching his shirt in a loose grip. Tim must have smacked him in his sleep, unintentionally waking him up.

That’s one mate accounted for, he thought, prying Tim’s fingers off his shirt and sitting up, but where’s Bernard?

He could hear his heartbeat—alongside a smaller, fainter one that made him want to leap every time he noticed it—still in the apartment; it was coming from a little way down the hall, likely the bathroom. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, and he was tempted to go back to sleep, but something felt odd. Bernard's heart was beating a lot faster than normal. Why would his heart be racing at this h—?

Then he heard the heaving.

He shook away the drowsiness as he climbed out of bed, manipulating the covers with TTK to avoid getting tangled in the comforter.

He made his way down the hall to the bathroom with the barest sense of urgency. The air held the normal tangle of their scents: homey and comfortable and relaxed. There was no off-putting spike of sweet citrus to indicate any distress from his omega, but still, worry tugged at his heart.

He had a sneaking suspicion about what was going on, though.

The bathroom door was cracked open, allowing a line of brightness to leak into the otherwise dark hallway. Kon pushed it open carefully and stepped inside, closing it completely behind him.

It seemed like his hunch had been right. Bernard was on his knees in front of the toilet bowl, his shaking fingers gripping the porcelain in a white-knuckle grip as he threw up last night’s dinner.

Kon was at his side in an instant. He leaned over his mate, a large hand rubbing at his back while the other pulled back sweat-soaked strands from his face.

Bernard was shivering when he finally relaxed. If Kon hadn’t been behind him, the other man would have likely fallen back and sprawled on the floor as he tried to catch his breath.

“Y’know,” Kon started to say as Bernard wiped at the redness of his eyes, “They say the first trimester is the worst in terms of symptoms.”

“Oh joy, only three more months of this,” Bernard said dramatically, throwing up a hand in faux excitement.

“Sorry, hon.”

Bernard sighed, twisting in Conner’s hold to press the side of his face into the beta’s neck. He breathed in deeply, taking in lungfuls of his mate’s calming pheromones.

“I’d say it’s not your fault,” the omega muttered tiredly, “But it kind of is.”

“I’m pretty sure it was a group effort.”

Bernard snorted, “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten stuck with the worst share of the work.”

Kon rubbed up and down his mate’s back in a soothing gesture. One arm reached up to massage the skin of his neck, scruffing him gently. Bernard exhaled contentedly, going completely boneless in his arms.

“That just means you’ll get all the credit,” Conner teased, “Do you want to go back to bed?”

The omega replied, his voice muffled by the fabric of Kon’s shirt, “Nah. I’ll have to start getting ready for work soon, and I don’t think the nausea will let me fall back asleep anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

They sat like that on the floor for a handful of minutes as Bernard rode out wave after wave of nausea. Thankfully, he didn’t vomit again, but there were some close calls.

When he was ready, Kon helped his mate get to his feet and clean up. They exited the bathroom with the intention of heading to the kitchen to get started on breakfast, as it was already 6 am.

“Hold on,” Kon said. He turned to face Bernard, who was looking at him curiously, with a face that was still pale and weary eyes. The lights in the living room were off, and the curtains were drawn, but he could see the first rays of the sun creeping under the fabric as soft, dull light.

“I have an idea.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“How’re you feeling?”

They were in the loft, sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of the open windows on the plush grey carpet. They each held a mug in their hands; Bernard had ginger tea, and Kon had coffee. The Kryptonian set down his cup on a tray next to him and reached over to wrap an arm around his omega’s waist. Bernard was looking out of the window, his eyes were unfocused, but his breathing was soft, and his scent mellow and sweet. Steam curled up from the cup cradled near his chest.

“How did you know this would work?” he questioned quietly.

Kon hummed, his fingers tracing abstract patterns into Bernard’s skin through his shirt. “Just a hunch.”

“Is this how you feel all the time? It’s amazing.” Bernard spoke with uncharacteristic serenity. Kon couldn’t blame him; his first experience was more or less the same.

Not many people understood what the yellow sun meant to Kryptonians on Earth. It was more than just a source of their power, a gateway to their godhood; it gave them life.

The first time he felt the light of the sun, it was as if he had been asleep for a long time and was only just waking up. Something inside of his being shifted, changed, bloomed. It was such a stark difference from the sunlamps CADMUS had trained him with; he was unable to wrap his head around it for the longest time, the feelings it drew out of him.

It had been Kara, strangely enough, who helped him understand. She hadn’t been raised under the yellow sun like Clark, hadn’t been born with its power already in his blood like Jon. She came to Earth nearly an adult and, like him, had been thrust harshly into such a starkly different light from the one she had been born under.

It had been hard, she’d told him, waking up not just with incredible powers but with the sun on your skin, feeling so foreign and new, but also so perfect and right.

It’s why they woke up with the sun; they had to greet it, thank it for its gifts and promise to use them well. It gave them their strength, their power and their hope.

Kon looked over at Bernard, whose skin was lit up with radiant sunlight. He was carrying a life, one with a heart that beat with the blood of Krypton and with the blessings of the yellow Sun. It was only fair for him to learn to love it as they did.

“It’s awesome, yeah.” He leaned down to leave a kiss on the crown of his head. “It makes me really happy that you can feel it.”

The omega cracked an eye open and smiled, cheeky and relaxed. “I take back what I said before, carrying an alien baby has its perks after all.”

Kon laughed at that, and the sun continued its ascent, and even in Gotham, he could still feel its rays, tender and loving as if it shared in their joy.

Chapter Text

Bernard reached up with tentative fingers and cupped the underside of his chest. He bit his lip, wincing at the soreness. Even now, eight weeks pregnant, he hesitated to call them breasts. They were still too small in his opinion; only soft, barely there mounds of flesh.

Tim had noticed in the shower that morning, because of course he did. Bernard got the impression his alpha had wanted to touch them; he had been staring at how his chest bounced slightly as he moved around, but refrained as he’d been complaining about tenderness.

Slowly, his hands moved to the front of his chest, his fingers brushing against the nipples. He added pressure, squeezing the flesh flat under his palms. He held back a moan of discomfort. Wow, that really stings.

Despite the pain, he was still captivated by the sight of them in the mirror. He was in the walk-in closet, standing in front of the full-length mirror, trying to change after work. He was glad he was home alone, so he had time to conduct his own personal examination. If Kon or Tim were around, they would have definitely appeared by now to check on him on account of all the sounds he was making, the worrywarts that they were.

The idea that his body would change—was already changing—had been in his mental periphery from the start. Now that he saw it happening in real time, he suddenly wasn't sure how to feel. Maybe it was because his chest wasn’t much bigger than it usually got during his heats, and the fact that he hadn’t started showing obviously yet, but his brain hadn’t yet caught up to the fact that he was growing an entire person inside of him.

With a sigh, he let go of his chest; it bounced slightly as it settled. His hands dropped to his middle, and he found himself squishing the flesh as he stared at his reflection, trying to picture what he would look like when his belly grew larger and rounder.

“Listen, kid, it’s my first time, so try to go easy on your…,” he trailed off hesitantly. On their what? Mom? Dad? Progenitor?

According to the traditional values seriously held by only the elite, ancient, prejudiced or a dastardly combination of all three, the sexes that could bear children easily—omegas and female betas—were supposed to align with stereotypical ‘feminine’ qualities: being submissive, docile, caregivers who lived only to make sure the population didn’t die out.

In his youth, his parents had tried their damnedest to make sure he grew up to be the perfect little omega wife and, well, mother. Unfortunately for them, he did not mesh with that idea whatsoever. They might have considered him a rebel in his teenage years because he dressed more masculine, dated omegas, was snarky and witty and sarcastic, but, at that point, he wasn't speaking to them often enough to care.

Now…well, now, he was a lot more comfortable with his status as an omega. He had a good job as an assistant professor at Gotham University, a decidedly un-omegalike profession. He had two—two!—incredible mates who didn’t care about what biology dictated about his life and would love him no matter his supposed value as an omega.

He was also going to have a baby.

Which he did want, like, really badly. Some might say that was just his biology talking, but they would also be the kind of people he’d grown up eviscerating on online forums, so that opinion was worthless.

He was going to have a baby, yeah, but did that make him a mother? A parent? Absolutely. But, a mom?

He turned away from the mirror and started to get dressed, pulling on a pair of shorts from Kon’s clothes, a hoodie from Tim’s and his favourite pair of neon orange, off-brand Batman socks (they always made Tim’s eye twitch whenever he saw them).

He shuffled out of the closet and retrieved his laptop from his workbag before climbing into bed.

The first thing he did was check the news and social media; with two partners who were superheroes, it was hard to suppress the nagging feeling of worry over all the danger they got themselves into trying to save people, even now. Luckily for his nerves this time, all seemed to be going well.

Supernova was in Switzerland, aiding relief efforts after an avalanche. Bernard grinned to himself as he scrolled through pictures of his mate posing with smiling children. In one photo, he held a little girl on his shoulders, her face was bright with child-like glee and Kon’s mouth was twisted in his signature, charming hero smile. Bernard couldn’t help but picture a different kid; one with his chocolate eyes and Conner’s inky curls.

The thought rose in him unbidden, but completely certain, he’s gonna be a great dad.

Cardinal was investigating a break-in at the S.T.A.R. Labs, Phoenix, Arizona, branch. Apparently, the recent avalanches in the Alps seemed to be by design rather than natural causes. Obviously, such an operation wasn’t supposed to garner any sort of attention, so he couldn’t exactly hop online for that one.

Instead, his alpha, genius that he was, programmed the vital monitors in his suit to send encrypted updates to all of his mates’ devices periodically, giving a brief overview of his physical status; it was like getting a thumbs-up emoji from your partner every hour or so, reassuring you that they weren’t dead.

He’d checked the update before he’d taken a shower some thirty minutes prior, but he rechecked it, just to be sure; everything seemed normal, although Tim’s heart rate was a little elevated, but not concerningly so.

With his mind put at ease, he switched tabs and started on some work. It wasn't much; he just graded a few essays and replied to some emails from students. In the end, it took him only a few hours.

After he was done, he migrated to the kitchen to make a quick dinner. Neither of his mates was going to be home that night, but he left extra food for them just in case.

The pain in his chest made itself known again quite boldly when he tried to lie down on his front on the living room carpet.

“Damn,” he hissed, turning over onto his back, “Do I need bras now?” he asked the silent room. It didn’t reply, but he got his answer anyway. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and began his search.

There were plenty of androgynous ones to select from, but for some reason, he kept gravitating to the more…feminine designs. They didn’t look too shabby, he thought, and he tried to imagine himself in them, how they would make him feel. He found that he wouldn’t hate wearing them; he might even enjoy it.

He shut off his phone and stared at the ceiling. The lights were dimmed to their lowest setting, and the curtains were still open, allowing the glow of the city to seep into his home. It was utterly silent in the house, besides the hum of appliances and his own steady breathing.

Would it really be so bad if his kid called him mom?

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When he woke up the next morning, Tim and Kon were pressed up against him, the points where their skin met like spots of reassuring heat. Tim’s hand was resting lightly over his middle, and Kon had interlaced their fingers in a loose hold. He allowed himself a few hazy seconds to enjoy the smell of wet earth and cherrywood campfire.

It was a Saturday, so they enjoyed breakfast together. Since nobody felt like cooking, they had granola and fruit salad. They ate in the loft so Kon and Bernard could bask in the morning sun, a ritual they had both grown to treasure. Tim, the nocturnal creature that he was, squinted blearily at the light.

“Y’know,” Bernard started casually, using his fork to toy with a chunk of strawberry; he pretended to be absorbed in the fruitless task of picking at the seeds to avoid meeting his mates’ eyes.

“I don’t think I’d mind being called mom, or, like, some derivative of that. Not mother, though, that’s too formal.”

Tim didn’t miss a beat, his tone soft and casual, “That’s cool, whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”

He looked up, finally to see Kon grinning excitedly at him. His back was to the window so that the incoming rays seemed to bleed off of him like he was the star himself.

“Does this mean I can call you Mama Bear?”

Bernard couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. His bowl nearly slipped from his fingers as his shoulders shook. He could hear Tim snickering as well, barely managing to muffle it with his fist.

“It’s a serious question!”

“It’s really not,” Tim replied, still chuckling.

“I think I’ll have to get back to you on that one, babe.”

Kon heaved a dramatic sigh and leaned back onto his elbows, shaking his head at the ceiling. “Even if you say no, that’s been your name in my phone for weeks, so…”

“Seriously?” Tim deadpanned. Kon nodded sagely, “It just hit me when I was in the shower, and I couldn’t just not use that stroke of genius.”

Bernard popped the fruit piece still in his bowl into his mouth and chewed slowly, savouring the sweetness that bled from its flesh. “In that case, I’ll allow it, but only when it’d be really, really funny.”

Kon turned back to him, cheeky grin back in full, blinding force, “You’ve got yourself a deal, Sunshine.”

Chapter Text

He could hear the crying from the elevator. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be able to hear anything—Tim’s sound-dampening tech was there so he could relax when he was home—but over the past couple of weeks, he’d been making it a habit to focus his super-hearing when he was leaving or entering the apartment.

He didn’t tell Bernard that, though; he already knew his omega would insist that he didn’t need the monitoring, but Conner was honest enough with himself to accept that it was more for him than for his pregnant mate.

Even though he couldn’t pick up on the emotions Bernard could convey through his scent, it was intense enough that he recognised the distress the moment he set foot in the apartment.

The smell of burnt oranges forced itself down his nostrils as he kicked off his shoes in the foyer, exchanging them for house slippers. He would have dropped the grocery bags there, too, if there weren’t any items that needed refrigerating.

So, as carefully as he could while engaging his super-speed, he put away the groceries in the kitchen. If he accidentally cracked an egg or two, that was nobody’s business but his own.

Seconds after he was done, he pushed open the door to the master bedroom and slipped inside.

“Bear?” he called softly.

Bernard sat on the edge of the bed; he was hunched over, folding in on himself as if to appear smaller. His shoulders shook as sobs racked his frame. Bernard wasn’t usually a crier; he vented his displeasure and frustration with his movements and his words, but rarely ever shed a tear.

The past few weeks had been something of a wake-up call for Tim and Kon. They’d known going in that their omega would change—physically, emotionally and mentally. They’d braced themselves for it, but seeing those changes was an entirely different thing. It had taken Bernard yelling at Tim for staying up far too late (even by his standards) and then bursting into frustrated tears for it to truly sink in.

Kon sat down next to Bernard and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The omega immediately turned and buried his face in his mate’s chest, soaking his shirt with saltwater and snot. Kon pumped out his scent in heavy wafts and prayed to Rao that no distress bleed into it.

After a few heart-wrenching errors, Kon and his alpha realised that the best thing they could do for Bernard while he was crying was just to let him get it out. Their reassurances did nothing but set him off further, and trying to rationalise with him was a frustrating endeavour for everybody involved. Their omega wasn’t fond of feeling sudden uncontrollable bouts of intense emotion, so allowing him to get it over with as quickly as possible by sobbing his heart out was their best bet.

So Kon held his mate as he wailed, trying his best to be the pillar of silent comfort the omega needed him to be. He lifted Bernard off the bed, gently directing him to move to Kon’s lap. The omega allowed himself to be moved; already his tears had ceased, and he pressed up against his mate, trying to get his breathing under control.

Kon’s arms were wrapped around him, his hands rubbing at the tension in his muscles. Bernard’s bare skin was warm; he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only a bra and a pair of sweatpants. He looked terribly pretty, even with his face splotchy and his eyes lined in red.

When his breathing slowed and his heart rate decreased, the omega remained silent and still for a few minutes. It was only when Kon began to suspect that he’d fallen asleep—it wouldn’t be the first time—that Bernard spoke, in a scratchy and worn voice.

“My mom called.”

Kon’s response was to hold him even closer, arms wrapping tighter around him. He didn’t know much about his mate’s parents, Beatrice and Gregory Dowd, other than they were very traditional and somewhat strict. Bernard had spoken of their fraught relationship in his youth, but claimed they were doing much better by comparison. The guarded expression and clenched jaw that he wore whenever they came up in conversation told his otherwise, but he understood it wasn’t something the man could be hounded over.

Bernard’s next breath came out shuddering, “She said they want to see me. That I haven’t been around in a while, and she misses me.”

His voice cracked, and he let out a frustrated little warble as he tried to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay.

“They haven’t reached out in months, and it’s now, when I’m like this, that they want to see me?”

“Like what?” Kon asked softly; he didn’t want to sound prying, but if this was a self-deprecation thing, he couldn’t stand for that.

Bernard huffed like the answer was obvious. Ah, so it was a self-deprecation thing. “Like this, Conner. I’m a mess. I had to call in sick today ‘cause of how much of a mess I am.”

“You’re pregnant.”

The omega hummed dismissively, his fingers leaving Kon’s shirt to fiddle with the drawstrings of his sweatpants, which, now that he thought about it, were probably Tim’s.

“No,” Kon said, gently grasping his mate's jaw and turning his head so that they were making eye contact, “You’re not ‘a mess’, Sunshine. You’re pregnant, carrying a child, our child. Is it messy? Yeah, it’s perfectly understandable that you feel that way, but you’re not a mess or weak or whatever else you’re thinking of because you’re carrying our baby. Okay?”

Bernard was biting his lip to keep from trembling, “Okay.”

Kon placed a kiss on his brow before dragging him into a tight hug. He didn’t ask the omega to continue speaking, content to let him get there at his own pace. It took a few minutes, but he did, and, to Kon’s joy, his voice was steadier than before.

“I don’t want to face her, to face them, like this. I feel like anything they’ll say will set me off. I don’t even want to tell them about the baby. They’re my parents, and I’m an adult, and I don’t feel comfortable telling them I’m pregnant, like, what?”

“You don’t have to,” Kon murmured, “Lex is technically my parent, but he’ll never hear this from me.”

Bernard gave a weak chuckle, “Your evil dad has been in prison for what? Five years now? You don’t have to interact with him at all if you don’t want to. My parents may have made my adolescence a living hell, but they weren’t abusive.” He pursed his lips, “Conservative, overbearing and neglectful? Sure. But not much worse than most kids I knew got it. I’ll have to tell them at some point.”

“Not right now, though.”

“No, not right now.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Sunshine. We’re here for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” then softer, “I love you, both of you, so much.”

Kon kissed the side of his face, pressing his lips slowly into the reddened flesh, tasting the salt of the omega’s dried tears.

“We love you, too.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

They held each other like that for a while; their own little bubble of serenity. The only sounds in Kon’s ears—the only ones that were important in those moments—were the sounds of Bernard’s steady breathing and their baby’s heartbeat—fast but strong.

Eventually, Kon elected for them to move to the living room, citing that his omega needed some sun. Bernard didn’t protest as Kon carried him out of the room, cradled against his chest.

The Kryptonian deposited his mate onto the couch and went about making him a snack. The infamous pregnancy cravings had hit him like a storm, and it seemed like his taste had been flipped on its head. He hated the smell of coffee (a personal blow to Tim), disliked the taste and texture of mangoes, and now adored spicy food, but not human spicy, Kryptonian spicy. On multiple nights, Kon had woken up to find the omega rummaging through his box of novelty hot sauces like a raccoon through a dumpster.

The snack of the week was avocado chips and chilli oil.

As he mashed the avocados, he could hear his omega constructing a little nest on the couch. Bernard grabbed throw cushions by the armful, shook them out, and carefully draped blankets over sections of the sofa. At one point, he left the living room entirely to go to the bedroom, returning with a pile of clothes and pillows that were meticulously incorporated into the structure.

By the time he’d finished, Kon had put the avocado batter in the oven to bake. He pulled out the chilli oil from the cabinet and spooned a generous helping into a bowl. He finely chopped up some fresh habanero peppers and mixed them with the oil.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, the chips were done. Bernard had put on an old, campy documentary on The Batman, one of the first of its kind. Kon knew it was something of a comfort film to him, as it was one of the initial pieces of media that had sparked his fascination with The Bat and his subsequent obsession with Gotham conspiracy theories.

“Your meal is served, my love,” Kon announced with a flourish, presenting his mate with the tray containing his food.

Bernard looked up at him and smiled. He seemed back to himself—bright eyes, easy grin, and relaxed posture. There was still an air of tiredness around him, but the afternoon sun did seem to have done him some good. He took the tray and balanced it on his lap, silently beckoning Kon to join him in his nest.

“Aww, Kon, you spoil me,” he teased, wasting no time in selecting a chip and crunching on it. His eyes fluttered closed in satisfied bliss as he moaned around the mouthful in a way that wouldn’t be out of place in their bedroom. Leave it to Bernard to make every action sexy as hell.

“It’s my pleasure, Sunshine.” Kon wrapped one arm around Bernard’s waist, pulling him closer ever so slightly. He placed a lingering kiss on his neck, right next to his scent gland. His scent was back to normal, too. Kon took a deep lungful of sweet, juicy oranges and felt the shiver that ran through his mate’s body from the intimate action.

It didn’t take long for Bernard to polish off his food, with only a little assistance from Conner.

“I think I’ll tell them before we tell your guys’ families. To get it out of the way.”

Kon tore his gaze from the TV, where an enthusiastic presenter debated over which blurry photo of The Bat had the correct amount of cape showing to be legitimate.

He turned to meet his mate’s eyes, but Bernard was still focused on the screen, “That’s fair. Do you want us to go with you?”

Bernard sighed, his shoulders slumping, “My dad’s still kinda weird about all of us being together. Somehow, the fact that I’m mated to both of you and not just Tim still rubs him the wrong way.”

If there’s one thing being grown in a lab saved Conner from, it was social norms when it came to secondary sexes. He wasn’t really bothered or swayed by traditional views because he never felt like they applied to him on account of being a half-alien and also, y’know, ‘born’ already a teenager. Still, he knew enough to know that their relationship wasn’t common.

It was an old practice, but Alphas could have more than one mate within a pack. However, it was pretty unheard of for all of them to be mated to each other. Naturally, Bernard’s parents had said as much when their son told them of his relationship status; mated to his Alpha as well as his Alpha’s ‘other mate’, who also had no status to speak of other than being the adopted son of renowned journalists Lois Lane and Clark Kent.

