Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He doesn’t remember how it happened, but one moment he was facing Darkseid, and the next he was engulfed in a strong light. Batman could feel his skin burning, could feel his screams escaping against his will. He felt an unbearable pain that seemed to last for hours, and then he felt nothing at all. And the only thing he is certain of now is that he was dead.

Bruce Wayne was dead, and Batman was too. Somehow, that felt right, because now there was nothing but darkness—and that had always been his only constant in life. In a way, Batman felt satisfied that it had ended like this. But it didn’t feel like the end…

The only thing different in that infinite sea of pitch black was the noise—thin, terrifying sounds that seemed to come directly from the throats of thousands of demons, noises that had haunted Bruce Wayne’s nightmares for many years. It was only when his vision cleared, his sense of touch returned to his limbs, and the rotten smell of mold invaded his nostrils that he understood he had not truly died. No, his existence had never been simple, so it made sense that his death wouldn't be either, because suddenly he was alive—engulfed by the sound of flapping wings, hundreds, maybe thousands of bats.

His head throbbed as he tried to move, realizing his neck was resting at an odd angle that should have been impossible. Wherever they were, they had cramps, they were cold, and their breathing was difficult and irregular. They could feel rocks digging into their back, and that pain was enough to push their body into motion.

With something that was probably their clothing, they wrapped the deepest cuts on their forehead and twisted arm. After finishing, they let their eyes wander, searching for something beyond the darkness and the horrible sound of wings.

Ignoring the pain in their body, they started crawling—hours, or maybe just minutes?—dragging themselves through the darkness, shrinking close to the ground whenever those damned bats got too close. Their mind was full of questions, questions that would soon be answered by the sound of approaching footsteps and a voice frantically calling out for someone.

"Master Bruce! Where are you?! Master Bruce?" Something inside Batman was tempted to respond, and though he couldn’t identify the voice, it seemed familiar.

"Bruce…" He murmured and hissed as he tried to sit up. That wasn’t his name—or was it? Was it his name? Theirs? Yes, maybe it was.

Their right arm and leg were miserably broken, and their neck and back ached like hell. That was when their mind sounded an alarm—something was wrong. Their eyes shifted to one side, then the other. Their arms weren’t their arms.

The lighting was dim, but enough for them to see what was closest to their vision. Their eyes had to blink several times to accept that what they were seeing was real, that they weren’t just imagining everything.

The arm was small, short, and stained with blood, and the last time they checked, their arms were huge and covered in horrible scars—marks from Batman’s hard nights and Bruce’s saddest nights.

What... What is this? What happened to us?

"Master Bruce!" The voice, sounding as if it had come straight out of a 1950s British period drama, pulled them back to reality.

Looking at them with a mixed expression of relief and concern was a familiar man—approximately 20 to 23 years old, Caucasian, tall, with an elegantly groomed mustache and hair.

Could it be?

Of course not!

But…

Stay alert, Bruce. Something is wrong.

Alfred… the man ran a gloved hand through his dark brown hair while raising an old lantern to illuminate the surroundings—nearly blinding them with the sudden light.

"Young master, how did you get down here?"

They looked at the man with conflicting feelings of distrust and longing.

It’s him!

Impossible.

But…

No, get a hold of yourself—or give me control over the body!

While their thoughts were at war, the man kept talking, but Bruce only managed to understand the last thing he said.

"Stay there and don’t move. I need to find your parents."

Then, he turned and left, leaving only the lantern behind as proof that he had been there.

He just said he was going to call our parents!

We need to retreat before he comes back!

Finally agreeing with each other, they began crawling again, distancing themselves from the light and heading toward the entrance of what they were sure was a cave—their cave.

What are the chances of contacting Constantine?

We’re not that desperate yet. Let’s gather more information first.

I told you we should’ve called him to deal with Darkseid instead of your stupid Radion bullet plan!

I don’t trust him, and my plan worked… partially.

Bruce rolled their eyes but immediately regretted it—their head hurt. It seemed they had a concussion. Damn.

Stop complaining and keep moving!

Stop yelling at me and start thinking about how to get us out of here!

"Bruce!" A man’s voice called behind them. Lost in their discussion, neither of them noticed when their weak body crossed the cave’s exit and continued crawling away from the hole. "Son!"