Kon snorted, “You know I don’t give a shit about that stuff, babe.” The beta began to move his hand up and down his mate’s side in an effort to coax him into further relaxation, “But, if you think it’s for the best, I’ll hang back.”

“Yeah, I think I should do it myself. Maybe we can finally hash things out, properly this time.”

Bernard’s voice was laced with a familiar resolve and determination that made Kon’s heart swell.

“We're here for you, no matter what happens. Forever and always.”

Bernard finally turned to face him; his eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but his face was set with certainty. He leaned forward and kissed Kon with a slow kind of fervour that oozed with love and gratitude.

Kon pulled Bernard down and onto the couch with him, arms circling his mate’s middle as he deepened the kiss. There was no urgency, no heat, only the warmth of unspoken promises.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come? I can just ask someone to cover for me.”

“No, Conner, we’ll be fine. It’s a standard prenatal, nothing to fuss over.”

The Kryptonian’s sigh sounded crackly as the phone’s speaker projected it. “Yeah, but it’s the first one. I hate having to miss it.”

Tim hummed sympathetically, “I know, babe, I know.”

“You guys are gonna tell me everything when I—I’ll be right there! Don’t do anything—!”  There was the sound of something, or someone, crashing into a hard surface.

“Conner? Everything alright?”

His mate muttered under his breath, “For Rao’s sake,” then said louder into the receiver, “Yup, just peachy. I’ve got to go, just fill me in later, okay? Tell Bernard I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

Tim chuckled, checking over a small stack of papers before slipping them back into a folder, “You told him this morning already, remember? It’s fine, Kon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seriously got to go before one of these kids—Just leave it, it’s fine!”  Tim heard another person speaking but couldn’t make out the words; Conner just sighed in response, “I’ll see you at home, hon. Love you.”

Tim slid out of his office chair and grabbed the folder in one hand before picking up his phone in the other, “Yeah, I love you too, Kon,” he whispered directly into the device. He couldn’t see, obviously, but he was willing to bet a significant sum of money that Conner was blushing as he closed the call.

He checked the time on his watch and cursed softly. Hastily, he left his office, speed-walking down the hallway to the bedroom.

“Hey, we need to leave right now if we want to beat the traffic,” he called out through the closed door. He pursed his lips in concern when he didn’t get any response. “Bear?” he called out again, cracking the door open.

“Can, can you give me, like, five minutes?” Bernard’s voice finally came through, but it was tense and strained like he was struggling against something.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah—damnit—I’m fine! Just—ugh!”

Tim cracked the door wider and slipped inside the room, “I’m coming in, love.”

He tucked his phone into his back pocket and tossed the document folder onto the bed before peaking into the closet.

His mate was lying down on the floor with his back arched into the air. His fingers tugged harshly on the fly of his jeans as he tried desperately to slip the buttons into their holes. It was obvious from the light sheen of sweat on his forehead that he’d been at it for a while.

The sight would have been comical if it weren’t for the frustration and distress tainting his scent and the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

With a wet sound that sounded like a suppressed sob, Bernard lowered himself onto the floor. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Fuck,” he whimpered.

Tim felt his heart physically constrict as he approached his omega. He sat behind Bernard’s head and slipped his arms under him, pulling him up into a sitting position. Bernard’s hands fell away from his eyes as he allowed himself to be picked up; his gaze was focused resolutely ahead, far away and unseeing even without his vision being blurred by tears.

That sat like that, with Bernard’s back to Tim’s chest. Tim put his chin on Bernard’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “It’s okay to cry.”

“Not over this. This is stupid.”

“You’re allowed to cry over stupid stuff, Bear. It’s normal.”

“Tim, I can’t fit in my jeans anymore, and I feel like sobbing, that’s not—,” the omega’s voice wavered, his scent curdling like orange-flavoured milk. Tim’s pumped out his scent purposefully, masking the sad smell with warm cherrywood smoke.

The smaller, wilder part of him took pride in the fact that his mate was gaining weight properly. Kon was very enthusiastic about making sure Bernard ate well and had every craving catered to.

Bernard took a deep, shaky breath, “This is stupid. I knew it wouldn’t fit, but I tried it anyway, and now, it’s making me feel like shit.”

“That’s normal too. It’s—“

Bernard side-eyed Tim through wet lashes, “I will elbow you if you say it’s ‘just hormones’.”

The omega’s tone was tight, but not upset, so Tim figured if he were going to get elbowed, it probably wouldn’t be too hard. “It’s just hormones, darling.”

True to his words, Bernard elbowed him in the stomach; it wasn't enough to hurt, but Tim leaned back dramatically and let out an oof anyway for comedic effect.

It seemed to work because the omega huffed in amusement, twisting back to look at him with a quirked lip, “I told you.”

Tim smiled back at him, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Bernard, his hands drifting to the slight swell of his stomach, “Yeah, you did. But, you’re smiling now, so it’s worth it.” With a slightly more solemn tone, he added, “We can reschedule if you’re not up for it.”

Bernard was silent as he mentally processed his options. Tim was glad to see that he was more relaxed again; he leaned back more into Tim’s chest, and his scent was still mellow but without the sour tinge from before. Tim silently slipped his hands under the omega’s shirt, rubbing his wrist glands into the skin and scenting him thoroughly.

It stung that he couldn’t do much more than that to soothe his omega. As someone with the natural inclination to solve problems and as an Alpha with the instinctive, bone-deep compulsion to provide and protect, seeing his mate in any form of distress that he couldn’t chase away left him feeling unsettled and powerless.

Bernard sighed heavily and relaxed his posture even further, nearly slipping out of Tim’s hold “We could reschedule, but we shouldn’t. I can do it. It’s no big deal.”

“If you're not feeling up to it, there’s no--”,

“I’m pregnant, not an infant. You don’t have to baby me.”

“It’s not babying.” Tim sighed.

Bernard had always been independent and incredibly self-sufficient, and usually disliked people trying to take care of him when he didn’t ask for it. It had been something of a point of contention when they’d first started courting, and Tim’s instincts always drove him to be protective, especially after the fiasco with the Cult of Dionysus. And when Bernard had found out his secret identity, it became all too easy to use his training and resources to watch out for him.

Now he was pregnant and fighting his heightened vulnerability and any effort on Tim and Kon’s part to accommodate him.

Tim kissed the side of his neck tenderly, “I just want to make sure you’re always okay. We can skip the appointment. The OB-GYN is on my personal payroll, remember?”

Bernard was quiet for another moment before replying again. This time his voice was softer and more open, “I’m okay, Tim, really. Let’s get going.”

The omega sat up and shifted forward, starting to get to his feet. Tim not so subtly insisted on helping him up.

“Such a gentleman,” Bernard chuckled.

“About the jeans,” Tim commented as Bernard rummaged through his clothes for something easier to slip on, “We can just get them adjusted. I can have a tailor take it and be done before the end of the week.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll wear them again eventually.”

“You sure?”

Bernard rolled his eyes as he turned back around, holding a pair of comfortable-looking baby blue sweatpants. “Yes, Tim, I’m sure. You have everything ready, right?”

(Tim resolved to contact the tailor anyway. He was going to see if he could get custom-made maternity clothes for his mate so he didn’t have to sacrifice his sense of style.)

The alpha ran through his mental checklist; they had Bernard’s medical history, his family’s medical records (obtained by less than legal means, but that wasn't important) and his daily vitamins all packed and ready to go.

“Yes, I do,” Tim answered confidently.

Bernard was shimmying out of his unbuttoned jeans hastily as he spoke, “Good, because if we weren’t late before, we sure as hell are now.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Sorry, we’re late.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mr Draper.”

Dr Miranda Yachi walked up to greet them as they entered the office. She was a middle-aged omega woman with a warm smile and soothing demeanour.

Tim saw Bernard visibly relax as the doctor took his hand in hers. He hadn’t said anything, but Tim could tell he had been nervous on the drive over.

Dr Yachi had been a practising OB-GYN for decades before her latent meta-gene activated after she accidentally made contact with biochemical waste left over from a supervillian’s rampage. Later, while providing support to Justice League members during a large-scale battle in New York, she was officially recruited as a part-time member of the JLA’s medical staff; however, she wanted to focus on her practice.

Tim had chosen her for her experience as well as her power. She could teleport to any location within a certain radius as long as she’d been there before. As her practice was based in Metropolis, it was no issue for her to teleport to Gotham on short notice.

Additionally, she had little to no interest in the wider hero community besides providing healthcare. Tim didn’t have to worry about compromising his or Kon’s identities; the doctor knew the importance of discretion and was willing to conduct sessions under aliases without looking any deeper.

They sat down across from Dr Yachi at her desk. Tim handed her the folder of documents he had brought along. She pulled out a pair of reading glasses from her pocket and began to go over them.

“First of all,” she began, “I’d like to extend my congratulations on your pregnancy.”

Bernard grinned easily, “Thanks, we’re very excited.”

The doctor laughed warmly, “I can imagine. It can be a lot of work, a lot of stress, but ultimately, it’s worth it.” Her eyes crinkled as she gave them a pleasant smile, “It’s my job to provide you with the care you’ll need to make this experience as easy as possible. Now, it’s my understanding that your other mate, Kon-El, is the sperm donor in this case?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Tim supplied, slipping easily into the composed persona he usually used as Timothy Drake-Wayne. “He won’t be attending today’s session, unfortunately.”

The doctor hummed lightly, “That’s quite right. The data your sponsor provided is more than sufficient for now. Since this is your first appointment, we have to run some routine checks.”

Tim glanced at Bernard, who was sitting up straight with his hands in his lap, fingers intertwined in front of his middle like a shield. He reached a hand over and took one of the omega’s own in his. Bernard glanced down for a split second before refocusing on the doctor’s words. Tim squeezed gently in a wordless gesture of I’m here, don’t worry.

“—Once we’re done with that,” Dr Yachi was saying, “We can get to the fun part.” She gathered the papers and set them aside before getting out of her seat. Tim and Bernard followed her lead.

She led them to the part of the space that was sectioned off by a privacy curtain: the examination room. With a flourish, she pulled back the curtain, revealing an examination table, a cabinet containing an assortment of medical supplies that Tim found himself absently assessing the quality of, and a mounted television screen connected to a device; the ultrasound machine.

“I know you must be excited to see your baby.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The moment the gel touched his belly, Bernard tensed. Tim felt it in the way his mate pressed the pads of his fingers into the back of his hand, tense and stiff.

Dr Yachi smiled placatingly, her voice matronly and soothing, “You’re alright, Mr Draper, I just need you to relax.”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” Bernard laughed nervously, “It’s just, I didn’t think it’d be that cold.”

“Mm, yes, I get that quite a lot.”

Tim squeezed back on his omega’s grip; a silent but steady presence.

Dr Yachi began to move the wand slowly against Bernard’s skin. The screen in front of her turned on, and, seconds later, the television followed suit.

It takes a few seconds for the hazy, black-and-white video to appear on the larger screen. The moment that it does, Tim feels all the breath in his lungs leave his body. Bernard’s grip goes slack in his hand, and he barely has the wherewithal to hold on.

Dr Yachi is speaking, rattling off data points and important information. He knows he should be paying attention; he should be mentally filing it all away so his mate can focus solely on the display. But he, too, is captivated.

That’s our baby. We’re having a baby.

It’s amazing how much better your brain processes information once it has visual evidence.

They look so small and so perfect and, wow, it's real.  Tim’s sharp eyes barely manage to make out the tiny blob-like protrusion that’s probably an arm. It’s almost like they know they're being watched, they know their parents are there, and they’re saying hello.

“Tim, Tim, that’s our baby. Look at our baby.”

Bernard whispers, his voice wobbly with awe and excitement; Tim can feel his fingers trembling in his loose grip. He brings the omega’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss into the skin.

“I see them, love. I see them.”

“Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” Dr Yachi asks softly. The only thing Tim has registered from her since they’d started.

Bernard nods frantically, and Tim verbalises their agreement with a single word.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

The sound drowns out everything else in the room. It’s fast, so fast, but also so strong that Tim feels like it echoes in his bones. Bernard lets out a little gasp, his eyes going wide.

“A hundred and seventy beats per minute. A powerful heart, for sure,” the doctor remarks, “You might have a future athlete on your hands.”

You don’t know the half of it, Tim wants to say as he pictures a curly-haired child flitting across a blue sky, familiar laughter ringing in the clouds. His heart skips a beat, but the baby’s heartbeat remains strong and steady in his ears: a reminder, a promise. I’m on my way, it seems to say.

With tremendous effort, he looks away and towards his love. Bernard is captivated, his eyes shifting rapidly from one detail to the next, committing it to memory. The man is rarely ever silent. Even in awe, even in fear, his mouth moves around quips or remarks or commentary. But now, it's like he expelled all his oxygen and forgot to draw in more. Tim finds he can relate.

It’s over far too quickly, he thinks, vaguely petulant. It’s only when the gel is wiped off and his omega has pulled his shirt back on that he seems to return to himself. He’s giddy, Tim can feel it. Even with the scent patches, the alpha can almost smell the joy leaking off him in waves.

Dr Yachi repeats all the information she had previously told them, with a knowing glint in her eyes.

Contrary to Tim’s earlier thought, their baby is actually on the larger side. Not abnormally so for how far along Bernard is, but it’s definitely on the greater part of the range. Tim blames Kon completely for that one and hopes, for the Kryptonian’s sake, that the baby doesn’t get much larger. Then again, his fingers were less likely to break from their omega’s grip during delivery.

He falls into Bat-mode after that, quizzing the doctor on every possible complication and concern. Ever composed, Dr Yachi takes it in stride, replying efficiently and comprehensively. Tim is absently impressed; he definitely made the right choice.

By the time they were ushered out, with a bag packed with vitamins, several printed ultrasound images, and plenty of knowledge to chew on, Tim felt so invigorated that he was almost light-headed.

“I love you,” Bernard says once he’s inside the car, safely buckled up in the passenger seat. Tim thought for a moment that his mate was talking to him until he continued, “Mommy loves you so much, baby.” He glanced down to see Bernard’s hands resting over his midsection with so much loving tenderness. The sight fills his chest with something more powerful than blood and air.

Tim removes one hand from the steering and rests it over his mate’s midsection. He feels the warmth radiating off his skin through his shirt, and the image of their baby’s form with one arm outstretched flashes in his mind. I’m on my way.

“Your dad loves you, too, sweetheart. And so does your papa. We can wait to see you,” he adds softly.

Chapter Text

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous.”                                     

Bernard watched in the reflection of the mirror as Kon walked up behind him.

“Ugh, don’t tempt me,” Bernard smiled slyly as Kon wrapped his arms around him, “But alas, I’d like not to piss off my father by being even more late.”

Kon trailed soft, bruising kisses up the omega’s neck, his hands slowly circling his waist.

“Conner,” Tim’s tone was edged with playful warning as he peered in from the bedroom and into the closet, “You heard Bernard.”

The beta’s wandering fingers stilled, and he exhaled a puff of hot air onto Bernard’s sensitive scent gland. The omega felt his skin warm as a pleased shudder ran up his spine.

“Has anybody ever told you you’re a killjoy, boy wonder?”

“Numerous people, many, many times. You most of all, I reckon.” Tim replied dryly. He walked up to the Kyrptonian and tugged on the back of his shirt. Conner let himself be pulled off with a “Whoa!”

Bernard turned around just in time to see Kon turn the tables; he had his arm wrapped tightly around Tim’s waist with the alpha pulled flush against him. Kon was staring down at him with eyes that glimmered with wicked heat. Tim had a hand splayed against his chest in a vague suggestion of pushing back, but his gaze was just as hungry.

Bernard groaned, putting his hands on his hips, “You guys are making it hard for me to leave, you know.”

“Damn it, Kon, he’s discovered our secret plan,” Tim laughed as he tugged Bernard closer and into their embrace; the omega giggled as the two of them pressed kisses into his cheeks.

“Okay, okay! I have seriously have to get going,” the omega felt himself flush as he tried to pull away.

His mates reluctantly relented, and Bernard turned back around, inspecting himself in the mirror once again. Conner was right; he did look amazing. And he felt amazing. At first, he had thought that Tim’s idea to, essentially, create a new wardrobe for him was overkill, but he had to begrudgingly admit, it had been the right call.

He was wearing a pair of black denim overalls with an off-white blouse underneath. The sleeves were a little poofy and were bunched up a bit at the wrists. The shirt had a high collar that he kept unbuttoned to show off his two mating marks, stark and obvious against his skin. He tied everything together with some silver jewellery and a couple of earrings from Conner. Everything was loose enough to be comfortable for his growing middle, but fitted enough to still be flattering.

It felt good to dress up after weeks of going to work in casual academia and coming home to veg in maternity bras and stolen sweatpants. Not even the fact that it was all because he was going to have brunch with his parents spoiled that fact.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you there?” Tim questioned, rubbing circles into the small of his back.

“If they saw you, they’re not gonna let you leave. They’ll start trying to butter you up, and then my dad will want to talk about ‘business’, and it’ll just be uncomfortable for everybody involved.”

“Right.” Tim sighed, his lips pursing in thought.

Bernard felt a brief flash of stifling irritation buzz through him before he mentally stamped it out like a smouldering newspaper. Christ, Bernard, he just wants to look out for you.

“How about this,” Conner piped up, “We head to the manor while you go to your folks' place. That way, if anything happens, we can be over in the blink of an eye.”

“You really don’t need—“

“That’s actually a good idea, Kon.”

“What do you mean by ‘actually’?”

Bernard looked at Tim with raised eyebrows, “I’m literally just going to my parents' house for the afternoon. Don’t you think you’re being a little overprotective?” His voice sounded tense even to his ears.

Tim moved to stand in front of him and caressed his face, “Better safe than sorry, darling.”

“We’re not trying to coddle you, baby,” Conner soothed, pressing up behind him, “It’s just, we respect you wanting to do this alone, but we know the kind of effect your folks tend to have on you. We just want to be there for you, to make sure you’re okay.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine, okay, I get it.” He broke away from their hold, somewhat annoyed. He didn’t need to be treated like he was fragile; he was pregnant, not made of glass.

The three of them stepped out of the closet and into the bedroom proper. He retrieved his shoulder bag from a bedside table and walked out of the room, Tim and Kon following behind him like a protective cat and dog, respectively.

It was after a few minutes of wandering about the apartment in heavy silence, filling his bag with water bottles, scent patches and copies of their baby’s ultrasound photos among other miscellaneous items, that he cracked.

He was nervous about the visit, about talking to them after so long. Why wouldn’t he be? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything resembling a pleasant conversation with them. He wanted more than anything to bring his mates along for support, to act as barriers between him and his parents’ likely judgment. He knew, however, he couldn’t do that, not forever. They were going to have to work out their relationship one way or the other, one on one—or, rather, two. If not for his sake, then for the baby’s.

Tim and Kon were right, though. It was going to be a difficult conversation, whether he liked it or not, and now that he was much easier to set off because of his mood swings, he could get stressed really easily. It was only natural for them to want to support him, and he needed to accept it.

“I’m sorry for being difficult,” the omega said, faintly embarrassed, “I know I’m usually bad at being pampered, but I do appreciate you guys looking out for me.”

They stood in the entryway as Bernard was about to enter the elevator, scenting each other one last time before the omega left.

Kon wrapped him in a hug, and Tim kissed his forehead “It’s alright, Bear, we know. I’m sorry for being too pushy, but still, call us if you need a rescue at any point.”

“We love you, and we’ll be right here for you when you get back.” Kon crouched so that his face was level with Bernard's midsection, “And you too, baby. Take care of Mama Bear for me and try not to give him too much trouble today,”

Bernard felt a soft smile split his face. Truth be told, he’s started the day anxious about what was to come, but it was hard to stay tense when he was bombarded with care from all sides. Now, he felt a bit better, a bit more ready. How bad could the brunch possibly be?

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Bernard had grown up perfectly middle-class in the suburbs of Gotham City. His father was a businessman in the medical sector, buying and distributing medical equipment to private practices and government institutions alike, and his mother worked as a teacher at an elite private school.

They were both staunchly traditional. His father was an alpha, and his mother was a beta and in their eyes, his status as an omega fit perfectly into their cookie-cutter idea of pack and family. Perhaps, in another life, it would have been a source of wounded pride that their only child was an omega, but (un)luckily, his parents had the idea that he would be the one to move their family from the fringes of Gotham’s high society into its beating, bleeding, frigid heart.

In his childhood, they had been attentive parents on paper, spoiling him with gifts and trinkets and the bare minimum of physical affection needed to raise a proper omega, one with grace and dignity and poise. One who was perfect to be married off to a rich socialite that would bring their family into the silk folds of Gotham’s most prestigious.

The problem was that Bernard wasn’t interested. By the time he’d entered middle school, he saw his parents’ ‘love’ for what it was: a sexist, manipulative, suffocating ploy to mould him into the perfect bargaining chip.

He remembered his first real fight with his father had been when he was fourteen years old, fresh off his presentation heat—that he’d been left to spend miserably alone—and furious that the man had immediately tried to suggest he accompany him on a company retreat and spend time with the nice young alpha daughter of one of his associates. He had screamed himself hoarse at the dinner table, demanding to know why they never really spent time with him, why they were adamant he dress a certain way, act a certain way, and why they were so insistent he spend more time with the rich alpha upperclassmen at his school.

“I don’t get it. Why do I have to be your omega son? Why can’t I just be your son, Dad!?”

He had stormed off to his room, hyperventilating and with his vision blurred by tears; his body teemed with difficult feelings, foreign urges and unbalanced hormones. All he fucking wanted was his dad, his pack Alpha, to scent him and hold him and tell him he was sorry and that everything would be fine, but at the same time, he wanted to scream at him until his voice was shot, pack a bag and get out from under the air of oppression he felt was packed into his home.

His mom had come upstairs with a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of warm gingersnap cookies. Her mellow lemongrass scent calmed him down somewhat; he ate his cookies in sniffly silence as she had stroked his hair.

“Your father and I want the best for you. We just want to make sure you have a good future, one where you’re happy and cared for. You don’t have to go to the retreat next weekend; you can stay home and bring some friends. Anyone you want, maybe that alpha boy from the music club I’ve been hearing so much about.”

He’d stiffened in her arms, his chocolate turning to ash in his mouth and his cookies sinking like stones in his gut. His new citrusy pheromones soured in discomfort and displeasure, and fresh tears leaked from his eyes, and yet, whether it was due to her lacking beta senses or some sort of general detachment, his mother hadn’t said a thing. All she did was rock him uselessly as he sobbed silently, mourning his childhood and the agency he’d never had.

From that moment forward, nothing was the same in that house. He and his father fought heatedly every other week while his mother stood quietly, meek and yet still vaguely disapproving in the background.

When he’d brought home his first girlfriend, a pretty omega girl by the name of Gwen, his father had threatened to ship him off to an omega-only prep school. Bernard had laughed in his face.

After high school, after Tim, after Darla, he was ready to start over in college. He saved up enough and moved out of his parents’ house and stopped speaking to them entirely. His mother reached out occasionally; their conversations were tense but pleasant, and she rarely ever spoke of his father except to comment on his general well-being.

By his second year of college, his parents had both retired and using the money they had saved up and some of his dad’s inheritance, they bought a house in one of the marginally less affluent neighbourhoods in Bristol. It seemed that even without using him, they’d managed to scramble up the social ladder just like they’d wanted. Thinking about it made him faintly ill.

Through a few charged and sombre visits since he graduated college, they’d come to a sort of emotional impasse that none of them wanted to yield ground over. His father’s loud opinions became cutting and snide remarks, and his mother’s icy disapproval became timid disappointment, and he told himself he was fine with it. He had to be.

The worst argument they’d had since then was over him mating with Tim and Kon. They had been ecstatic over Tim (eventually, when he became the CEO of Wayne Enterprises), but uncomfortable over Conner. That discussion had been cold and frank; Bernard wasn’t going to debate with them over his choices in his romantic life, so they either dealt with it or they would never hear from him again. It had worked, surprisingly. Even after everything, he figured they still loved him in their own detached, vague and fucked up way.

He told himself that it was the best he could get from them and that he was fine with it. He had to be. He didn’t want to lose them, not forever.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The doorbell chimed softly. Its tone was very neutral; it was supposed to be simple and easy on the ears, and yet, Bernard could feel a headache building at his temples. He felt dizzy. Dizzy and nauseous.

His car was parked a few feet down the street from the home, shaded from the brightness of the midday sun by a leaning sycamore. It was, in all honesty, a lovely day. The sky was clear—by Gotham standards—and the chill of fall was pleasant instead of biting.

He waited for what felt like ages, absently twisting the rings on his fingers, and he idly scanned the fresh lawn and modest flower garden. So clean and uniform, it was almost uncanny.

The front door swung open with the barest of creaks, startling him. The omega found himself face-to-face with a middle-aged woman dressed in a stereotypical maid outfit. She had no scent to speak of; likely, she wore strong blockers, which would make sense if she worked in the house.

He blinked, “Uh, hi? I’m Bernard, I’m here to see my parents?” he trailed off like he was asking a question. Since when did they get a housekeeper?

The woman’s face was carefully blank as she stared at him for a second too long before finally speaking, “They have been excitedly anticipating your arrival, Master Bernard. Please, follow me.”

Bernard fought back a frown at her words and tone. The only person who called him ‘Master Bernard’ was Alfred Pennyworth, and the Waynes’ grandfather-figure always did so with the subtle lovingkindness he reserved for packmates.

To his mild surprise, the woman didn’t lead him past the threshold; instead, she side-stepped him on the porch steps and hopped down to the lawn. They walked to the edge of the property, where the woman revealed a gated archway strategically covered in climbing vines in an attempt to look naturally overgrown. It would have worked if the rest of the garden weren't aggressively neat.

The wrought iron gate swung open, and the housekeeper gestured for him to step past first. A cold flash of ridiculous fear curled in his gut before he shook it off and did as he was told.

The back of the house wasn’t much different from its front; it still had cleanly cut grass, off-puttingly symmetric bushes and points of uncanniness where there had been an attempt to let nature roam. Poison Ivy would be insulted.

Almost precisely in the middle of the space was a moderately sized gazebo painted the colour of fresh snow. Instead of the usual wrap-around seating area, there was a large, round wooden table painted the same colour as the gazebo. The table had been covered with a frill tablecloth, a few shades off from the rest of the colour scheme; it was laden with plates of appetising-looking food, and around it were three ornate-looking wooden chairs.

And in one of those chairs sat his mother.

Beatrice Dowd had her wavy blonde hair pulled up in a bun at the base of her skull. She wore an ankle-length flower-pattered dress with a high-neck collar that concealed the column of her throat. Her lips curled in a small smile when she caught sight of him, her light wrinkles becoming more pronounced with the action.

“Bernie, dear, it’s lovely to see you. I’ve missed you, darling!” Her tone was warm and light, odd, in Bernard’s opinion, for someone who deliberately hadn’t spoken to her son in almost half a year.

She spread her arms wide for a hug once he climbed up the gazebo steps. He allowed himself to be embraced, his fingers hesitantly patting her back in reciprocation. He resisted the urge to inhale her subtle lemongrass scent as it wafted off her. His own scent was stifled by blockers, something he always did around his father to maintain privacy.

“Come on, dear, sit down,” she gestured to the seat next to her as she took her place at the table. He was hesitant; he would have preferred to sit in the seat across from her on the other side of the table, but his mother’s eyes were insistent, bordering on pleading. He relented.

She reached across the table for a pot of coffee, intending to pour him a cup. He wrinkled his nose and grimaced at the stench that wafted from the open lid. “No thanks, mom, I can’t drink coffee right now.”

She looked at him quizzically, “Oh, don’t worry, it’s decaffeinated.”

“It’s not like that, I just don’t like the…taste anymore.” It was more like his body physically rejected everything about it, but what he said was more or less the same.

“Alright then, your father and I usually just have coffee and some water, but I can ask Madeline to make you some tea.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just have water. So,” he glanced at the screen door that led into the house, “Where is dad anyway? I have something to tell you guys that’s—“

The phrase ‘speak of the devil and he shall appear’  had never been more applicable to his life than in that moment. Before he could even part his lips to speak his next words, the screen door creaked open and Gregory Dowd made his presence known.

He was just as imposing as Bernard had last seen him; his built frame remained unimpeded by the passage of time, his lion’s mane of a brown beard had only a handful of grey hairs scattered throughout, and his hairline had barely shifted from age.

His bold and domineering scent of aged pine seemed to billow menacingly from him like invisible smoke. Even in a simple grey turtleneck and slacks, he walked with purpose, intention, and an air of arrogance.

Bernard tried, and failed, to keep the frown off his face.

His father made it to the gazebo in a handful of strides. He walked past his wife and child without a word and sat in the only remaining seat. Bernard watched, half-expectant, as his father poured himself a cup of coffee, adding two spoonfuls of creamer and a teaspoon of sugar before stirring slowly.

Bernard allowed himself a forceful exhale through his nose before speaking, barely succeeding in keeping his tone level, “Hi, Dad, it’s nice to see you too.”

The alpha dropped his stirring spoon onto a napkin before lifting his mug to his lips and taking a generous sip. “Bernard, how have you been, son?” His tone was flat and without a shred of emotion.

“Good, great in fact!” Bernard gave a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His father paid his glare no mind and instead focused on serving himself food from the assortment on display.

“That’s lovely, dear,” his mom piped up awkwardly, “Tell me, how’s work? Not too stressful, I hope.”

For the next half hour, Bernard and his mother engaged in small talk, with minimal interjection from his dad, as they all ate. The omega found that his appetite was lacking, and the nausea that had plagued him since he arrived was still lingering at the back of his throat.

Anytime he tried to give more details about the recent happenings in his life, about his mates or friends or even his hobbies, his mother would glance surreptitiously at her husband and then re-route the conversation. Bernard wasn't stupid, he knew she was trying to stop him from setting off his dad, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He still let her, though; he had to admit, it felt nice to talk to his mom again, to hear her laugh, without any overt tension between them.

“Bernard.”

The omega paused, in the middle of recounting to his mother an interesting lecture he had given the week prior, and turned to look at his dad. The older man’s attention was squarely on him; eyes that were too similar to his own bore into him unflinchingly. “Yeah, Dad?” he replied, voice somewhat weary.

“Your mother and I,” he dabbed the side of his mouth with a napkin despite there being nothing to wipe away, “We’ve been talking. We aren’t getting any younger—”

Oh no.

“—and, quite frankly, neither are you.”

Are you serious right now?

“Honey, I don’t think—“

Gregory silenced his wife with a look.

“Don’t you think it’s time you and your alpha started thinking about the future? About children?”

His mother bit her lip, hesitance and something guarded layered over her expression. She spoke as admonishingly as she could manage, “Gregory, dear, I don’t think now is the time for this.”

Bernard felt bile threatening to climb his throat. He swallowed audibly, trying to suppress his gag reflex. His father’s gaze remained stoic, perhaps defiant. His younger self would have felt fear and even hopelessness at his stare, but now it looked strangely petulant.

“You’re actually serious right now.” His tone might have been questioning, but Bernard definitely meant it as a statement. A realisation.

His father scoffed, leaning back against with crossed arms, “Of course, I’m serious. I know you want children, and your alpha must want them as well. If he’s worth his salt, he’ll know to secure his legacy.” He spoke coolly, his tone steeped in arrogant surety. And because he was a petty, vindictive bastard under his pretence of sophistication, he had to add “Legitimately, that is.”

Bernard’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back against the table and stood up. In a swift motion, he grabbed his water glass and threw the contents in his father’s direction mid-speech. His shaking hands threw off his aim, so instead of water splashing onto the alpha’s face and shirt, it landed on the floor next to him with only a few droplets landing on his person.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Bernard yelled, “That’s why you wanted to see me?! You wanted to guilt me into having kids? Are you kidding me?”

His voice was trembling, and his breath was coming in shorter and shorter, but he couldn’t stop. “Of course, you have to take a dig at Tim being adopted. And I have two mates, you asshat!”

His mom raised her hands in placation, her waterline flooding, “Bernard, please, it’s not like that—“

He whirled to face her, cheeks red and eyes blurring with frustrated tears, “Not like what, Mom? You’re the one who called me, so don’t even try to say you don’t agree with him, you always have!”

He thought back to all the times she had ‘comforted’ him after he fought with his dad, only for her to urge him to ‘see his father’s side of things’ and that they ‘only wanted the best for him’. What a joke. Her manipulation somehow felt more insidious than his father’s.

“You don’t speak to your mother like that!” his father thundered, rising from his seat.

“You don’t get to talk to me like I’m fourteen, Dad!” he spat back, “I can’t believe I actually thought we’d be able to talk things out like adults. You haven’t changed at all,” he finished bitterly.

“Bernard, dear, we only—“

“Want what’s best for me? Is that what you want to say?” he scoffed.  The thought of smashing the glass crossed his mind, but he thought better of it; it wasn't like his parents would be the ones to clean it up. He set down the glass and grabbed his shoulder bag from the back of his chair.

“Where do you think you're going, young man?” His father’s face was twisted and stony as he stood to his full height, glaring at his son.

“Fuck you, I’m twenty-six, asshole. And I’m going home to my actual family.”

His mother hastily got to her feet and reached for him, her eyes still teary and imploring. He pulled away almost aggressively. His head throbbed with the force of all his emotions warring for dominance. He wanted to scream or cry or hit something or all three at the same time.

His father looked like he wanted to say something else, probably scathing and demeaning in equal measure. Bernard cut him off by pulling out a handful of photos from his bag and throwing them onto the table.

“This is what I wanted to accomplish today. I’m three months pregnant. Conner is the sire, not Tim, and I don’t give a fuck what you think about it.” He took a shuddering breath; his voice was shaky with emotion.

His parents stared speechless at the ultrasound photos. His mother’s fingers twitched forward like she wanted to reach out and grab at them, but was afraid, as if they might burn her. His dad’s expression was one of genuine surprise, a truly rare occurrence for him.

“I came here because I thought you guys deserved a second chance to know your grandchild. I wanted to give you the chance to make amends for their sake, not even mine. But now I know you’ll never change, not for me, not for the baby, not for anybody.”

He walked off the gazebo, grass bending under the weight of his furious steps. He could feel himself hyperventilating, his breaths were coming in rapid and short, and he wanted to vomit; he needed to get away.

“I was never a son to you people, and now I never will be. Don’t contact me or my family ever again.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

He didn’t even make it halfway to his car before his breakfast and the bare morsels he managed to choke down at brunch re-introduced themselves violently to the world in a spray of bile and stomach acid.

Bernard fell to his knees on the asphalt and sobbed. How could he have been so stupid? What kind of parent was he for wanting his kid to grow up knowing grandparents like that? Maybe he wasn’t actually cut out to be a mom, if that was how his parents acted, if that was the way he was raised.

His scent patches were soaked through with the odour of rotting oranges. He scratched them off roughly, tossing them into his puddle of puke. He clutched his abdomen and rocked forward in a self-soothing gesture as he cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.”

The last thing he expected, as he knelt hunched over on the cold concrete, feeling himself unravel messily and loudly, was for arms to wrap around him. Strong, familiar arms that smelt of cherrywood and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Another pair of arms, warmer, larger still and carrying the scent of dew-drenched earth enveloped him from behind.

He could only tremble and wail as comforting rumbles and soothing purrs buzzed in his ears and bones.

At some point, when his sobs turned to sniffles and his shaking turned to occasional shudders, he registered that he was being carried. Kon was carrying his to the car, princess-style and pressing Bernard close to his chest.

He was placed in the back seat on his side, staring vacantly at the passenger seat. Kon slid in next to his head, lifting it so that Bernard could rest on his thigh. The car engine sputtered to life, and they took off down the street, driving back to their apartment in the city proper.

Tim and Kon tried to talk to him, but it was like his ears were full of cotton and his mouth was filled with taffy. He tried, he really did, but he felt exhausted. In every sense of the word. So he tumbled into fitful unconsciousness.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Bear?”

“Hmm?” His hum was muffled by one of Conner’s shirts.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bernard turned his head so that he could look Tim in the face. “There’s nothing to talk about. They were terrible, like always, and I was stupid for thinking that they would change.”

Bernard had woken up from his involuntary nap when they arrived back at the apartment building. He seemed to have cried out everything he had in the car because he had been feeling nothing but numbness since they set foot in their home.

As if on autopilot, he made a nest in the living room. It was haphazard and messy and not at all how he usually operated, but he couldn’t bring himself to make it any better. It still served its purpose decently well; being surrounded by comforting scents grounded him.

His mates had busied themselves with trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Tim followed him around as he gathered nesting materials, helping him carry pillows and armfuls of laundry to the living room. Kon was making food for him in the kitchen; he didn’t know what it was, but his stomach felt so empty he would probably eat anything, food aversions be damned.

Tim’s lips thinned into a line, and his eyebrows drew together in a subtle display of upset. His scent projected calmness and comfort, but Bernard could detect an undercurrent of tension. “You’re not stupid for having wanted to reconcile with your parents.” The alpha was on his knees so that he was eye-level with the sofa; he reached out a hand and stroked the side of Bernard's face. “None of this is your fault, okay? None of it.”

Bernard's scent was still sour with melancholy, and he could tell it was affecting Tim more than Kon. His instincts were probably screaming at him to fix things, to make his pregnant omega feel better and eliminate what caused him harm.

“Sometimes, I wonder,” he said lowly, “If things would have been better if I weren’t born an omega.”

Tim’s lips thinned with restrained frustration—not directed at him—and brushed his fingers against Bernard’s cheek, caressing the flesh, “You’re perfect the way you are, not because you’re an omega, but because you’re you. You’re Bernard: incredible, kind, loving, loud, beautiful, passionate, and amazing. And I love you.”

The omega closed his eyes against Tim’s touch. If he had any tears left, he's sure he would have started crying all over again.

“Can I come in?” Kon was standing over him with a lap tray in his hands. He was smiling, soft and mellow, but still in that uniquely bright way that was signature to him.

Bernard dragged himself into a seating position, “Yeah, sure,”

Tim rose to his feet and settled on the other side when Kon sat down. The tray was placed over him, and he picked up a spoon to start eating. It was spinach soup, a favourite of his and always easy on the stomach.

“You’re folks are assholes. After everything they’ve done, you can think or say whatever the hell you want about them, it’s the least you deserve.” Kon stated, bluntly.

“Kon’s right, you don’t owe them anything. Definitely not the chance you gave them,” Tim added on. The alpha grabbed the TV remote and switched on the screen. Soon enough, the room was filled with the low sounds of an old over-the-top horror movie, one of Bernard’s favourites.

The omega didn’t reply immediately. He ate a few spoonfuls of soup; it was really, really good as always. A shame he could barely taste it.

Bernard stared down at his bowl, swirling the contents absently with his spoon. “I can’t even bring myself to hate them completely. I thought—“ he choked, and, oh,  it seemed like he still had tears in him, “A part of me never stopped hoping that they would change, but now I know they won't, they never will, and—“ he let out a mournful keen. Kon removed the tray from his lap and set it on the floor just in time for Bernard to fold in on himself, a sob wracking through his frame. His mates crowded in on him, their bodies acting as shields from the world.

“After all this time, it still hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?”

Tim and Kon said nothing as he cried out everything he had kept in his heart about his parents for the last decade. He mourned the absence of the bond he had so desperately wanted with them for most of his life. His baby would grow up with one less set of grandparents, and, somehow, he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault.

Chapter Text

“I need you to sit up so I can wash your hair, love.”

Bernard rose slowly from the bathwater, revealing his shoulders and the lower half of his face. The crown of his head was inches away from Tim’s chin, and blond strands clung to the skin of his cheeks and the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to,” the omega mumbled, his voice subdued, “I can wash it myself.”

Tim hummed as if in consideration as he reached over Bernard’s shoulder to grab the shampoo from where it rested against the wall on the lip of the basin. “I want to wash your hair, though. May I?”

“If it’s what you want,” Bernard stated, shifting forward in the water to give Tim the space to move.

“It is,” Tim assured the omega.

The water sloshed gently against Bernard’s back as Tim rose to his knees. With a flick of his finger, the lid of the shampoo bottle snapped open, and the alpha squirted a generous dollop into the palm of his hand. He set the bottle down and, with his now free hand, worked the liquid into a lather, then he began to spread it over his mate’s scalp.

Bernard let out a tiny sigh as he felt Tim’s fingers massage the roots of his hair.

About a week had passed since Bernard had visited his parents. And…he was, understandably, not himself. Tim and Conner put their all into supporting him, but it seemed like the one person who still blamed Bernard was himself.

In a concerning instance, the day after the event, he woke up first out of the three of them and worked in the kitchen for hours, preparing a truly expansive variety of food for breakfast. It was clear he was using it as a coping mechanism, and Tim wished he’d actually eaten more of what he made.

Tim knew better than most the forms that grief took and the unique pain one felt with the loss or breakdown of familial connection. Even if he tried to do it as silently as possible, Bernard was still grieving, and it was plain to see. He cracked jokes and smiled, but his eyes were duller, his expressions weaker, and his scent more subdued.

It set something off inside of Tim, a roiling, simmering anger, as he saw the man he loved in that state, the light from his bright character gone from him because the people who were supposed to raise him with love and care had failed him so miserably, time and time again. Tim supposed Gregory Dowd was lucky that he was already in retirement.

“You’re hair’s getting longer. And thicker.” The alpha observed as he squeezed out the suds from the ends of Bernard’s hair.

Bernard reached from his scalp and pulled a couple of single blond strands from the rest of the soapy mass, drawing them out to gauge the length in the bathroom’s lighting.

“Yeah, it is. Shinier too.”

“Mhm,” Tim reached behind himself for the hand-held shower head, “Do you want to cut it?”

The water rippled in front of Bernard as the omega moved his hand to rest on his swelling middle. Tim felt his heart swell a little as he heard the genuine smile in his mate’s voice as he said, “Nah. It kinda feels like they’re rewarding me after trimester one, y’know,” his voice rose an octave, “’ Thank you for carrying me for twelve weeks, Mama. Now, no more morning sickness and also shiny hair!

Even while he was going through a rough patch, Bernard was never not happy about their baby. In the past week, he’d begun to talk to the baby at night when he had trouble falling asleep or just at random points in the day, carrying one-sided conversations about anything he was doing. Oftentimes, Kon would join in enthusiastically, often getting into imaginary debates about anything and everything. Tim did so too, usually as an opposing side in Kon’s arguments or late at night, winding down from patrol.

Tim chuckled as he told his mate, “Close your eyes, I need to wash the soap out.”

Bernard did as suggested, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back slightly.

The nozzle sprayed warm water over Bernard’s hair. Tim was careful not to let any droplets slip past the omega’s forehead; he meticulously squeezed out the suds as they trailed through the omega’s golden locks, dripping off the ends.

Once the showerhead was clicked off and returned to its holder, Tim grabbed a towel and began drying his mate’s hair.

Bernard’s face was soft from the relaxing treatment, the tension dripping off him like the soapy water from his locks.

When his hair had turned from sopping to damp, Tim tied the towel around Bernard’s head. His fingers made their way to the pinkish skin of his shoulders, squeezing them affectionately. The alpha placed a kiss on Bernard’s cheek before whispering, “You wanna get out now?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Tim placed another kiss on his neck before moving to rise out of the water. He stepped out onto the bathmat, water cascading down his form in thin streams as he moved to get more towels.

He could feel his mate’s eyes on his as he moved, trailing over his nude figure absently. He was about to comment something playful and cheesy, like it’s rude to stare or like what you see?  when the omega spoke up in a mellow tone, “I love you, Tim.”

Tim turned around slowly, towels slung over a shoulder, his features softening from teasing to tender.

“I love you, too, Bear. Conner and I love you so much. We’ve got you, okay? Always.”

Bernard had an arm propped up on the edge of the bath and was resting his tilted head on his closed fist, “Yeah, I know.” He smiled, “I’ll be okay, you don’t have to be so worried all the time.”

In a few steps, Tim was in front of the tub, extending a hand to assist his partner out of the water; Bernard took it gratefully. “It’s all I ever do, you know that.”

The omega sighed, shaking his head as he climbed out, “Yeah, I do. Maybe without the secret modifications to my stereo, hmm?”

Tim replied, entirely deadpan as he handed Bernard his towel, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

With his towel tied around his chest, Bernard pressed closer to Tim and kissed him chastely on the mouth, “Of course you don’t,” he murmured.

“You were right, the bath was a good idea. I definitely don’t feel as sore as before.”

Emotionally and physically, Tim reckoned. “I usually am,” the alpha responded playfully, receiving a dramatic eyeroll as Bernard wandered over to the sink to brush his teeth.

Tim drained the tub while his mate did his care ritual and then walked over to join him. He wrapped gentle arms around Bernard’s middle as he applied his face cream.

“How about a movie?”

“Don’t you have patrol tonight? I think you should get some sleep before then.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Bernard glanced at him skeptically in the mirror. “That big case you guys just finished kept you up almost all week. Get some sleep, Tim, please.” He patted over where Tim’s hand rested on his belly, “For us?”

Tim placed a kiss on his mating mark, hiding a smile in his skin, “Okay, I will, for you guys.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Conner greeted Tim with a soft smile from the couch as he entered the living room. The TV screen was paused on the blurry frame of an action movie, barely adding to the slight illumination provided by the light fixtures.

“Hey, there, handsome. How was patrol?”

The beta had both arms slung over the back of the couch, his head craning to watch Tim as he walked over to him.

“Fine. Nothing too crazy.” Aside from some reconnaissance for ongoing cases, he only dealt with a few low-stakes attempted break-ins, a couple of domestic disputes, and one attempted cat-napping (Damian was especially enthusiastic about that one) on his route—definitely a quieter night in Gotham City.

Kon hummed in response, his eyes squinting as he engaged his x-ray vision.

Tim stood behind the couch, now, looking down at Kon’s searching gaze with a fond expression. He leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth, “Just some bruised ribs. It’s already been looked over; I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Conner’s eyes fluttered closed as he captured Tim’s lips in his once again. Their mouths moved a little awkwardly from their position, but the act was nevertheless languid and sweet.

“Mmm, okay then,” Kon said as they pulled away, “Get over here.”

Tim chuckled and was moving to round the couch when the Kryptonian reached behind himself to grab Tim under the arms. Tim felt his body become light as TTK enveloped him; he was pulled off his feet, his weightless body carried above Kon’s head before being deposited in the beta’s lap.

It was fast; Tim barely had any time to react. One second, he was standing behind the couch, and the next, he was in Kon’s lap with the man’s warm arms and wet earth scent enveloping him.

“Okay then,” Tim smiled, amused, as Kon pulled him close, sighing into his clavicle, “Someone’s feeling clingy.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me this morning, Conner.” Tim rubbed his mate’s back soothingly, his scent bleeding fuzzy comfort.

“Exactly, too long,” the Kryptonian grumbled, “I’m recharging.”

“Oh? I barely get enough sun myself, so I doubt there’s much to absorb, even if you could.”

Kon was silent for a beat, then he pulled back and reached up to cradle Tim’s face. “If Bear’s my sunshine, you’re my north star, Tim. My guiding light in the dark.”

Tim felt warmth bloom in his face from his cheeks to the tips of his ears; he was faintly thankful for the dim lighting in the living room before registering that Kon could see him perfectly fine.

He cleared his throat and looked away, flustered, his gaze focusing on the far wall, ideally noting the framed photos that resided on it; Bernard’s master’s diploma, a picture of Kon posing with Krypto in a cornfield, a Polaroid taken by Jason of all three of them at the beach, a group photo of his entire family and his closest friends at his twenty-fifth birthday, among others.

After how many years of being together in every capacity, Conner still surprised him often with how easily he could render him speechless.

“Geez, you’re so…cheesy.” I love you.

From the corner of his averted eyes, Tim could see Kon’s serious face melt back into a teasing smile. The beta pulled him back into his chest, the pressure of his hold strong but careful not to aggravate his injury.

“I love you, too, Timmy.”

“Mm, yeah,” Tim whispered, “How was he when you came back?” he asked, referring to their melancholic pregnant partner.

“He seemed okay. Was falling asleep on the couch,” Kon chuckled, his breath tickling the skin of Tim’s neck, “I guess he was waiting up. He complained about his back, so I gave him a massage, and then, he was out like a light.”

“I might need that tonight. I feel kinda wired.”

“You sure everything’s okay?” A bit of concern coloured Kon’s murmured question.

Tim huffed, a hand reaching up to play with short strands at the back of Conner’s head, “Nothing ever really ‘okay’ in Gotham, but, yes, I’m good. I have a really long meeting tomorrow, so I just want to get enough sleep.”

“A few years ago, I would have had to drag you to bed,” Conner said, a nostalgic lilt clear in his voice.

“Well, we have a baby on the way, and I can’t exactly set good examples for my kid if I don’t have good habits.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Conner teased. He slipped his hands under the fabric of Tim’s shirt, his gentle and expert touch unravelling the knots of tension beneath Tim’s skin as his fingers travelled over the expanse of the alpha’s back and shoulders.

“I’m always self-aware,” Tim mumbled with a sigh, his body sagging contentedly into Conner’s.

Tim didn’t even realise he had drifted off until the sound of a gunshot startled him awake. He sprang into a sitting position, a hand flying to jab Kon in the middle in a bid to get him to release his hold.

“Owww. It’s okay, Tim, you’re safe, it’s just the TV.”

The alpha blinked once, then twice, clearing the drowsiness from his mind. “Oh,” he said, craning his neck to look at the screen over his shoulder, which was indeed flashing brightly in the dimly lit room. The volume was low enough that he could barely make out the dialogue, but he gathered it was the same movie he had walked in on Conner watching; it seemed to be a western.

“Sorry, Kon,” he said, turning back to face his mate.

The kryptonian pulled Tim back towards him again, “S’okay. Maybe it’s time to join Bear in bed.”

Tim sighed into Kon’s shirt, trying and failing to hold onto his fleeting sleepiness, “You can go ahead. I don’t think I can go back to sleep anymore. I’ll do some work instead.”

“What happened to setting a good example?”

Tim pushed against Kon’s chest gently, and the kryptonian allowed him to extract himself from his embrace. He got to his feet, bending backwards in a slight stretch, and he scrunched his face at the slight popping sound the action generated. He wasn’t even a dad yet, and he already felt old.

“I’ve got a handful of months left. These things take time, y’know.”

Conner leaned over the couch cushions to retrieve the TV remote and, with the press of a button, switched it off. Without the extra artificial light, Tim only just barely made out the sight of Kon’s flat stare, “Right. Of course.”

“Exactly,” Kon rose silently to his feet as well, tilting his head to press a kiss to Tim’s forehead. His mate laced their fingers together as they made their way to the dark corridor, “I won’t be long, probably just look over tomorrow’s meeting agenda. And maybe some casework for Jason, I promised I’d help him look over some shipping records for…”, his voice trailed off as he continued his train of thought mentally, his brain already warming up for another late night of detective work.

Kon halted his musings with a warm chuckle, “Just don’t get carried away. You know I’ve never been opposed to physically hauling your ass to bed.”

“That won’t be necessary tonight,” Tim insisted, like a liar, “Trust me.”

“I trust you with my life, heart, body and soul, Tim,” Kon whispered as he cracked open the bedroom door, “But definitely not with your sleep schedule.”

“Rude.”

Tim peered into the room, spotting a lump in the centre of the bed that was definitely his sleeping omega, cuddled under the comforter.

“It’s the truth, love.” Kon hugged him one more time in the doorway before bidding him goodnight and swearing to drag him from his office if he wasn’t in bed before two hours elapsed. Tim only smiled at the playful threat, promising to meet his challenge.

(He failed, of course.)

Chapter Text

Kon squeezed Bernard’s hand under the table when he noticed the other man’s face grow tight with discomfort. The omega leaned into him and spoke lowly, his voice carrying easily with Kon’s superhearing even over the din of jovial conversation around them, “I’m okay, just some back pain.”

Kon leaned forward in his seat and glanced meaningfully at Tim. The alpha met his eyes quizzically, with a forkful of mashed potatoes sealed behind his lips. What’s wrong?

Bernard rolled his eyes as he turned to Tim as well, “It’s no big deal, barely even stings. Seriously, I’m fine.”

Tim swallowed, “Is it your back? I can get a pillow from the house.”

Bernard untangled his fingers from Kon’s grip and patted his hand, doing the same to Tim’s free hand on his other side. “Chill out, guys, I’ll live.” He smiled at them in turn before facing forward and calling out, “Steph, can you pass the corn? Ooh, and the hot sauce.”

Kon watched in amused fascination as Bernard hollowed out a bread roll before filling it with hot-sauce-soaked sweet corn.

“How does it taste?” Tim asked, genuinely curious.

“Not great,” Bernard answered honestly as he chewed down the morsel, “Not spicy enough. And the bread’s soggy from the sauce.”

Tim nodded in understanding, drizzling gravy over another spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“If I’d known you needed it, I would have brought some of mine along,” Conner joked.

Bernard shrugged in an oh well sort of way and went back to drowning his corn.

Kon’s eyes crinkled with fondness, and he allowed himself a few seconds to drink in Bernard’s relaxed state. Like the rest of their family around them, Bernard was wearing low-strength scent patches that covered up the intensity of his scent but didn’t neutralise it. It was probably hard for the average person to perceive, but Conner could smell the pleasant citrus and honeyed milk sweetness that wafted off him just fine if he focused.

His mate was visual proof that pregnancy glow existed in a very literal sense. As the blond man laughed and joked with Steph and Duke, radiancy seemed to bleed off of him.

Everything about him seemed perceptibly lighter, like a considerable weight had been lifted off him. He moved smoothly, seemed more at peace, heck, Kon was pretty sure he was breathing easier than he had before.

Over the last few days, their omega slowly opened up about his childhood. All the memories, all the conflicts, all the turmoil spilt from him as words and tears. At the end, he had grinned, big and wide, half-laughing, half-crying, “It’s never going to stop hurting, is it?” he’d asked.

Tim had gathered him in his arms while Kon sat by him, wiping his face, “No, it’s not, but it does get better, I can promise you that.”

Bernard had looked down at his middle and placed a shaking hand over his belly, ”I can work with that.”

Conner turned back to the plate only to find that he definitely had more green beans than he remembered taking. He glanced quizzically at Kara on his left, who was animatedly answering questions about Kryptonina weaponry from Jason. Sure enough, there was a suspiciously empty spot on her plate where he figured the vegetables had been a few minutes ago. He was about to take a spoonful of casserole off her plate in retaliation, but his utensil met the tablecloth with a dull thud instead; she had moved her plate away with superspeed.

The older woman turned to him apologetically, “I need space for the pumpkin pie, Conner.”

Kon was about to counter that it was all the more reason for him to take her casserole, but Jason cut in, vaguely amused, “If you don’t want the beans, kid, I’d gladly take ‘em.”

Conner just shook his head wearily, “It’s cool, man.” Besides, he was the one who made them, and he was proud of his work, damn it.

He was shoving a generous forkful into his mouth when Pa Kent cleared his throat.

“I know a lot of y’all are really busy folks nowadays, grown with your own lives. Seems like just yesterday when Jon and Damian were runnin’ around the farm, spooking the chickens,” the old man gave a deep chuckle, the mirth rippling through everyone at the table. Lois and Steph somehow managed to perfectly time ruffling the hair of the aforementioned boys at the same time.

“Now look atcha, Jon!” Pa continued, grinning at his grandson, “Almost as tall as your dad and looking more like your mom every day.”

Conner’s little brother ran a hand through his hair, grinning back with equal joviality.

“And Bruce,” Pa turned to the man in question, his tone more teasing, “It’s every year you have us adding more seats to the table!”

The Batman had an uncharacteristic softness about him as he sat between his father figure and his first son, “What can I say, Pa? I’m a lucky man,” he said, tone light.

Kon glanced around and, sure enough, all the members of the Batfamily had varying degrees of softness reflected on their normally tightly controlled expressions. Even little Mar’i was grinning around a mouthful of shredded turkey.

“There is no doubt about it,” the older man agreed. “I’m sure y’all don’t want to hear me dawdle on and on about embarrassing stories all night,” he looked around the table, catching the eyes of the younger adults meaningfully, “And trust me, there are plenty to last us till sunrise, so I just want to say, I’m thankful for every single one of ya. You’re all family, and it warms my old heart to see y’all gathered here tonight, filling your hearts and bellies.” He raised his glass of apple cider with a toast, and everybody joined in laughing and smiling along.

One by one, everybody followed suit, sharing anecdotes about what they were thankful for; some were light-hearted—Dick grinning as he proudly told everybody that Mar’i had lost her first tooth—and others were more heartfelt.

When it got to Tim’s turn, the alpha cleared his throat and glanced at Bernard and Kon before speaking. They both gave him little encouraging nods, Bernard even flashing a double thumbs up. As expected, the action caught the attention of Tim’s siblings, who suddenly turned to him with full attention. All except Cass, who, instead, gave a supportive smile of her own, already knowing what was about to be said.

“I guess, like Pa said, I’m thankful we can all be here together, alive and whole. Not even a single faked death this year. So far, at least,” Tim joked.

“So, yeah, I'm thankful that we could all make it today, alive and well. It’s not often all twenty of us can get together peacefully.” Tim raised his glass smoothly before taking a generous sip of his drink, hiding his smile in the beverage.

In a room half-filled with some of the greatest detective minds on the planet, it didn’t take long for them to realise exactly what had been said.

To Conner’s surprise, it was Jason who reacted first, followed closely by Clark. The younger of the two slammed his hand on the table hard enough that his glass wobbled.

“Holy shit, and here I was, thinking we’d get another from Dickie first.”

Half a second later, Clark’s fork slipped out of his hand, clattering to his plate. “There’s an extra heartbeat,” he choked out, his voice strangled with rising emotion. Jon’s eyes widened as he noticed it, and Conner heard Kara’s excited gasp from his left as she picked up on it as well.

Kon finally let out a laugh as their family members reacted all around them. He had to admit, the reveal was fun. It hadn’t taken much consideration on their part to choose the right occasion. Thanksgiving was one of the only times the majority of both Tim and Kon’s families were together outside of, like, world-ending crises.

Expressions ranged from disbelieving (Bruce and Damian) to ecstatic (Ma, Dick and Steph) to smug (Cass and Lois).

Conner looked around with a grin and threw his hands up theatrically (he knew they should have brought confetti), “Surprise! We’re having a baby!”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

At Conner’s enthusiastic declaration, the table, predictably, erupted into chaos.

Tim had to brace himself with the back of his chair as Stephanie bounded up to him, nearly tackling him to the floor in a hug.

Her lavender scent, which had always been unusually strong for a beta, invaded his nostrils with familiar intensity even through her patches. Her arms are tight around his back as she presses her face to his chest, almost nuzzling. He laughed into her hair.

“Tim!” Her voice was high with excitement as she pulled back, “Oh my God, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that I’m going to be a godmother.”

“Probably because that’s something the parents have to deliberate over first, Steph.” He smiles back at her, a light, teasing expression.

She presses a finger to his lips, “Shush. It’s the least you can do to make up for keeping this from me for how many months?”

“A little over three,” Tim replied, playfully nonchalant, “Fifteen weeks to be exact.”

Steph’s eyes widened, and she whirled around. Tim watched her eyes track the small crowd until they landed on Cass. His older sister smiled serenely at her partner, entirely too pleased with herself.

“You knew.” It wasn't phrased as a question, more like a statement of confirmed suspicion. Cass raised a finger to her lips; “Secret,” was all she said.

By this point, everyone was on their feet, crowding the expecting parents. Tim could see his dad and Clark sharing a hushed conversation a few feet away from everyone else, their faces identical pictures of bewildered pride. Tim supposed that, for men who dedicated their lives to fighting evil and were often deeply affected by tragedies both personal and professional, becoming grandparents would never not be impactful.

Bernard was being fawned over by the other mothers of the group: Lois, Ma and Kory, answering questions and asking them in turn, and Kon was trying and (deliberately) falling to extract himself from his younger brother’s and cousin’s intense embrace while Damian and Jason looked on in amusement, quiet and open respectively.

He locked eyes with Jason for a moment, and his older brother grinned at him, sharp and severe and in a way that promised retribution. The Bats were about justice, not revenge, but of course, that rule did not apply to family.

Jason’s eyes flick behind Tim, and his expression shifts just a little; just a twitch is enough for Tim to realise his impending fate. He has but a few seconds to prepare himself before arms wrap around his torso from behind, and he’s lifted into the air.

A child’s giggle echoes in his ear as his oldest brother exclaims in the other one, “Timmy! Oh, my baby bird’s gonna be a dad!” he gasps, thrilled, “I’m going to be an uncle!”

People often underestimate Dick Grayson’s strength because of his lean figure and graceful movements, but that’s far from the reality. Tim knows he’s not a big guy; his height hasn’t changed since his late teens, and on bad days he’s often lovingly described as a sickly Victorian child, but he’s been working out to beat up people twice his size and triple his weight class since he was fourteen and yet, Dick twirls him in his arms like he’s a ragdoll.

Mar’i flits around her dad and her uncle happily, not quite understanding why her family is clamouring with joy but sharing in the enthusiasm all the same. “Uncle Timmy! Uncle Timmy!” she chants, her dark pigtails bouncing as she bobs in the air, unearthly green eyes glimmering.

Tim is laughing as Dick sets him down so that they're facing each other. He plucks his daughter from the air and cradles her close, planting a kiss on the crown of her head.

“Guess what, Mar, you’re gonna have a baby cousin soon.”

The little girl gasps, wriggling in her dad’s arms, “Uncle Timmy is gonna have a baby?” She locks eyes with her uncle and squints, eyeing him up and down with keen eyes like her father, “You look the same, though. Mama says babies sleep in the belly, but your belly looks empty.”

Tim leaned forward and ruffled her hair as Dick laughed, “You’re totally right, Mar’i, I’m not the one carrying the baby, Uncle Bernard is.”

Her eyes widened in realisation, “Ohh!” She wriggled some more until her father let her go, and then she zoomed off to meet her mother, “I wanna see the baby!”

“The baby’s not here yet, sweetheart!” Dick called after her. The older man shook his head fondly, tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes growing pronounced with affection.

Wow, Tim thought, that’ll be me soon. He felt himself warm at the notion, a strange giddiness sending tingles down his nerves.

“I’m so freaking proud of you, Tim. You guys are going to be incredible parents.”

Tim looked up at his brother, “Thanks, Dick. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Dick waved the comment away, his eyes focusing over Tim's shoulder for a brief moment before his attention returned, “I’m telling you I wouldn’t be half the dad I am today if it wasn't for Kory. You guys are gonna be great together. That kid will have more love than they know what to do with it.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, his voice bleeding emotion. God, he was so happy. Dick crushed him in another hug, and Tim was transported back to cold, rainy nights in Gotham after patrol when Nightwing and Robin would huddle under blankets in the family den and lazily scent and cuddle until they passed out from exhaustion.

He breathed in the faint whiff of caraway fused with milk and something sweet but alien. Dick always smelled like family.

When they pulled apart, his older brother was still beaming at him. Dick ruffled his hair, just as he had when he was still a kid, before walking off, citing that he wanted to see the expecting mother and offer his advice.

Tim really wanted to follow; all the mingling was nice and heartwarming, but they still had more information to share, and he really wanted to start his interrogation discussions with the other parents, especially Clark and  Lois, for the nature of their child’s heritage and Kory and Dick for extra insight on what to expect on alien and human hybridism.

“Tim.”

The voice is deep and resonant, wrapping around the single syllable of his name with a strength like steel.

“Dad,” Tim spoke just as coolly and met the gaze of the man who had been his crime-fighting partner for over a decade and his father for nearly as long, “Sorry for the surprise, we just wanted to get used to everything, get our affairs in order, that sort of thing.”

Bruce regarded him with blank, but not unkind, silence. Having known the man for as long as he had, Tim understood that he was just gathering the right words to say. It had taken years of long conversations and draining arguments with pretty much everyone he’d ever been close to for The Bat to realise that he didn’t take the time to think before he spoke as much as he thought he did.

“It’s fine. I’m so proud of you, son. I’m happy that you are at a point in your life where you can consider expanding your, our, family. I have faith that you, Bernard and Conner will be fantastic parents. Better than me.”

For the first time that night, Tim was the one who threw himself into his dad’s arms. He would never admit it, not to himself, not to his partners and certainly not to his dad, but there was, and probably always would be, a part of him that still looked to Bruce for approval. The little Robin who looked to Batman after cracking a case just to hear him say Good work, Tim.

His father held him as he muttered, “Thanks, B,” into his dress shirt before pulling back quickly. The two men looked at each other, one about to be a first-time father and the other about to be a grandfather of two, and shared a smile.

The tender moment was interrupted, as it often was in their family, by a shout of alarm. The voice was oddly strangled and high-pitched but not distressed, yet Tim and Bruce turned their heads all the same.

“The baby is Kryptonian?!”

Clark Kent was staring at his son with wide eyes. The man in question sheepishly rubbed the back of his head like a chastised teen.

“Whoops?”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Are you alright, dear? Do you need more pillows?”

Kon watched as Ma handed Bernard a cup of ginger tea. The omega accepted the cup with a smile, “I’m okay, Ma, really. Thank you for the tea.”

The older woman smiled sweetly, “Oh, don’t mention it, dear. Now, you tell me if you’re feeling any sort of discomfort, and I’ll bring you anything you need, alright?”

“Yes, Ma.”

It was such a sweet sight to see his partner being doted on by his grandma. He felt like his heart could bounce out of his chest, pumping with giddy affection.

Thanksgiving dinner had ended a little bit after Conner let it slip that their baby was a Kryptonian. Most of the guests had left for their own homes through a JLA teleporter hidden at the edge of the family’s property line. Now, the only people who remained were Conner’s family (minus Kara), Tim’s dad, and Damian, who was staying to spend Thanksgiving break with Jon on the farm.

Jon elbowed him in the side. “Shouldn’t you be paying attention, Konathan?” teased his brother.

Conner was about to retort that his mind wandered for only a minute, but then his gaze drifted over Jon’s shoulder to Damian, who was sitting on the other side of the couch, typing on his phone with one hand and petting a sleeping Krypto with the other.

He grinned back at his brother, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and ruffling the younger’s hair. “You’ll understand when you're older, Jonno, don’t worry.”

Jon’s ears turned pink, and he turned away, shifting closer to his boyfriend, “I’m literally older than you.”

It was cute how his baby brother acted around the youngest Wayne now that they were finally together; Conner supposed even childhood best friends weren’t immune to the awkward excitement of the honeymoon phase.

Jon tapped Damian on the shoulder before whispering something in his ear that Kon ignored out of politeness. The technically older of the two gave a small nod before moving to stand up.

In the process, Krypto was woken up and jumped onto Kon. The dog gave him a few slobbering kisses before returning to Jon.

After bidding everybody a goodnight and getting a few teasing yells of be safe and don’t stay up too late, Damian and Jon left the house, presumably to go to bed at the other house on the Kent property usually reserved for the younger Kent couple whenever they visited.

Kon returned his attention to the conversation between his partners and their parents.

“Hmm, I guess I did more like myself in the mornings than at night,” Lois was saying, “But to stop morning sickness completely?” she huffed out a laugh, “I wish. You’re a lucky man, Bernard.”

“Yeah,” Bernard glanced from Tim to Kon, “I know.”

“Are there any other…side effects you’ve experienced, Bernard?” asked Clark. The man was standing by his wife, his hand resting on the back of her chair.

A little ways away, Tim’s dad was tucked into the corner of the room, almost blending into the shadows with his all-black ensemble.

As for Tim, he was standing as well, with arms folded, in between the couch Conner was on and the loveseat where Bernard was situated.

Kon’s alpha had his face schooled into a thoughtfully neutral expression, one Conner had affectionately termed his ‘plotting face’ in their youth; he could almost see the squinted lenses of a domino mask over his blue eyes.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so? My cravings are kind of weird, I guess, but that’s normal for everybody, right?”

“He’s obsessed with spicy food, like really spicy,” Conner added. Bernard was running through his hot sauce drawer like a man possessed.

“Well, we tend to have tougher taste buds, so maybe it carried over,” Clark mused.

“What about negative side effects?” Bruce’s expression was similar to his son’s but decidedly more severe; his tone was calm even as his question sent a subdued ripple through everyone gathered.

“What? Like, he shares our weaknesses?” It was definitely a possibility Conner had considered, but, for obvious reasons, he tried not to think too hard about it. What were the chances that Bernard would stumble upon kryptonite?

(Not that low, his brain whispered, since almost every villain with something against the supers somehow manages to always get their hands on it. It’s practically a natural resource on Earth at this point.)

Tim’s voice was edged protectively as he calmly replied to his dad, “We are not using kryptonite on my pregnant mate, Bruce.”

Bruce met his son’s sharp stare, and Kon watched with vague fascination as the Bat’s features softened just a fraction. “I wasn’t suggesting it, Tim. In any case, it’s a possibility we have to consider precautions for.”

Bernard tilted his head up and flashed Tim a grin, “Don’t worry, if I see any suspicious green rocks, I’ll go the other way.”

Kon nodded his agreement, patting Tim’s arm soothingly. He could see the tension leave his body as he exhaled quietly from his nose, the whiff of choking smoke Conner had inhaled dissipating.

“Yeah, okay.”

Ever the mediator, Clark cleared his throat, “We might have to bring you up to the Fortress at some point. We’ll have access to technology more suited to these things”, he glanced at Tim, “Sorry we couldn’t offer much insight. When we had Jon, everything was so hectic that it was hard to keep much record.”

“It’s fine, it was still a big help talking to everybody. And I’ll be happy to send you my report once the baby is born, for future reference.”

Conner couldn’t help but smile at Clark’s slightly bewildered expression. Of course, Bruce was nodding along like it was perfectly natural to craft mission reports about your partner’s pregnancy.

“You can add onto it with Dr Yachi’s notes, right?” Conner added, “She may not know a lot about Kryptonian biology, but the professional insight would still be useful.”

Tim nodded his agreement, “I’ve been looking through her digital documentation after every appointment.”

“Or, or,” Bernard started, eyes wide like he was about to say something groundbreaking, “You could just ask her for it.”

Tim waved the suggestion away, “She already gives the polished files to Cardinal. I prefer to follow her thought process.”

Bruce gave a small nod of approval, “She was a good pick, Tim. Good job.”

“Thanks, B.”

Just then, Bernard’s face twitched in discomfort, and he let out a low hiss. As if summoned, Ma sat up in her seat where she had been quietly dozing and turned to the sound of the omega’s voice, “Are you alright, dear?”

Every other person in the room acted much the same way, giving him their full attention, with Kon almost rising completely from the couch to reach out to him.

“Um,” Bernard’s face colored, “I’m fine, just a little sore. And tired. But I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” Conner stated, getting to his feet, “It is getting late. You need to rest.”

Tim reached for Bernard’s hand to help him out of his seat. “I thought you wanted to stay on the farm for the weekend?” the omega asked.

“Conner can come by tomorrow, dear,” Ma said, shuffling over to the kitchen, “You let your boys take you home, now.”

She came back out carrying a small basket filled with containers of leftover food and desserts, as they were collecting their coats, “You take this and tell Conner all your favourite foods so I can make them for you tomorrow.”

“Ma, you really don’t have to.”

The old woman smiled at him in a way that managed to be both comforting and menacing, “Well, then it’s a good thing I want to, dear.”

After saying their goodbyes, the three of them found themselves on the porch steps of the main Kent house, cold autumn air pushing the hair from their faces and forcing their eyes to squint.

Tim’s dad had wanted to join them on their way to the teleporter, but Kon’s parents (read: Lois) had successfully convinced him to stay a little longer for drinks, so it really was just the three of them walking down the dirt road, hands in the pockets of their coats and moonlight playing off their features.

“That went pretty well, I’d say,” Bernard said, nudging Tim, “Not quite the chaos you were imagining, huh?”

Tim snorted, “Give them a few days.”

Kon stretched his arms over his head, bringing one down over Bernard’s shoulders, his fingers tugging the collar of Tim’s coat, resulting in all of them squishing into each other so that they walked with barely any space between them.

“It wasn’t that bad with Dick, though, was it?”

Kon replied with a huff of laughter, “That’s ‘cause Dick’s the oldest. He was too busy practising his parenting on everybody to be affected by their Bat-ness.”

“Exactly,” Tim agreed, then added, “They’re going to be a little overbearing, but they’re not going to stalk you at work or anything like that…probably.”

“Probably?”

“Probably.”

A thought wormed its way into Kon’s head, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, “Imagine how you guys will act when it’s Damian’s turn.”

“Yikes,” Bernard said, hissing through his teeth.

Tim shook his head as if to banish the idea from his mind, “Well, that’s not gonna be anytime soon. Damian’s still in college.”

“Spoken like a true older brother.”

The teleporter came into view soon after that. A normal-looking tree stump on the edge of a grassy field. The stump itself was conspicuous, which was why it wasn't the actual teleporter. The device was a patch of hyper-realistic artificial grass next to the stump. It was indistinguishable from the rest of the field, except you knew exactly where to look.

Tim knelt in the grass and dug his fingers into the fake patch, drawing up a keypad.

As their mate typed in the passcode and coordinates, Bernard leaned into Conner’s side, sighing heavily.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“My feet are killing me.”

The tech began to quietly hum as it started up, and Tim stepped back to watch the raised platform reveal itself.

“I’ll give you a massage when we get home, yeah?”

“Thanks, Kon.”

He replied by placing a kiss on the side of Bernard’s head. The three of them stepped onto the teleporter and half a minute later, they materialised in an alleyway in Gotham City, a few streets away from their apartment building, finally home after an eventful day.

Chapter Text

“The shirt is fine, dear,” Tim told Bernard, the omega having already undone half of the buttons of his dress shirt, “You wore it two weeks ago.”

He froze for a moment, his body twisting in the direction of Tim’s voice as he slipped another button from its hole.

“That was two weeks ago. Now, though, it’s kind of unflattering, right?” the omega muttered, looking down at his exposed skin, lips pursing as he stared down at his baby bump.

“Wrong,” Tim stated simply, stepping closer to Bernard. The omega dropped his hands with a sigh, “Why do you say that?”

“I dunno, it makes me look kind of…big?”

Oh. Oh.

Tim walked in slow, deliberate steps on socked feet until he was standing behind his mate. Their height difference was slight, so Tim was able to lean forward and place his chin on the omega’s shoulder, tilting his head to press a kiss to his scent gland.

Bernard melted into Tim’s hold, shuddering pleasantly as Tim licked a thin stripe of wet heat over the organ.

Bernard had told his faculty members about his pregnancy some weeks prior, and while many of his colleagues were congratulatory and supportive, there were a select few individuals that Bernard refused to mention by name—and Tim even asked politely—who were ‘being weird’ about it.

“It’s not like they’re harassing me or anything,”  Bernard had told them over dinner that night, “It’s just, I get weird looks, I guess? Like staring, really obvious staring, at y’know, my bump. But, no creepy stuff. At least not to my face.”

Of course, Bernard wasn’t the kind of person to be shaken by a few odd characters at work and assured his mates that they had nothing to worry about. Did that stop Tim from keeping tabs on people? No, of course not. After being sufficiently spooked by an anonymous online presence, the worst offenders backed off. Unfortunately, it seemed like the damage had already been done.

Tim's hands slowly moved down the omega’s sides until they came to rest lightly over his hips, which grew softer and pleasantly squishy with fat as the months passed.

“This,” he started, squeezing the flesh, “is for who, Bear?”

His omega gave a long sigh, “The baby.”

“Whose baby?”

“Our baby, Tim.”

“Okay, then.” Tim backed away with his hands still on Bernard’s hips. With a deliberate squeeze, he motioned for the other man to turn and face him. He did so, albeit a little stiffly.

Tim reached up and cupped his face, forcing his mate to focus his pretty brown eyes on his. A soft blush heated his freckled skin, and his lips were pursed, either pushing back a grimace or a smile. It would be the latter if Tim had anything to say about it.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Bernard’s lips parted, and oh, there was that lovely smile.

“Hi, Tim.”

The alpha leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, and watched as Bernard’s eyes fluttered closed on instinct.

“You want to know what I see when I look at you, Bern? I see you and your body working so hard to make sure that our baby has everything they need to come out the best they can be. And then if I close my eyes and look a little further, I see you again, giving it your all, when they get here, so that they can grow up to be as amazing as you two. Me and Conner? We’re so unbelievably grateful for that.”

“And, listen, it shows okay? Every single day, you walk around practically glowing like the sun itself. I swear, you're actually like a second sun to Conner.”

The omega giggled. “Maybe we should test that,” he joked.

Tim huffed, Bernard’s eyelashes fluttering from the hot air, “Sure, we stab him a little and see how fast he heals with you in front of him.”

The alpha’s hand slid lower, cupping Bernard’s scent glands in a light scruff, drawing a keen of appreciation from the other man. Lower and lower, his touch went, down the omega’s chest and over his bra.

It was a simple grey thing that secured the growing expanse of the omega’s chest quite nicely. Prominent stretch lines already stood stark against his skin, creeping past the cover of the fabric like ivy on a stone wall.

“That being said,” Tim continued, one hand on Bernard’s chest and the other coming to rest on the swell of his stomach, “I’m sure our little avocado appreciates everything you’re doing even more than us, isn’t that right, bud?”

Tim patted his omega’s tummy, and the man stifled a laugh behind his fingers. The alpha paused as if he were actually in conversation with his unborn child.

“Exactly, your mom is the best.” He tilted his head down as if to better hear the non-existent voice. “I know, your papa and I are really lucky he puts up with us. Yeah, no idea what we’d do without him.”

Bernard was shuddering with the force of his mirth, now. His shoulders were shaking as he failed to muffle his reactions. To his credit, he stayed still and mostly silent, and Tim continued his one-sided conversation with the utmost seriousness, rubbing ticklish circles into his mate’s stretched skin.

“Oh yeah, he's so pretty,” Tim went on, “Y’know, me and your papa hope you come out looking more like him. I hope you have his eyes, and Conner really wants you to get his freckles.”

“With those alien genes?” Bernard snorted, “Fat chance of that.”

Tim glanced up with a quirked brow, “Jon got Lois’ eyes, didn’t he?”

Bernard rolled his eyes, “Okay, maybe not that unlikely. They’ll definitely have Kon’s curls, though, and maybe if we're lucky, we’ll have another blond in the house.”

“If we’re lucky,” Tim agreed, visions of a little blond baby tucked against Bernard’s chest flitting behind his eyelids on every blink.

Tim's hands shifted from Bernard’s front to his back, pulling his partner further into him. The omega was smiling now, eyes crinkled and canines exposed. “You sure know how to lay it on thick, huh, Drake.” Bernard shook his head, “You’ve gone soft on me.”

Tim grabbed one of Bernard’s and lowered it to his waist, slipping it under his shirt. He pressed the omega’s open palm to his abdomen, coaxing him to rub up and down on the hard planes of muscle there.

“I’ve gone soft?” the alpha teases, bringing Bernard’s hand lower and lower until he was palming his v-line, “Are you sure about that?”

Bernard's face was heated, his eyes following the movements of his hand, unconsciously or otherwise. “You know that’s not what I meant,” the blonde insisted, pulling his hand away.

Tim allowed him, settling instead for bringing his omega’s palm to his mouth and kissing the tips of his fingers. “What did you mean, then?” he murmured.

Bernard cleared his throat, so clearly flustered, his scent a tiny bit sweeter. “I meant what happened to that spunky new kid who didn’t give a fuck about following the advice of the most popular kid in school.”

“That’s weird,” Tim mused, moving Bernard’s wrist to his cheek so he could scent himself, “I don’t remember meeting any popular kid, just this super pretty, super obnoxious blond omega who, for some reason,” he made eye contact with those deep pools of warm chocolate, “Couldn’t stop following me around.”

“I take it back, you’re still an ass.”

“You love me and my ass,” Tim joked. “And besides, you’re a little right, I have been somewhat domesticated,” the alpha added with a grin. He tilted his head, kissing his mate on the cheek and then the nose.

“Not by me, surely.”

“Of course not, we both know Kon’s the reason either of us can pretend to be normal people.”

They shared a laugh, their faces inching closer and closer until their lips met in the moments between their common humour. The kisses were not much deeper than chaste contact; little pecks in between their giggles, like they were giddy high schoolers at the back of the school bus.

“You’re amazing, Bear, incredible every single day,” Tim whispered when they finally pulled away. They still held onto each other in a tender embrace, swaying slightly to a silent melody. “I don’t like it when someone looks down on my mate, y’know, so can you be a little nicer to yourself for me? Whatever those weirdos said or didn’t say or whatever,” he leaned in so his breath was directly on the shell of his omega’s ear, “It means nothing. If anything at all rubs you the wrong way, just say the word, we’re here for you, for everything.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bernard gripped the back of Tim's shirt, pressing his cheek into Tim’s, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The alpha placed a kiss on the side of his neck and inhaled, deep and dramatic. A growl rose in his throat, and he whispered into Bernard’s ear, “You have no idea how hard it is for us, seeing you look more and more radiant every day, to not bend you over and put another baby in you, biology be damned.”

Bernard pulled back with a squawk. He covered one ear with his hand, a blush already rising in his face. “Christ, Tim,” he hissed.

The alpha smirked, unrepentant, “Sorry,” he looked down at his mate’s bump, “I should have warned you to cover your ears, baby. Don’t worry, though, I promise we’ll wait until after you arrive to give you a little sibling.”

“Oh yeah?” Bernard raised an eyebrow, “I assume you’ll be the one carrying them, then.”

“If that’s what you want, I can find a way.”

The omega squinted at him, “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

Tim just shrugged, “Stranger things have happened.”

“I can’t even argue with that.”

“Argue with what?”

They both turned to see Kon hovering at the closet’s entrance, a blue apron with the words ‘An apron is just a cape backwards’ tied around his waist over his bare chest and pyjama pants.

“Tim wants to get pregnant.”

Conner tilted his head curiously, “Do you...know how to do that?”

Tim thought about the weird rabbit holes he went down when he tried to clone Conner after he died, “I could figure it out. Might take a while, though.”

“We’ll probably have a few years before we’re ready for another kid, anyway.”

Kon glided in the air towards them, coming to a stop infront of each of their faces and planting loud, wet kisses, with the ‘muah’ sound and everything, on their cheeks, drawing pleased reactions from the both of them “Breakfast is ready, by the way. Oh, how come your not dressed yet?” he added to Bernard.

“Ugh, I completely forgot,” the omega turned to Tim, “The shirt’s okay, then?” The question was weighted with something heavier than just a want for fashion advice.

“Honey, you’d look amazing in anything.”

“Even a potato sack,” Conner added seriously.

“Even a potato sack,” Tim nodded, agreeing, “Or nothing at all, but, for work, the shirt is perfectly fine.”

Their omega let out a breath, “Thanks, guys.”

“Of course, of course.” Kon planted his feet on the ground, pulling Tim and Bernard to his sides, “You can finish getting ready after breakfast, though. We wouldn’t want the food getting cold.” With that statement, the Kryptonian crouched and smoothly lifted his partners into each arm.

Tim held on to Kon’s shoulder with barely a wobble, “Is this necessary, Conner?”

“Nope, but it’s fun.” Bernard laughed, struggling slightly to secure his balance from the sudden change in position, “Hell yeah, it is. Take us away, Nova!”

“Anything for my lovely fans.”

Kon rose smoothly to his feet, and for a moment, Tim thought he was going to lift them into the air with him, but his mate seemingly decided against it because he started in a light jog, bouncing them up and down as he padded out of the room and down the hall.

Tim smiled, admiring the gentle way light played over Bernard’s golden locks and Conner’s sunny smile as they giggled along to a pop song he couldn’t remember the name of.

“Here we are, babes.” Conner deposited them into their chairs directly, a plate of muffin-tin omelettes, hash browns and French toast in front of each of them. Each plate was a little different to suit their own preferences; Bernard’s omelettes had sweet potato and pumpkin, Tim’s French toast was made with cinnamon, and Conner’s hash-browns were diced with pork sausages.

“If we weren’t already mated,” Bernard started, letting out a contented sigh around a mouthful of French toast, “I swear, Kon, I’d jump you right now.”

“I’d have to second that,” Tim tacked on, stuffing a full omelette into his mouth.

“Well,” Conner replied, waggling his eyebrows, “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

Chapter Text

“And how has everyone been? I know holidays can be hectic for expecting families.”

Tim gave the doctor a small smile, “We’re doing fine. Everyone has been really supportive. My family comes by weekly to drop off nesting materials.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” She turned to Bernard, “Anything new of note?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve cut back on the spicy stuff so my heartburn isn’t as bad.”

Conner recalled quite clearly the heartbroken expression Bernard had adopted when the doctor told him the unfortunate news. Even as his food aversions lessened once he hit the second trimester, the omega’s cravings for all things capsaicin didn’t quite follow suit. Though Kon didn’t mind at all, it often resulted in him having to get really creative in the kitchen.

Bernard went on, “And there’s the usual aching in places I didn’t know I could ache.”

“And he keeps forgetting where the bathroom is, if that means anything.” Conner snorted.

Bernard flicked him in the shoulder, but the doctor just laughed. “Ah, yes, that would be the so-called ‘pregnancy brain’. It’s just your brain changing a little so it adapts more easily to childcare.”

“As for the aches and pains, I recommend investing in a pregnancy pillow at this point; it’ll help out, especially when those sleepless nights start to hit.”

The doctor began to write something down in a file as she continued, “Of course, massages and warm baths provide relief as well,” she glanced up, catching Tim and Conner’s gazes, “I trust you boys see to that.”

Conner found himself replying, “Yes, ma’am,” alongside Tim’s solemn nod.

The older woman gave another matronly smile. Dr Yachi reminded him of Ma in that way: nurturing and no-nonsense in equal measure.

“Right, well,” she closed the file before opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of medical gloves. In a matter of seconds, she had them stretched over her fingers, drawing back the elastic at her wrists with a theatrical snap like they did in those medical dramas Steph kept recommending to him.

Dr Yachi stood up from her seat and made her way to the sectioned-off examination room, a cue that the three of them followed, “Let’s get down to business, gentlemen. The sooner we are through with the routine stuff, the sooner we can get to the main event.”

The subtle giddiness that had been roiling just beneath the surface of his skin since he had woken up that morning intensified at the older woman’s words. This was because today was the day that he and his partners would find out their baby’s primary sex—secondary sex wasn't identifiable until right before the age of puberty.

Similar expressions of excitement flitted about his mates’ features; he could see it in Bernard’s quirked lips and glittering eyes and in Tim’s subconscious efforts to squeeze closer to their omega, his hand twitching up to graze Bernard’s fingers.

Christmas was still a little over a week away for most people, but for Conner, it was about to come early.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Conner and Tim were sitting on either side of their mate as Dr Yachi pressed the wand to Bernard’s bump, moving the instrument slowly through the gel, the sound of the substance moving against skin oddly loud in Conner’s ears.

He had spent the past few weeks using his X-ray vision to monitor their child. Even though he didn’t know a lot about fetal development (it was surprisingly hard to spot a growing heart, even through already-translucent skin), he enjoyed seeing the little quivers of motion their child occasionally made. It may have just been his imagination working overtime, but he could have sworn the kid could tell when Kon was watching them; their tiny arms and legs twitching with a bit more energy.

The first time he had seen a flutter of movement, he’d excitedly relayed the information to his partners, only for Bernard to admit that he couldn’t feel anything. His brain had immediately supplied the fact that it was perfectly normal for first-time parents to feel movement a little late, even before Bernard had finished typing the question into a search engine. They still asked Dr Yachi, though, and she’d corroborated.

He rubbed a thumb over Bernard’s hand as it was loosely clutched in his. The omega was staring at the screen with rapt attention, his focus drifting from one angle to another each time the doctor pointed out a specific organ or detail.

On the other side of the examination table, Tim held their mate’s other hand, the fingers of his free hand wrapped around a pen as he jotted down on a notepad he balanced on his knee. The alpha had an amazing eye for detail and an almost eidetic memory, but had still taken to making physical notes on their child’s development; in his words, it made him feel closer to their child and, in a way, satisfied his burgeoning protective instincts, which Conner thought was cute and very much like Tim.

“If you look over here,” the doctor was saying, the wand stilling over a specific spot as she enlarged the image on the screen, “You can see that the ears, nose, and lips are recognisable.” Her voice was a good mix of professional surety and compassionate enthusiasm as she spoke; Dr Yachi always sounded like she was genuinely excited with them. “By now, the lashes and brows, as well as nails and hair, are already formed.”

“Maybe that’s why the heartburn’s so bad,” Bernard muttered to them, “They’re gonna come out with a whole-ass hairdo.”

The idea melted Kon’s heart. “That’d be so cute. Even cuter if they come out blond. Then they’d be a mini you.”

“Even more so with your eyes,” Tim smiled down at the omega.

“We’ll see.”  Bernard was adamant that the baby would have the signature crystal blue of the House of El (although if they inherited Conner’s eye colour exactly, it would be a little off because of Lex’s genes, but he was trying really hard not to think about that). While there would be nothing wrong with that, Conner really wanted them to have the same warm pools of chocolate that Bernard did.

“Ah, there we go,” Dr Yachi said, pleased, “Seems like they’re ready to let us know now.” She shifted the feed, zooming in on the lower half of the fetus’s body; they’re legs were shifted slightly from a previous position that apparently made it hard to determine sex.

They all leaned forward, or in Bernard’s case, craned his neck, mostly in unconscious anticipation as none of them could really make precise sense of the small, fuzzy, white lines.

The doctor squinted in focused silence at her smaller computer screen for a handful of seconds before her lips stretched in a small smile. “Congratulations, gentlemen, you’re having a boy!”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

They waited until the following day to let everyone know, choosing to savour the new information privately first.

On the drive to the manor, Kon wondered aloud who amongst their family had guessed correctly because, knowing them, there was probably betting involved somewhere.

Tim’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel as they waited for the traffic to move. “It’s not really a bet, just a poll that Dick set up in the group chat.”

“Which option is leading, then?” Bernard asked, leaning in from the backseat so that his head was between the two front seats, knees pressing against the centre console.

Tim pursed his lips as if reluctant to answer.

“C’mon, Timmy,” Conner nudged, “Don’t tell me they all got it right.”

The vehicle ahead inched forward a little, so Tim eased his foot off the brake and stepped down gently on the accelerator, allowing their car to close the gap again.

“It’s more or less evenly split,” the alpha admitted, eyes firmly on the road, “Bruce didn’t cast a vote, but it was pretty clear he thought they’d be a girl, hoped for it probably.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Bernard snorted, leaning back in his seat, his seat belt relaxing against his body once again, “From what Kory told me, he loved spoiling Mar’i when she was a baby.”

“Crazy how the big bad Bat is the biggest girl dad ever, isn’t it?” Conner added. It was something that was often played up for the Gotham tabloids, but the ones closest to the Batfamily knew the way Bruce Wayne doted on the daughter wasn't all that exaggerated.

“Dad doesn’t do favourites, but if he did, it’d be Cassandra,” Tim said matter-of-factly, like he was reciting an adage.

“How about Clark and Lois?” Bernard asked Conner, stretching his arms over the back of his chair and squeezing his shoulders.

Kon hummed, “Clark hasn’t given it much thought. I think he’s still reeling over the fact that he’s gonna have a grandkid.”

He smiled at the memory of the last conversation he had had with his dad; the man had abashedly shown him a pair of socks he was knitting with baby blue yarn. They weren't, like, premium craftsmanship, but the gesture was so… Clark, it was hard for Conner not to feel sappy about it. The older Kryptonian wasn't going to hear it from him, though.

“As for Lois, if she’s been thinking about it, she didn’t say anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised she got it right.”

The car in front of them moved again, and this time it didn’t stop; the traffic had eased up significantly. They pulled smoothly onto the bridge that would take them to Bristol. As they passed under the archways, Kon could see the thin layer of snow that dusted over every beam and wire like powdered sugar on a doughnut.

With Christmas a week away, all of the Batkids were spending the holidays at the manor. Jon and his parents would also be arriving soon for a small get-together to celebrate the holidays before things got too hectic with the individual families. It was the perfect atmosphere to share an important update.

“When you say things like that,” Bernard mused, “I find it hard to believe you could hide anything from her.”

“Me and Jon couldn’t hide a single thing when we were younger.” The sneaking out after one of them got into an argument with Clark, or swiping snacks from the pantry before dinner, or convincing Jon to go flying way too late at night; no matter what it was, Lois always knew what was up.

“Lois sniffs out secrets like a bloodhound, but as long as it wasn't too crazy, she usually left us alone.”

In the rearview mirror, Conner could see that Bernard’s expression was sombre as he listened to them talk about their parents. He wanted to crack a joke or say something reassuring, but the other man beat him to it. He met Kon and Tim’s obvious concern with an easy grin, reaching up to ruffle Conner’s hair.

“What I would have given to have that when I was sixteen. My mom was like, ‘sending friend requests to my friends on Facebook,’ nosy.” The omega shook his head with a laugh, the blond strands too short for his ponytail whipping about his forehead from the motion.

“I don’t know, Bear,” Tim said, his voice managing to perfectly convey a shrug, “Bruce might be able to give your mom a run for her money.”

There was a brief pause where the only sound in the car was the hum of the heater, and then they descended into soft laughter.

Some thirty minutes later, they pulled up to the manor gates. Tim did the necessary security checks, and soon enough, they were getting out of the car and making their way to the main house from the garage.

Wayne Manor looked as imposing as it ever did. All Gothic architecture and darkened windows. The only thing breaking up the gloomy monotony was the beginning of Christmas decorations strung up along the outside of the first floor. It was mostly lights set to glow faintly in the night and a few wreaths hanging above or on windowsills.

“Is it me?” Bernard mumbled, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets, “Or is it colder here than in the city?”

“It’s not just you,” Tim answered, imputing the passkey on the south entrance door, looking completely unaffected by the supposed chiller air—not that Kon was bothered either, “Fewer people, less heat. And you’re pregnant.”

“It always boils down to you in the end, doesn’t it, baby?” Bernard sighed, patting his middle.

They stepped into the house, shedding their coats and stashing them in the closet in the foyer.

Conner wrapped an arm around Bernard’s waist, drawing him closer and into his side, “You still cold?” he asked.

“Freezing,” the omega joked, somehow pressing up even further.

Their attention was drawn forward by chattering coming from down the hall, likely from the family kitchen. Conner identified the voices easily as Jason and Steph. They seemed to be in a heated debate over…soap operas?

“Oh my—I can’t believe you’re team Lotus!”

“Of course, I’m team Lotus. Magnolia is so fucking conceited, how the hell do you not see that?”

“That was four seasons ago! He’s working on it!”

“Well, he’s fucking failing—!”

“Are we interrupting something?” Tim cut his brother off, not bothering to hide his amusement.

The older omega’s previous incredulous expression melted away to something that passed for warmth for him. “Hey, baby bird, baby bird’s harem.”

“Hi guys!” Steph chirped from her perch on the kitchen counter. Jason was a few paces away from her, stirring a jug of what Conner guessed was eggnog.

The three of them returned the greetings in kind, Bernard breaking away from Kon to plop down at the kitchen island.

“You guys are late, by the way. Supes showed up like an hour ago.”

“Traffic is always shit around the holidays,” Steph said, hopping to her feet and rounding the island to hug Bernard and then Tim and finally Conner. Her lavender scent held a faint note of cranberries.

Steph was only partially right in her assessment, but none of them were exactly willing to disclose that they’d gotten…distracted on their way out of the apartment.

Jason snorted as he poured out a cup of eggnog into a flask, “Sure. Traffic.” He turned around to face them, revealing the questionable design on his sweater: it was the Grinch, except he had no head, so it looked like Jason’s head was on his body. “You want some eggnog, blondie?”

“Nah. I’d kill for some hot chocolate though.”

“Ooh, make some for me, too, Jason,” Steph pleaded.

“I don’t make chocolate for Magnolia sympathisers.”

The blond woman threw up her hands in frustration, “That was four seasons ago!”

Bernard leaned over and whispered to Tim, who, as well as Kon, had come to lean over the island on either side of their omega, as the two eldest of the group seemed to resume their heated debate. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. The show’s been running since forever, and they’ve been watching since they were toddlers, apparently. I think they’re in too deep.”

“How many seasons are there?” Kon asked, suddenly curious as he observed Jason and Steph argue over fictional divorce proceedings and succession politics.

“Thirty-four.”

“Oh.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Two hot chocolates later—one made with decidedly more bitter mutterings—the five of them returned to the family den.

Considering the number of people in the absurdly large room (as well as the temperament of most of them), the atmosphere was pleasantly mellow. Most of them were congregated in small groups of two or more people, conversing over seasonal drinks or chattering over games or puzzles.

Outside, it snowed gently, the lights in the room illuminating the motes of white as they fell leisurely to blanket the property.

Conner was spectating a Mario Kart tournament between Duke, Cass and Jon, in which his little brother was gleefully wiping the floor with the older two. Titus lay his head in Jon’s lap, somewhere between sleep and waking.

Bernard was playing a game of chess against Damian and seemed to be holding his own, if the younger’s laser focus was any indication. In the younger omega’s lap lay a sleeping Alfred (the Cat), whom he was petting lovingly. Conner couldn’t help but think the young man looked like a cartoon villain in his dark red turtleneck and an elderly cat in his lap.

Tim was engaged in a debate on art history with Alfred and Lois, his focus split between the conversation and the puzzle he was completing. From what Conner could glean, the elderly man had an unexpectedly deep understanding of Renaissance painting forgery.

Steph and Jason were in one of the larger window seats, continuing their passionate discussion from the kitchen in slightly more hushed tones. Dick was fighting sleep from Kory’s lap as they lay on the couch closest to the fireplace. Batman and Superman, looking decidedly less larger than life in cosy matching sweaters, sat in armchairs to the left of the fireplace, engaged in their own quiet conversations. Kon wasn't about to eavesdrop, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was over the last Meteors vs Knights baseball game.

Tim paused in the middle of his sentence, his face shifting like he’d just remembered something. He turned to face the room, “We’re having a boy, by the way.” He said it loud enough to be heard over the general din, and his tone was jovially casual.

Kon lifted his head from his palm, craning his neck to make eye contact with his blond partner. Bernard’s eyes were wide, a rook gripped loosely between his thumb and forefinger. Oops, he mouthed around a smile. They had actually forgotten.

Kon saw Lois’ face twist in subtle self-satisfaction; of course, she knew. Congratulations were shared, naturally, with many people joking that their baby would be Conner’s carbon copy, which, given Kryptonians’ insane genetics, wasn’t terribly unlikely, but Conner still held out hope.

What happened next was definitely not what Kon had been expecting. Jon got up from the couch, walked over to his boyfriend and handed the youngest Wayne a fifty-dollar bill with a heavy sigh. Even more surprising was the fact that no more money exchanged hands; the rest of the group, sans the older adults, simply exchanged looks and subtle nods. Okay, then, maybe different kinds of bets were placed.

“Wait,” Bernard asked Damian, “You seem oddly assured for a lucky guess. Why is that?”

“Some of what are called Old Wives’ Tales here actually have a legitimate basis. I was taught these as part of my education.”

“Let me guess, League secrets?”

Damian smiled and jokingly said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“No murder threats,” Dick muttered sleepily, his voice muffled from his wife’s shirt as his head lay on her lap.

“I was kidding, Richard.”

Conner turned to his brother, who had sank onto the floor with a huff, “Fifty dollars for that? Really?”

“I was the one who offered it,” he gave a long-suffering sigh, “Damian explained his logic, but it was so convoluted that I couldn’t believe it, so we made the bet.”

Kon leaned over the arm of his chair and ruffled Jon’s hair, “I’ve been there, buddy. It’s no use denying it. They’re right ninety-nine per cent of the time, no matter how crazy it sounds.”

“The other one per cent?”

Conner looked over at his Robin; Tim was quietly discussing something with his dad, having exchanged seats with Clark, a small smile on his face. They locked eyes for a moment, and the alpha gave him a tiny wink.

“They’re still right, just not in this universe.”

Chapter Text

Over the weekend leading up to Christmas, Mr Freeze launched an attack on the University District in an attempt to raid a research facility on Gotham University’s Campus, and in the process, iced over several blocks, including Gotham University itself, as well as Gotham Academy and several businesses and homes.

Thankfully, the damage wasn’t as terrible as it could have been, thanks to the efforts of the Bats and the Birds. Freeze was apprehended by the wee hours of Monday morning, but, unfortunately, the ice and snow couldn’t be removed through any of the methods attempted by authorities.

It was super lucky that all of this happened over Christmas break, so school was already out of session, and the district’s population was not as affected. Though many businesses were forced to shut down, Wayne Enterprise’s outreach program was dedicated to covering any lost profits over the season as well as providing housing to those who needed it. All in all, it worked out.

Except for the fact that one of the businesses was Bernard’s gym.

See, he usually just used the gym in his apartment building, as it was probably one of the most state-of-the-art facilities in Gotham on account of being located in a Wayne Enterprises-owned property. However, once he started to show, he wasn't as keen to use a public space. Thus, he signed up for a membership at in gym that primarily catered to pregnant people, located quite conveniently, not too far from Gotham U.

So, thanks to Mr Freeze’s admittedly very seasonal display, he found himself having to borrow the dance studio at Wayne Manor, which was still pretty convenient, seeing as he and Tim were staying over for the holidays.

“Thanks for letting me use your studio, Cass.”

Converted from the second ballroom on the manor’s second floor, Cass’s dance studio was just as grand as it had been when it had been used to entertain dozens of rich socialites. It wasn’t as large as the one downstairs, and it was much subtler in its décor.

Still, though, Cass must have wanted a less haughty atmosphere because the previously cream walls had been transformed into one giant mural with depictions of dancers of all types, though mostly ballerinas, as well as other symbols of grace and poise. Now and then, there were cartoonish doodles of animals and stars and other figures that suggested the whole family had helped paint it.

The older woman turned to him from the corner of the room where she had the yoga mats rolled up. She smiled at him, eyes crinkling and pleased.

“No problem, little brother,” her eyes flicked down, and her smile grew even softer, “little nephew,” she added happily as she pulled her hair into a low ponytail.

Bernard gave an answering grin in return from his place on the polished floor, turning back to his exercise bag. He retrieved a pair of towels, one with the Superfamily crest and in Supernova’s colours and the other with Cardinal’s symbol and colours.

He carefully rose to his feet, towels in hand, waving away his sister-in-law’s concern as he stumbled just a little. He spread the towels on the ballet barre attached to the mirror closest to him.

As he stood in front of the glass, he took a moment to take himself in. Approximately halfway through his pregnancy, it was kind of crazy how much he had changed.

His hair was shoulder-length at this point, something he had come to like quite a bit. His partners were fond of it, too, if the number of times they randomly ran their hands through it or pulled on it was any indication. Right now, he had it done in a low bun, practical for physical exercise.

There was the extra weight. Though he couldn’t really tell. If it wasn't for the fact that Dr Yachi weighed him at every appointment, he doubted he would have noticed the changes. Tim and Conner were certainly cognizant, though and had taken to calling him ‘squishy’ whenever they were cuddling, which was a little embarrassing. Still, he let it slide on account of how handsy they’d get immediately afterwards.

Then, of course, the most obvious change: his middle. At 20 weeks pregnant, it was pretty obvious he was expecting; he couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to (which he sometimes did, on those days where going outside into the city and letting people see him so vulnerable felt like putting a target on his back; a Gothamite canon event).

Right now his bump was hidden pretty well by his workout clothes—a sports bra, an oversized cropped t-shirt and a pair of leggings—but if he raised his arms above his head and let his shirt ride up, he could see the underside of his swollen belly and the thin black line that started from his navel and disappeared under the hem of his pants.

With a short exhale, he whirled back around only to find that Cass had already finished setting up the mats. Of course, he hadn’t even heard her move, but he should have at least seen her in the mirror.

“Oh,” he blinked at her, “I wanted to help with that…”

She shook her head and gestured to the mat closest to him, deep plum and still a little curled at one end.

“What do you do to warm up?” Cass asked, turning to him from her own mat. She bounced lightly on the balls of her bare feet, her impeccable nails painted a brilliant, shiny purple.

Bernard considered the question. He was a little embarrassed to divulge his comparably pedestrian workout routine to someone who was obviously used to more intense regimens. Coupled with the fact that it was modified for his pregnant body, it would probably be even more trivial to her.

But Cass’s scent exuded gladness and contentment; sweet and mellow cranberry that reminded Bernard of sitting down with a chilled glass of cranberry juice on a summer evening, watching the sun set.

Cass was probably one of the hardest of Tim’s siblings to get used to. Something about her had naturally set his instincts on edge. But, like with all the other members of his partner’s family, Bernard quickly realised that they were all giant softies under all the Bat-ness. Intimidating? Yes. Incredibly dangerous? Absolutely. But deep down—particularly deep for some—they all had the capacity for profound love and care.

Bernard gave Cass a bright grin. “So basically,” he started, lifting his arms over his head, steepling his extended fingers and bending them so that his knuckles popped, “I start with some light stretching…”

They ran through his routine carefully, and Bernard was strangely flattered when he noticed that Cass was going at his pace. When he cringed from a sudden pain in his back or his sides, the older alpha would be next to him in seconds, offering her silent support with hands that moved to ease him back into a comfortable position.

Once they were done warming up, Cass handed him a bottle of water that she must have pulled out of thin air because it wasn't like there was a fridge in the studio.

“From your bag,” she stated as he uncapped the bottle, likely having read the bemusement in the contours of his body. When had she even—never mind, there was no point in questioning a Bat.

The door to the studio opened just as he swallowed his second or third gulp, and he almost jumped at the suddenness of the wood colliding with the frame.

Steph strutted inside in workout gear in varying shades of purple with a few splashes of yellow here and there.

“Hey, guys! Sorry, I’m late,” she greeted, cheery as the midday sun in Metropolis.

“Hi!” “Hi, Steph! Don’t worry, it’s cool.”

On her arms, a pair of plastic bags rustled, bulging with the sheer volume of items packed in them. Still, though, she carried them like they weighed nothing, bounding up to her girlfriend and pecking her on the lips before leaning down to nuzzle her neck gland. Cranberry and lavender mingled in gladness, suffusing the air around them with greeting-missed you-love-happy.

Then she set down her bags on her own mat, laid out in between Cass’ and Bernard’s, and surged forward to embrace Bernard, delivering his own mandatory scenting.

He laughed into her hair, a purr rumbling out to meet hers, as her arms squeezed around his back, tight enough to be comforting but not harsh enough to hurt. She pulled away, hands still on his shoulders, looking him up and down as if assessing his physicality.

“So, how’s my godson doing?”

Bernard snorted, “Oh, he’s fine. We might have to sign him up for dance or something, ‘cause he seems to love wiggling around in there when I’m trying to sleep. Kon says it’s because he’s bored and wants attention.”

“And what does Tim say?”

“That, in that case, he takes after Conner”

“Are you able to feel him yet?” Cass asked, hopeful curiosity in her face.

Bernard slid a hand to his middle as Steph pulled back from him, her girlfriend’s expression mirrored in her own. He shook his head, and it was almost comical the way the girls’ expressions visibly became subdued. He would reckon that if they had dog ears, they would droop right along with their faces.

“Conner tells us that he’s pretty active whenever he uses his x-ray vision,” Bernard told them, his voice growing giddy, “  I mean, last week he was holding onto his foot and then a couple days ago Kon saw him scratching himself with his fingernails!”

Bernard felt a strange sense of pride at their baby’s fetal movements, no matter how small or fleeting they were. Even if he couldn’t clearly feel the tell-tale flutters of movement directly under his skin, it was a real advantage to have a partner who could literally see into him and relay exactly what was happening. So, he was a little more inclined to be patient.

He rubbed at his middle, giving it a little pat in a show of encouragement. “It’s only a matter of time before he makes himself known. If he’s anything like Conner, he’s probably building suspense or something,” he finished with a shrug.

Steph hummed in agreement. Her smile from earlier reappeared easily enough, but this time with a hint of something else. “There’s this article I saw about stuff that can help with sleep.” She patted the pockets on the front of her pants. “Oh, where’s my—?”  Cass tapped her shoulder, and when Steph turned to face her, there was her phone, clutched in the older woman’s grip, a Kuromi keychain dangling off the sparkly purple phone case.

“It was in the bag,” Cass supplied.

“Oh, thanks, honey!”

Steph proceeded to unlock the device and then pulled up a webpage, thrusting the screen in Bernard’s face.

He squinted at the phone, blinking to adjust to the light. In the end, he slipped it out of her hand to properly read it. The article itself was one of those shady-looking ones that he would see as pop-up ads on sketchy message boards.

As he scrolled through, his eyebrows climbed higher and higher up his forehead. It started normally enough with things like ‘avoid lying on your right’ and ‘support your body with pillows’, but then he got to the home remedies section, and he had to close out of the page when he saw ‘drink warm unpasteurized goat milk mixed with your partner’s semen’.

He slowly lowered the phone from his face, his eyebrows practically camouflaging in his hairline, and stared at Steph’s grinning face. Next to her, Cass was serene as always, but her lips were pressed a little bit tight as she attempted to stifle her laughter.

“So,” Steph asked, doing an admittedly good job at keeping her voice from wobbling, “What do you think?”

He pretended to think it over, putting a hand on his hip and tapping the phone against his cheek. “Well…” he let out a theatrical sigh, “It might take a little convincing, but I could probably get Tim and Conner to at least consider the milk one.”

“Really?” his friend asked, eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Fuck no. That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever read. Where did you even find it?”

“I saw it in an advert. Had to show Steph,” Cass admitted, “She said we should save it for you.”

They held each other's gazes for a handful of beats, marvelling in their collective disbelief and bewilderment. Then, a giggle slipped past Cass’s lips, and it was all over; the dam broke, and all three of them devolved into laughing fits.

Steph laughed so hard she started coughing, and then Cass had to pat her back soothingly.

“Okay,” Steph said, coming down from her mirth, “Okay, let’s get down to business. Are we working out or what?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who was late,” Bernard retorted playfully, taking another gulp of water from the open water bottle he still held in one hand.

“I had to make a quick stop for goodies!” she protested, gesturing to the bags she left on her mat.

Bernard eyed the bulging bags. “Quick?” he questioned with a raised brow.

“Okay, maybe not ‘quick’ but in my defence, the store near my apartment restocked their international snacks aisle and I couldn’t not take a peek.”

“In fact,” she walked a few steps to her mat and crouched down, rummaging in the slightly less full bag, “There’s this wasabi gummy candy I managed to nab—you’d be surprised how fast this stuff flies off the shelves—and I’m sure you like it.”

“No,” Cass interrupted, her voice taking on the barest hint of sternness as she gave Bernard a meaningful look. “Heartburn.”

Damn it. Why did he have to complain about his symptoms so often?

“Cass is right, Steph, I might have to pass.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she reassured him, getting back to her full height, “There’s other stuff in there I can give you. I bought enough for pretty much everyone.”

After spending a few minutes discussing how to divide and distribute the snacks before dinner (and without Alfred noticing), Cass carried the bags to the side, leaving the space clear for them to move about.

For whatever reason, Steph had the bright idea that they should treat the session like an actual workout class. Naturally, Bernard was to play the part of the instructor.

“Okay, ladies!” he began with an overly enthusiastic tone, like one of those yoga instructors on TV.  He stood with his stance widened slightly on his mat, having moved it in front of the other two, his hands on his hips, “Are we ready?”

“Yeah!” Steph cheered while Cass gave him two thumbs up. He felt like laughing from the silliness of it all.

“Right then,” he got into a half-kneeling position on the mat, placing his right knee on the floor and his left foot flat in front of him. Steph and Cass mirrored him with marginally more graceful manoeuvring.

“We’re gonna start with hip flexor and quadriceps stretching,” he straightening up, maintaining that position. “What you're gonna do is lunge your left foot until you feel a kind of—” he demonstrated as he spoke, letting out an exhale as he felt the strain in his right hip and thigh, “—stretch, there we go.”

He looked up to check on how they were faring. Steph’s form was practically perfect, and Cass seemed to still somehow be stretching with barely a hint of discomfort on her face.

“After half a minute, we ease up and then repeat.”

They continued like that, switching sides after the second repetition. The rest of the workout included leg lifts, mermaid stretches and incline pushups as well as some old favourites he had from his first trimester.

In total, they probably spent about an hour and a half, excluding water breaks, and by the end of it, Bernard felt pleasantly worn out.

He lowered himself gingerly to the floor, resting his back against the wall. Above him, a dark-skinned ballerina in a bright yellow tutu stood en pointe with arms on either side of her right on top of his head. He watched as Cass and Steph moved together, half-dancing, half-sparring as classical music played lowly from the overhead speakers.

He couldn’t wait to take a shower and then crash in the nest he made on Tim’s bed. His alpha was either in his office or his dad’s office, organising the annual Wayne Enterprises Christmas function, or in the Cave, ensuring the city’s most violent offenders were still secure under lock and key so there wouldn’t be as much of Gotham’s nastiness over the holidays.

Conner, on the other hand, would be on the Kent farm, helping his family put together the town’s Christmas food drive. Bernard would bet that if he checked his phone, he'd see dozens of images uploaded into their group chat depicting several scenes of food prep and whatever shenanigans his mate was getting into.

He swallowed a mouthful of water, brought his Supernova towel up to his flushed forehead and wiped at the sweat beading down his skin. He closed his eyes with a sigh, imagining how nice it would be to fall asleep surrounded by the scents of his family, maybe while watching that four-hour-long Krampus lore breakdown he found on his feed a few days ago; it would definitely be festive enough, he thought to himself wryly.

It was just then, as he mused quietly to himself, idly listening to Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel, that he felt it, the tiniest flutter beneath the surface of the skin of his stomach. It felt like…popping bubbles?

He cracked an eye open and moved a hand underneath his shirt. Nothing. Maybe he was a little gassy? Yeah, that was probably it.

He got to his feet with a soft groan, his body aching in that good, tingly sort of way. In a matter of minutes, he had gathered his things and was saying goodbye to Cass and Steph, the latter of whom promised to come around and drop off his and Tim’s snacks.

As he closed the door to the studio behind him, his full focus was on the nice warm shower he was about to spend way too much time in (it paid to have a partner with way too much money; water bills were a non-issue).

“I should make some tea,” he muttered to himself as he shed his clothes in Tim’s adjoining bathroom, stepping into the shower stall. He turned on the faucet, relishing in the way warm water washed away the sweat that had started to dry on his body. He placed his hand on his belly again, rubbing in slow circles.

There’s no way that sensation was what he thought it was, right?

He somewhat disappointingly removed his hand when nothing happened yet again. He reached beside him for his body wash between Tim’s off-brand shower gel he’d been using since high school and his comically expensive in comparison shampoo.

In any case, Bernard thought, massaging a dollop of soap into a lather on his sponge, the tea would help with whatever weird gassiness he felt in the studio and probably elevate his cosiness as he attempted to fuse into Tim’s mattress. Maybe he could even ask Damian for one of his fancier blends.

Chapter Text

“Lovely fucking way to start the year if you ask me,” Jason muttered sarcastically. Tim could only see his side profile in the video, illuminated by the larger desktop screen he was squinting at through his glasses, lines of text and blurry images minutely mirrored in the lens.

“Let’s go over this one more time,” Dick responded tiredly from his place on his plush living room carpet. He was drowning in a black Gotham U sweatshirt that was most definitely Jason’s and had just one earphone in, leaving one ear unused so he could hear his daughter ramble above him, responding intermittently when she asked him a question. Mar’i was engrossed in the task of braiding her father’s hair, her tiny hands the only thing in frame as she clumsily gathered strands in her grip.

It was achingly adorable seeing small, loose braids appear and disappear from his older brother’s forehead. The call cut out much of the background noise from all their environments, but the bits and pieces of high-pitched chatter from his niece added much-needed warmth to their exhausted and clinical conversation.

A series of fluffy thoughts rose in Tim’s mind unbidden; him bouncing a cooing baby in his arms as he made business calls, him filing paperwork with a toddler strapped to his chest, him attending a virtual mission debrief to the backdrop of a child’s ecstatic play.

He refocused on Damian, who was fully in frame of his computer, his background suggesting he was in his office. A stack of medical titles peeked in from the corner of his screen, hastily pushed aside to allow space for the two laptops he had on his desks.

Their youngest brother huffed, rubbing at his eyes, “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with Jason,” he murmured.

(“Watch it, brat.”)

“But this is ridiculous. Seven missing person reports within hours of each other across the Diamond District on New Year’s Eve. All different ages, genders, primary and secondary, and socioeconomic standing. These people have nothing in common. The only thing of significance is the date, and Calendar Man is still secure in Arkham.”

At the end of his spiel, Damian's lips were pursed in annoyance, the corners twitching in agitation.

Tim found himself feeling a twinge of sympathy. Damian had just returned from a two-day operation with the Teen Titans with barely a lick of sleep. Their baby bat wouldn’t admit it, but they could all tell he desperately needed rest.

Tim lifted his can of Zesti to his lips, taking a couple of sips before lowering the container with a light clink against the marble countertop of the kitchen island.

A glance at the clock on his screen informed him that it was a few minutes past three in the morning. He wrapped up patrol with Robin and Batman, give or take two hours ago, before being relieved by the girls and Batwoman. Finding it hard to fall asleep, he naturally found himself going over their ongoing cases, which is how he ended up on a video call with his more nocturnal brothers discussing their recent head scratcher.

“It’s got to be supernatural, then,” Tim suggested, minimising the call window to view a data file containing New Year’s related superstitions from around the world. His cursor hovered over another open window, displaying for a brief moment Your Baby and You: Top Ten Bonding Opportunities for a Sire and their Pup within the First Six Months.

“Dickie-bird is the only one with Constantine’s current contact details,” Jason put in, fingers flying over his keyboard.

Damian scoffed, “Surely Zatanna would be the better choice.”

“Yeah, but she’s not reachable as of Boxing Day. JL Dark is under deep cover in another dimension,” their eldest brother supplied. He tilted his head up and smiled at his daughter, cooing at her in Tameranean.

“But then Constantine is available?”

“As of Tuesday last week, yes,” Tim informed them, “I have a contact in Ireland monitoring a case for me, and they spotted him in, well, a pub.”

Another sip from his can, this new seasonal flavour—gingerbread—wasn't as bad as he thought it’d be. “I could always ask for a favour from Klarion if we really need it.”

“Over this? Favours to the Witch Boy are costly, Timothy,” Damian warned him, and was that a hint of brotherly concern Tim was detecting?

“I know that. I have a few to burn.”

Jason leaned back in his office chair, turning around so he faced the call, “If it’s supernatural like Timmy is suggesting, then we’ve gotta look at if they went to the same locations in the weeks leading up to New Year’s.”

“Since we’ve already established that they definitely don’t run in the same circles, it has to be public places. Shopping malls, maybe, given the season,” Dick added.

“Perhaps, they purchased cursed trinkets or something to that effect,” Damian said. His eyes flicked upwards, and then his audio was turned off. Any one of them could read his lips and his face and gather he was reassuring somebody of something.

“Once we have their residences swept for traces of magic, we’ll go from there.” Tim finished as Damian’s audio cut back in.

“Jon?” Dick questioned, his arms now full with a sleeping Mar’i. Apparently, she had woken up from a bad dream only minutes after her father had returned from his patrol. It seemed whatever fit of adrenaline triggered by the nightmare had subsided.

Damian remained straight-faced, but the tips of his ears were coloured as he said, “Yes. He says that I need to sleep, but I told him I will after we are done here.” Can we please wrap this up?  Words that his brother would never actually say out loud, but they had all known him long enough to recognise the hopeful look in his eyes.

A teasing barb was nearly past his lips just as he heard his bedroom door creak open down the dimly lit hallway. He leaned back slightly on his stool, his balance strong despite the precarious positioning.

Jason had beat him to the punch with a comment of his own, one that Damian responded to just as sharply, his tone softened with familiar bantering energy.

But Tim’s attention was successfully drawn away by the sound and sight of Bernard padding down the corridor, sleepiness clinging to the contours of his body.

“Hey,” he called out tenderly, “What are you doing up?”

Bernard appeared in one of his oversized band-tees, the fabric curving over his belly, a pair of Batgirl boxers and his hideous neon orange Batman socks. He yawned, the quilted blanket draped over his shoulders slipping as he fumbled with the hallway light switch, managing to adjust the bulbs to full brightness after missing the knob three times in a row. “My hips are killing me,” the omega started, his voice scratchy with sleep and a hint of his apparent discomfort as he shuffled towards Tim, “And your son wants egg-salad sandwiches. And ice-cream sandwiches. I think he might be really into sandwiches.”

“Is that Bernard?” Dick asked, a smile audible in his voice, “Tell him I said hi!”

Tim turned back to his computer, about to respond when Bernard asked, “Oops, am I interrupting?”

“’Course not.” Tim disconnected his headphones, and suddenly the room filled with the voices of his siblings.

Bernard came to stand behind Tim, peering over his shoulder and blinking at the faces displayed on the screen. “Hey, guys,” he greeted.

“Hey, blondie.”

“Bernard.”

“Hey there, how are you?”

“Uh, I’m okay. Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would get something to eat. How about you guys?”

Tim set his laptop between the two of them as Bernard sat down on the seat next to him, listening as he and the others exchanged pleasantries. There wasn’t that much to catch up on, seeing as they were all at the manor the week prior.

“We should probably call it a night, then,” Dick was saying, getting to his feet, laptop in one arm and sleeping daughter in the other.

“Fine by me,” Jason said, slipping his glasses off his face and into the front pocket of his shirt as he turned back to his monitor.

Damian leaned back in his chair. “When will you be able to get in contact with Constantine, Richard?”

Their eldest brother had placed his laptop on his kitchen counter and was pouring himself a glass of water, rocking his daughter against his chest. “I’ll see if he responds tonight.”

Tim nodded to himself, “I’ll reach out to Klarion tomorrow if there’s nothing by sunrise. Let’s not waste any more time.”

Noises of agreement were shared among the three of them. Bernard, apparently still pretty drowsy, was dozing off on Tim’s shoulder.

“In that case, goodnight to all of you,” was all their youngest brother said before exiting the call.

“You’d think he’s being chased,” Jason quipped.

“I’ll see you guys later. I need to put her to bed,” Dick said quietly, “Sleep well, guys, love you.”

“Love you too, Dick. Goodnight.” “Don’t let the Tameranean bite.”

Their eldest brother gave one last smile before his own window blinked out.

Jason glanced back at the camera feed, meeting Tim’s eyes with a raised brow, “Don’tcha got something to take care of, Timbo?” he asked, gesturing at Bernard with a jerk of his head. His omega’s breath was soft and even against the shell of his ear, and Tim wrapped a hand around his waist, his fingers slipping under Bernard’s shirt to feel his warmth.

“What? No goodnight for me?” Tim teased.

His older brother rolled his eyes, “Ask me again.”

“No goodnight for—,”

The call cut out.

Fair enough, Tim thought amusedly, nudging his laptop across the table with one hand. With the other, he massaged the flesh of Bernard’s hips, trying to coax him awake gently. “Hey,” Tim whispered, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Slowly, like the undead from a coffin, Bernard lifted his head off of Tim’s shoulder and…promptly face-planted on the table, fast asleep once again.

Tim blinked. “Bernard?”

His mate mumbled something incoherent. So not actually asleep, then.

The alpha moved his hand to Bernard’s neck, lightly pressing on the sensitive skin around his scent glands, scruffing him. “What was that love?”

His omega purred in response, his eyes fluttering open, the lighting making his irises gleam. “Sandwiches…” he said lowly, halfway between a rumble and a whine, his lips pulled into a tiny pout. Cute, Tim thought.

“Okay, I’ll make you your sandwiches,” Tim said, “But you’re gonna have to move to the couch. This can’t be good for your back.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

In his own humble opinion, Tim wasn’t that bad of a cook. If he had to place himself on the sliding scale of culinary skill within his family, he’d say he was between Steph and Cass. He was nowhere near as bad as his dad, but he also wasn’t topping Alfred’s Christmas feasts anytime soon.

He never had much need to learn, really. Between Mrs Mac in his childhood, cafeteria food throughout middle and high school, Alfred’s home-cooked meals, and free access to fine dining all over the world, developing any savviness in the kitchen never felt like the priority.

An egg salad sandwich, though? C’mon, he could manage that.

Okay, maybe the eggs were a little too hard-boiled, and yeah, the mayonnaise mixture was a little too heavy on the mustard and maybe too salty, but it was fine.

Just as he was sliding the bowl containing the salad into the fridge, Bernard called to him from the living room, or more accurately, the living room carpet, where he lay sprawled out on an intricate array of pillows that supported his body.

“Tim, Tim, get over here!”

The alpha hastily dried his hands on a dishcloth. Bernard didn’t sound in pain or like something was wrong, and his scent didn’t change either.

Even with his quick assessment, he still had to ask, “You okay?”

“I’m fine, just come here,” Bernard said excitedly, waving him over with a hand, the other one he used to get himself up into a seating position. “Conner, wake up!” he added, his voice raised to carry down the hall. Not that it mattered with super-hearing, but it was about the intentionality of it.

By the time Tim had rounded the couch and lowered himself to his knees in front of his partner, Conner was floating at the hallway’s end, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“You guys didn’t invite me to the sleepover?” Conner yawned, “Kinda rude.”

Bernard responded with a frantic beckoning gesture, his other hand stationary on one spot on his stomach, his shirt pushed up over the swell of it.

Tim stared at that hand, the metaphorical gears in his brain clinking against each other’s grooves as they turned.

Then, “Oh shit, you can feel him.”

Bernard nodded frantically, and Tim imagined he’d be much more physically expressive if not for the fact that he wanted to preserve the fragility of the moment.

At Tim’s words, Conner was kneeling next to him in less than a second, the air he displaced stirring the fabric of Tim’s shirt and Bernard’s bedhead.

“Okay,” Bernard said slowly, gingerly shifting his hand up his stomach, “Put your hands—” he frowned, shifting his hand’s position yet again, this time a little to the left, “Okay, put your hands here.”

Tim and Conner shared a glance, silent excitement mirrored in each other’s glinting eyes.

Slowly, with perhaps too much reverent dramatics, they each pressed their palms to the spot Bernard’s hand was hovering over. A handful of seconds passed in silence; Tim looked up to meet his omega’s excited gaze and watched it flatter as he did not reciprocate. He could feel Bernard’s body heat, but not much else.

“What is it…supposed to feel like?” Conner asked, tentative and hesitant.

“Like popping bubbles?” Bernard bit his lip, his eyes flicking up and to the side, as he avoided eye contact. “Maybe I imagined it again,” he mumbled, and the oranges soured in the air.

Tim sat back on his calves while Kon continued to rub his belly in slow circles, a mix of comfort and searching. “Wait, again?”

Bernard nudged Conner’s hand away, dejection clear on his face, and pulled down his shirt.

“Yeah, last week after I worked out with the girls, I had the same feeling, but I thought I was just gassy.”

“You didn’t imagine it, Bear,” Conner reassured, “He is moving.”

The Kryptonian was staring straight at his middle, smiling slightly as he watched their baby with his X-ray vision.

Bernard tilted his head back and blew out a breath, some of his earlier disappointment seeming to leave him with that deliberate expulsion of air. “I was just excited, y’know. This is the stuff everyone is always raving about, so I’m bummed you guys still have to wait.”

“We’ll survive,” Conner soothed.

Tim threw him a mock glare. “You’re one to talk. You get to cheat.”

“Uh, it’s called using your natural advantages?” The beta wiggles his eyebrows at Tim. “It’s okay, you can say you’re jealous, babe.”

Bernard snickered into his palm. “Yeah, Tim, we won’t hold it against you.”

Tim sighed in exaggerated vexation; his eyes trailed upwards to the ceiling, and he shook his head as if communicating with a higher power. How did I get blessed cursed with the two most beautiful people in the world, no, the universe, as my own personal tormentors?

(“What is he doing?”

“If I had to guess: contemplating why he puts up with us.”

“Because we make his life a thousand times better, duh.”

“We are pretty amazing.”

“Besides, he couldn’t leave us if he wanted to. An elite alpha abandoning his pack with a baby on the way? Imagine the scandal!”

“Forget the scandal, his family would murder him.”

“Bats don’t kill, though.”

“Well, I know for a fact they’d make him wish he were dead.”

“Oh, totally, totally.”)

Deigning to ignore that entire exchange, Tim retorted belatedly to Kon’s jab, “Unlike you, Kon, I’m perfectly capable of exercising patience.”

“Sounds like something a jealous person would say~” the Kryptonian retorted mockingly.

Tim jabbed at his side in retaliation, and Conner flinched away, laughing.

The alpha ignored him, reaching out and grabbing Bernard’s hand from where it had been fisting the carpet. He interlaced their fingers, the tips of his massaging the omega’s knuckles. “In any case, even though the sensation may be too weak for us right now, I’m sure that pretty soon he’ll be kicking up a storm.”

Bernard pulled a face, “I don’t think it’ll be as cute for me as it will be for you two.”

“Don’t worry, Bear,” Conner said, “I told him to go easy on you, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” Bernard replied skeptically, “Somehow I doubt he heard you.”

“He should,” Conner asserted. He leaned over until he was eye-level with Bernard’s belly, presumably engaging his x-ray vision to mimic the effect of a ‘serious father-son conversation’. “Now that you can move with your little legs enough for Bern to feel it, I know you must be excited to start doing cartwheels or whatever you get up to floatin’ around in there, trust me, I get it. However,” he raised a finger, wagging it in a gesture of discouragement, “That doesn’t mean you get to turn your mom’s belly into a dance studio.” He paused. “No, square dancing is not—you can’t even square dance with one person!”

“Okay, okay, I think he gets it,” Bernard laughed as he grabbed Kon’s face, covering his mouth, and pretending to push him away. The Kryptonian licked the palm of his hand. “Gross, Conner!”

Tim watched them giggle together. Conner pressed Bernard’s hands to his face, alternating between pressing kisses to his flesh and swiping a cheeky tongue across the tips of his fingers. Carefree, happy, and having fun, that’s the way they should always be, he thought.

“Earth to Timmy,” Bernard called his attention back, directing his signature sunny smile in his direction. The alpha fought the urge to squint.

“What’s on your mind, babe?” Conner asked, still holding Bernard’s wrists in a light grip.

Tim thought about the many, many things he could say.

I love you two so much.

You mean everything to me.

What would I do without you guys?

I never thought I’d have so much of this kind of love in my life.

I would do anything for the two of you.

All these deep declarations flitted through his mind in the fraction of a second it took him to answer. A simple phrase simmered sweetly on the tip of his tongue, and he fixed two of the most important people in his life with a sincere and open look that he didn’t use nearly as often as he should.

He opened his mouth, air rushing out to form sound.

‘I am so in love with you’ is what he would have said if an intrusive thought didn’t worm its way into his head, and as a result, he instead said, with just as much gravitas,

“I think Bernard’s egg salad might be frozen by now.”

Bernard and Conner stared at each other with identical incredulous expressions. Tim desperately wished one of Darkseid's omega beams would spear him in the heart.

“I totally forgot about that, actually,” Bernard said.

“I didn’t think you were the type to deeply contemplate the intricacies of sandwich prep, Timmy,” Conner chuckled.

Tim buried his face in his open palms. “Shush, that's not what I—I meant to say I’m in love with you two. That’s what I was thinking about.”

Bernard reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “We know, baby, and we love you too. And your unwavering dedication to egg salads everywhere,” the omega finished with a poorly stifled laugh.

“I take it back, I hate you guys so much.”

“Oh, Tim,” Conner tutted, “Didn’t you hear? This is a lifelong affair. I mean, look at those marks.” He emphasised by gesturing to Tim’s mating bites and then his own. Bernard added on by craning his neck, showing his off.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Bernard agreed.

They were teasing him. They both had the art of it down pat individually, but together? They were something else entirely. And if he was being honest, Tim wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

Bernard came home to an empty and silent apartment. He pressed his forehead to the wall in the entryway as he kicked off his shoes—technically they were Conner’s, but he’s ‘borrowing’ them because his favourite work shoes stopped fitting around week fifteen.

He didn’t bother slipping on house slippers when he knew he would take them off in a few minutes once he got to the bathroom. He desperately needed a bath after the day he had.

Nobody told him that being a professor would be more about attending committee meetings than actual teaching. And whose idea was it to have the science faculty buildings so far from each other anyway? He had to speedwalk in the cold with perpetually aching hips and swollen feet. Genuine fucking torture.

What he would give to fall asleep in his mate’s arms and not get up for the next week. But no, Cardinal and Supernova were on a mission with the Titans, in Australia of all places, and had been for the last thirty-four hours. Yes, he was actively counting. Thirty-four hours and seventeen minutes to be exact, according to his timer. He knew they’d be back by the time he woke up in the morning, but damn, it sucked that their scents were fading from their home already. Not by much—they’d been here for years, after all—but his sense of smell was way better for some reason, so it was easy to tell.

He dropped his work bag in the living room; he was planning to do some work after his well-deserved nap. And the bed was oh so tempting when he walked into the master bedroom. It took all his willpower not to just crawl in and pass out in his clothes that smelled too much like textbooks-stuffy-strangers-cold to be any sort of comfort.

With a longing glance and a heavy sigh, he padded over to the repurposed laundry bag near the closet. This was where the nesting materials were kept for quick and easy access since he was always nesting now that he was pregnant. He riffled through the bag, carefully selecting the items that he needed. Mostly his mates’ shirts and pullovers, but also articles graciously donated by their extended family.

He dumped his final haul onto the bed unceremoniously, resigning himself to the actual organisation after his bath.

A little under an hour, one thwarted accidental death-by-drowning and half an episode of his favourite urban legends podcast later, Bernard collapsed onto his bed in nothing but a bathrobe and underwear.

I’ll get up in ten minutes, tops, and then I’ll get dressed,  is what he told himself as he shoved the clothes into a hasty approximation of a proper nest. He couldn’t even be bothered to drag his pregnancy pillow from the edge of the bed and instead just shoved a normal pillow under his hips. Was it super comfortable? No, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Before he passed out, though, he grabbed his phone. The app Tim had set up to send his bioinformation to Bernard’s phone on the mission showed no anomalies, and Conner had texted him a few hours ago—a picture of the biggest spider Bernard had ever seen with the message can we keep her? 🥺 sent right after—so he assumed things were still going well.

He dropped the device somewhere near his head, and finally, he was out.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When he woke up, it was to his phone chiming next to his ear. The irritating and persistent ding! ding! rousing him about as effectively as any alarm. Which is to say, not that well. It took significant effort to crack one eye open just enough to see the glowing screen in the dimness of the room. He reached and clumsily grasped the device, lifting it and holding it in front of his face. Bad idea, the brightness made him cringe.

Once he adjusted to the artificial light, he focused on the notification displayed, the banner obscuring half of Tim and Conner’s sleeping faces in the picture he set as his lockscreen.

We are at your building.

We will be up in a few minutes.

Huh? Who was texting him at—a glance at the time—six in the evening? He blinked. The sender was…’baby wayne’? Oh, Damian. Why the hell was Damian at his house at six in the evening on a—?

“Shit!” he yelped, or tried to, it came out a lot rougher on account of his dry tongue and throat.

He sat up, blinking the crust from his eyes and then hissed at the stinging in his lower back (damn past-him for being too lazy to grab his pillow when it was literally right there).

A few days ago, Damian had called him—a true rarity—to ask him about something related to the paper he was writing for an assignment. That was his cover, at least, because Bernard called bullshit. The younger omega had been taught by whatever elite scientific minds his mother could acquire when he was just a toddler, a fact he never let anyone forget when he was a kid. Bernard was good, but not that good.

Sure, pre-med kicked ass, but he was sure the fifth Robin was doing the ass-kicking right back.

Fascinating, Damian had said after Bernard had answered his questions, If you’re free in a few days, I’ll be in Gotham visiting a friend, perhaps we can continue our discussion then.

Ah, there it is.

Uh, sure, no problem, Bernard had replied, humouring him, I usually get off around four on Wednesdays if that works for you.

Yeah, that works. There had been a pause, and then the younger man spoke to someone else. Jon wants to come, he said into the receiver, the sigh clear in his voice. Bernard was good at reading people; more importantly, he was good at reading Tim, and for all their bluster, the Waynes had more mannerisms in common than they were often willing to admit. In that moment, Bernard had picked up the fondness in Damian’s voice and the hopeful question layered over it.

He had smiled. Sure, he can come. The more the merrier.

He completely forgot he’d invited his brother-in-laws over. Which sucked for him because they were going to be there in a handful of minutes, and he was still sitting in nothing but a bathrobe and boxers.

He grabbed the first thing he could reach in his nest and tugged it on as he climbed out of bed. An old dress shirt. One of Tim’s. The collar was irreversibly creased, and there was a faded brown coffee stain on the left cuff, but it smelled so strongly of his alpha that he couldn’t possibly care. Sweet smoke was infused into every thread from repeated and consistent use, and Bernard couldn’t resist bringing the fabric to his nose and inhaling. Fuck, he missed them.

He scrambled into the first pair of shorts he could find—his, for once—and exited the bedroom. Damn, his back hurts.

By the time he’s at the entry hall, he can hear the elevator as it comes up. That strikes him as odd; it was designed to produce very little noise, and he's pretty sure he’s never heard anything from the contraption before. Oh, he thought absently, that must be a side-effect. He idly wonders if he could be considered a meta. Probably not, his apparent heightened senses were unlikely to last long past his pregnancy, and he didn’t think his senses could be considered superhuman, maybe just above average.

Although it might be interesting to test that out, he filed the prospect away for a later date.

Jon was the first out of the elevator, shimmying through the gap the moment it was wide enough for his frame. He crouched down for a second to drop the brown paper bags hanging off his arms, then he strode over to Bernard, his arms spread and a smile on his face. Bernard grinned at him, his arms rising to mirror Jon’s.

Bernard had no idea if it was a Kryptonian thing or just an El thing because the Supers were fierce huggers. Conner wasn't nearly as big as his dad, and Jon had always resembled Lois more stature-wise, but both of them embraced like bears—all strong arms and firm squeezes. Today was a little different, though. Jon didn’t wrap around him as tightly and was mindful of his midsection, tilting his body away to avoid pressing in on him.

Bernard patted the younger man’s back, “Hey, man, it’s been a while.”

Jon stepped back, “I guess so, yeah. How are you doing? I mean, like the baby and stuff, how’s that been… going?” the alpha finished off, cringing at his own word choice.

Damian came over to them, a few bags on his own arm and a backpack hanging off his shoulder. His face was set in an exasperated expression as he scoffed at his boyfriend, “Real smooth, hayseed.”

“The baby stuff is going just fine, thank you for asking, Jon,” Bernard said, patting his belly. “Other than the sleepless nights and forgetting where my keys are constantly, yeah, I’d say we’re doing pretty well.”

“That’s good to hear,” Damian said sincerely, his face softening. Bernard couldn’t resist; he reached over and ruffled his hair. When Damain didn’t pull away, Bernard pressed his wrist to the side of the younger omega’s face, scenting him lightly. He was rewarded with a brief whiff of cardamom, betraying the omega’s pleasure, before Damian shook him off subtly. Bernard would take what he could get.

“We weren’t sure if you’d have eaten already,” Jon said, turning around and gesturing to the bags he had dropped, which, now that Bernard was looking closely, he could make out the restaurant logo quite clearly. “So we picked up some food on our way here,” Jon finished brightly.

Bernard looked at the bags on the floor and then the bags hanging off of Damian’s arm. It was seven bags in total, and they all looked decently full. He looked back at Jon and then to Damian, playfully incredulous.

“How much do you guys think I eat?”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

If his mother could see him now, she’d be aghast; or more accurately, she’d give him a tight, disapproving smile, dropping seemingly innocent comments in between not-so-quiet heavy sighs, her equivalent of indignant disapproval.

He, Jon and Damian were sitting on the floor around the coffee table, eating directly out of the takeout containers instead of at the kitchen counter with actual plates. He was definitely not living up to her dreams of him being a demure omega homemaker, hosting family members while his mates were away.

“You don’t even live in Gotham,” Bernard said, twirling his fork into his pasta. He added a meatball to his fork before pushing the morsel into his mouth. His taste buds were singing in satisfaction. Something loud and dramatic; maybe showtunes.

He pointed his at Jon, who was sipping on his glass of non-alcoholic wine. “So how the hell do you know so many good restaurants? More than me, and I’ve lived here my entire life!” the omega finished accusatorily.

“It’s his bottomless pit of a stomach,” Damian said, cutting into his vegetarian (not)meatball, “When he’s hungry enough, he starts sniffing out hole-in-the-walls like a bloodhound.”

“This wasn't even a hole-in-the-wall,” Jon argued, “Colin recommended it.”

“My point still stands, Jonathan,” Damian stated before popping a morsel into his mouth.

“Whatever it may be,” Bernard said, “I demand a list. You can’t keep all the goodies to yourself, Jon.” As an afterthought, he added, “Metropolis, too. So I know where to go when I’m in the area.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll send you the spreadsheet.”

Bernard raised his eyebrows. “Spreadsheet?”

“It’s a collaborative work,” Damian explained, “The Flash twins created it to keep track of their culinary escapades, and it quickly became a general affair among the Titans.”

“I don’t think you should be giving a civilian secret hero-related documents.”

“It’s not like, secret-secret,” Jon assured him, “And besides, you’re not a random civilian, you’re family.”

Bernard smiled way too widely at that. Yeah, he had a family. Not Beatrice and Gregory Dowd, not anymore, but a family of vigilantes and alien superheroes. One that was very soon going to have one more person added to it. Sixteen-year-old Bernard would have imploded—after asking where Batman got his orphan supply from, of course.

With exaggerated gravitas, Bernard said, “I’d be honoured to receive such coveted knowledge.”

Alongside the containers of food on the table was an open bottle of non-alcoholic wine (that only Jon really drank from; it wasn’t very appealing to Bernard’s palate, and Damian cited that it was too sweet for him), a tray laden with homemade sugar cookies (courtesy of Jon), and inexplicably open laptops, textbooks, and printed papers.

Bernard was mentally transported to many a finals week he had spent wide-eyed and bleary under the fluorescents of his dorm’s lounge, leaning over a computer like a gargoyle with questionably microwaved takeout boxes peppering his surroundings like casualties of war on a battleground.

“…But it is kinda weird you came to my house under the pretence of checking in on me and your nephew when in actuality you just wanted to use me on my off-time.” His finished statement hung in the air like a guilty verdict, and Jon averted his gaze, choosing instead to stare into his wine glass as he swirled the liquid around.

Damian scoffed, typing away at his computer with his food put aside in his lap, “I’m capable of having multiple motives for my actions. And I did tell you exactly why I was coming. Jonathan’s excuses are his own.”

“I just needed a change of scenery to write my article,” Jon defended, before adding quickly, “And I did want to see you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Bernard shifted slightly so he was facing Jon. He schooled his face into the expression he gave nervous first years and gently said, “But you do realise I know nothing about journalism, right?”

“I promise I’m not using you as free academic labour, Bernard,” Jon sighed.

“Good, because my knowledge of journalism comes from really sketchy hero blogs.”

“I, on the other hand, am absolutely using you as free academic labour,” Damian assured him, shamelessly.

Bernard turned his gaze back to him, “You never hold back, do you?”

“Why would I?”

Bernard had always liked that about Damian and, by extension, Robin. The blunt but not callousness. He pulled no punches if he knew you could take it.

Their eyes met; Damian’s were creased in a flat glare, and Bernard’s were squinted in assessment.

“Fair enough,” Bernard finally conceded. He placed his bowl on the table and to the side. He stretched his arm across the wooden expanse towards Damian’s computer, his fingers bending in a gimme motion, “Let me see that paper.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Bernard?”

Bernard looked up from his laptop, a cookie halfway out of his mouth. He shoved the confection in with the palm of his hand and spoke around it, “Yesh?”

Jon looked at him, strangely nervous and maybe a little embarrassed, with his lips pursed and ears reddened. He was wiping his hands on a dishcloth, just having finished cleaning up after their meal. He and Damian had insisted they’d take care of it, with Jon in particular being adamant. It got to a point where he shooed Damian back to the living room only minutes later. The (technically) older of the two had seemed exasperated but otherwise didn’t protest.

“So the baby can hear stuff going on outside, right?”

“Yeah,” Bernard replied, smiling, “We talk to him a lot because of it. Sometimes he reacts, sometimes he doesn’t. It’s fun.”

Damian, who, having apparently finished his studying for the day, was reading a book on the loveseat, lifted his head and fixed Jon with his attention. The look on his face was subtly encouraging. Interesting.

“That’s great!” Jon plopped down on the couch next to Bernard, “I was wondering if I could say something?”

“Well…you’re already talking, right?” Bernard said, teasing.

“I believe the correct word would be ‘sing’, Jon,” Damian told him.

“Sing?”

With a deep exhalation, the fingers that had been tangling in the kitchen towel relaxed over the fabric, and Jon replied, “Yeah, sing. I want to sing a Kryptonian lullaby that my dad used to sing for me. Aunt Kara taught him, and then he taught me, and so, y’know, I thought it would be cool if I could sing it for my nephew.”

Bernard blinked, and then a grin split his face. He reached over and ruffled Jon’s hair, laughing, “Is that what made you so nervous? Of course you can, dude. I’m sure he’d love to hear it. Me too, honestly.”

Jon gave him the softest face he’s ever seen, and Bernard idly wondered if that’s also a Super-thing because no normal human can make their eyes that wide or have irises that are that blue or have joy that pure while also being strong enough to destroy countries.

Damian placed his book down, cover up, on the arm of the chair. He props his head up on his elbow, watching them. The younger omega looked awfully soft, his usually sharp edges dulled as his eyes roamed over Jon as they spoke.

“Do you want to touch my stomach? While you sing?” Bernard asked Jon.

Jon's eyes widened even further, and it’s a wonder they don’t pop out of their sockets. “I don’t— I mean, I couldn’t. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Bernard was about to wave him off, but Damian beat him to it, tapping on his finger on his cheek, “If Bernard did not want you touching him, he would not have asked, habibi.”

“Exactly,” Bernard agreed, smiling wryly, “I’m totally cool with it. Who knows, you might get a reaction from him.” He added to Damian, “You can too, if you want.” It was Damian’s turn to look bashful, but he nodded in the end.

Bernard knew a little Kryptonian —just a few words and phrases he picked up from Conner. Kon didn’t speak it much around the house, but he tended to slip it into their general conversations from time to time. Tim could speak it, though, enough to hold a simple conversation, but according to Conner, he sounded heavily accented. Apparently, the language was designed specifically for Kryptonian physiology, whatever that meant.

The point was, Bernard had no idea what Jon was singing. That didn’t stop him from being completely entranced, though.

Every word that left his throat was deep and melodious. It felt like whatever he was saying was sending vibrations through not just the air but the matter around him. Jon sang with his eyes closed, his eyebrows pulled tight together like he was trying hard to concentrate. It struck Bernard that he probably had to practice singing the song, as he likely hadn’t heard it since he was a small child.

Bernard took Jon’s hand in his. From the corner of his vision, he saw Damian get up from his seat, perhaps equally enthralled. Bernard patted the space on the couch next to him, prompting Damian to plop down as instructed.

He took the younger omega’s hand in his and looked from his face to Jon’s, whose eyes were now open and staring down at Bernard’s fingers wrapped around his own. Bernard gave the Kryptonian an encouraging smile and placed both their hands on his shirt, near his belly button.

As the song ended, Jon got quieter and quieter, his face relaxing more and more until the last word was uttered as a whisper.

“Are you using your x-ray vision?” Bernard asked him, lightly.

“Hmm? Oh! Oh, shoot, sorry, I should have asked first.” 

The tranquillity was broken, and both of them seemed to think that was their cue to remove their hands, but Bernard held their wrists firmly.

“It’s fine, Jon, really,” Bernard promised, “You don’t have to remove your hands either.”

Bernard released their wrists, and predictably, their touches did not retreat. He let them have their moment.

“What do you see, Jon?” Damian asked quietly.

“He’s so tiny,” the Kryptonian replied, his tone awed.

Bernard tried not to laugh lest he disturb the delicate moment, “Yeah? He’s actually on the bigger size, believe it or not. Probably won’t look tiny for much longer.”

Damian finally removed his hand, and a beat later, Jon reluctantly followed. The younger omega turned to face him, “How do you cope? With all of it?”

“All of what?”

Damian pursed his lips, “The physical toll and changes aside, you must have concerns and worries. How do you deal with it?”

Bernard put a hand on his stomach, absently smoothing the creases on Tim’s old shirt. He thought about the days he woke feeling jittery and overwhelmed, with way too much energy, but the physical toll of pregnancy stole away his dexterity and balance. The times when he felt so achingly alone in his struggles at night, despite being pressed into the warmth of his mates’ bodies, anxiety and fear kept him paralysed and forcing tears from his eyes.

“Honestly, I think I’m just as surprised as you are about how well I’m doing. I mean, I’ve obviously never been pregnant before this and preparing myself mentally for the baby and parenting and stuff,” he tilted his head back, raising his other hand to his chin, “It’s still kind of crazy to me sometimes.”

That was an understatement for sure. Crazy barely scratched the surface when the sight of his own body in the shower made him dissociate sometimes. Pregnancy was terrifying, but it wasn’t all bad. He counted himself lucky for having managed to score big time in the mate department.

And even aside from Tim and Conner's fierce support and dedication, he found solace in other, familiar places. Like when he was feeling particularly anxious or moody, when he couldn’t sleep, or when he felt a little bit lonely and needed something different, he’d go on message boards like he did when he was a teenager. He’d read someone’s ask and send a little reply, engaging for a few moments with a random person, who could be on the other side of the world for all he knew, and would feel a distant but soothing sense of kinship. It was comforting.

He turned so that he was looking at Damian. “I’d like to say it’s ‘cause I’m just that good, so it’s all just like water off a duck’s back to me, but that’d be a partial truth.”

“I’m not about to say I never have doubts or I never feel scared because I do feel those things sometimes, but it’s hard to really catastrophize when I have Tim and Conner there. They support me, they accommodate me, and they’re just as happy as I am about this, so it tends to outweigh the shitty stuff. There's stuff online that I look at, too. Forums, blogs, message boards. It’s not like I know other pregnant omegas personally, so first-hand experiences help. Plus, I also have you guys, right?”

“It takes a village,” Jon quoted, grinning.

Bernard snapped his fingers, “Exactly. And what’s better than a regular village? A village of literal superheroes. How am I supposed to be seriously worried about anything? I have faith in myself, my partners and my family,” he added, half-joking, “And the internet, of course.”

Damian nodded along slowly, “Yes, I suppose that’s…that’s true.”

“Is there any particular reason for that line of questioning?” Bernard prodded jokingly, “Something you guys want to tell me?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

Immediately, Jon started spluttering, and Damian looked at him, his expression completely blank as colour rose in his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dowd,” he hissed.

Bernard threw his head back and cackled, full and loud. “Damn. That’s good, that’s good. I’m pretty sure you’d send your dad and Dick to early graves.”

Damian did not dignify that with a response.

In an attempt to redirect the conversation, Jon blurted out, “Do you think he liked it? The song?”

For a split second, Bernard considered doubling down on his teasing, but the almost pleading look on Jon’s face swayed him sufficiently. He answered the alpha, “Oh, I’m sure he did. I mean, I loved it. You have a good voice, Jon.”

“Thank you.”

“I keep telling him he should join an acapella group, what with how much he sings in the shower,” Damian quipped.

Jon replied with something sarcastic, and it was enough to spark their banter. They traded quick barbs, without any real edge and positively oozing with ease and familiarity. Cinnamon and cardamom coalesced into rich affection. Bernard wondered if that’s how he and his partners acted when they were freshly mated, still high over sharing each other’s existence.

Bernard idly watched them as they fell into a seamless rhythm. Wordlessly, he got up from the couch, grabbed his laptop from the table and moved over to the loveseat previously occupied by Damian. He took the book from the arm of the chair and tossed it onto the coffee table.

By now, the two young men had closed the gap created by his departure and seemed to have moved on to a comparatively less charged topic of conversation.  

Bernard let his hand travel underneath his shirt as he started to type up an email one-handed. He moved his palm up and down, rubbing little circles into his flesh, feeling the warmth of his own skin. And then, as if on cue, he sensed the tiniest of spasms. He grinned, “I knew you liked the lullaby,” he murmured, “I’ll ask your papa about it when he gets back. I’m sure he’ll love to sing it to you.”

Bernard took a deep, quiet breath. Apparently, he was far enough along that the baby could hear the sound of his heart beating. Even if he didn’t understand the words, he hoped his little sweet potato—there was a person the size of a sweet potato living inside of him!—could feel the sincerity in the thrumming of his heart.

“It’s all worth it because of you, y’know. The aches, the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the fear, everything. It’s worth it because it means you’re real and you’re special and I…I love you. I don’t know you or the kind of person you’ll be yet, but I love you already. I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure you get hear safe and get to live happily, okay?”

He got a tiny spasm moments later, and he took it as his acknowledgement.