The man called out again, and they knew they needed to get away as fast as possible. Unfortunately, they weren’t fast enough.

A pair of massive hands carefully grabbed their waist, lifting them gently enough not to break any more bones.

"Son, calm down. It’s just me…"

That’s the problem!

Both thought the same, and they shut their eyes. They couldn’t look at him, not when it was all an illusion.

"Alfred, I think he’s fainted. Get the car—we’re going to the hospital!"

Thomas Wayne ran his hand through his son's hair as he sat beside the hospital bed. He looked so fragile, so different from the bubbling and cheerful seven-year-old boy Thomas knew so well.

Being a doctor, Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about the injuries his son had suffered in his fall—a broken arm, blunt trauma to the head, a severe neck fracture, and a right leg twisted at a troubling angle. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he and the ER doctor agreed that Bruce’s fall should have killed him.

Martha was furious, obviously, when the two reached that conclusion. But it didn’t matter to her—miracle or not, she was just happy that her son had managed to survive.

How? Thomas didn’t really care. All that mattered was that his son was alive and would soon wake up so they could hold him once again.

He turned to look at his wife, who was sleeping silently beside him, one hand resting on her belly and the other next to their son.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

Chapter Text

They were already used to waking up on a stretcher—being a powerless vigilante did that to you—but waking up to two adults who weren’t Alfred or Leslie? That was unusual.

A man and a woman, both in their early twenties and dressed in clothes that revealed their high status, hovered over him with familiar, worried eyes.

The red-haired woman leaned in to take his hand. Her smile was watery, and her warm green eyes were red from crying so much.

"It’s okay, sweetheart, it's okay. How are you feeling?"

To say they felt uncomfortable and upset would be an understatement—their desire was to get out of bed and move far away from those two ghosts. But, in their defense, their body was probably drugged with enough medication to turn their brain into mush. Everything was confusing, and the only thing they could do was let out a frustrated groan.

"Who…" Batman tried to say.

"Something wrong, dear?" The woman leaned in, too close, hope shining in her eyes. Her voice rang in his ears like something sweet, but Batman wouldn’t be fooled by her.

"Who are you?" He tried to sound intimidating, but his tone was higher and softer than he was used to their voice being. That frustrated him more than his inability to move.

The woman’s face seemed to cycle through five different emotions at once. She elbowed the man beside her—the man who looked just as surprised and concerned as she did.

"Tom, call the doctor. Now!" She ordered, and he was out of his seat in the blink of an eye, running out the door in search of help.

"Keep your men away from me…" Batman tried to growl at her, not wanting to be vulnerable around more people. Unfortunately, he had no control over his situation.

As Batman was being examined, he took the moment to analyze the couple. Bruce was too weak to help in moments like this, so Batman couldn’t rely on him. That’s why he observed the two impostors with his coldest expression—he wouldn’t let them know how much this affected him.

Martha and Thomas Wayne. Owners of Wayne Industries and his parents, dead for decades. They looked different from what Batman remembered, but he attributed that to the fact that most of his childhood memories were stored with Bruce at the moment. It was easier to deal with the current situation without letting his longing interfere. Either way, there were obvious differences he could point out, starting with the fact that Martha’s look-alike seemed enormous—somewhere between 1.80m and 1.90m—while Thomas’ look-alike had a more average height of around 1.70m. Another thing Batman found worth noting was the way Martha’s look-alike was gently rubbing Thomas’ neck, as if he needed comfort—not her.

The nurses finally stepped away from him, and the doctor started spouting some nonsense to the Wayne look-alikes. Whoever had trapped them in this illusion was certainly doing a lazy job—they hadn’t even bothered to get his parents' heights right!

He closed his eyes to meditate and focus on his own thoughts. There was too much to process, and he needed to shut himself off and think through the situation.

Bruce, you…

i’m fine. I can handle this.

As if waking up from a dream, Bruce opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and relaxed his tense expression—Batman needed to relax more sometimes, or he would end up with worry lines on their face. Either way, he needed to seem okay, and he hoped he would be able to keep his promise to Batman.

Bruce bit his lip and finally gathered the courage to look up—at his parents, or their copies. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh and scream or cry and ask to be taken to Arkham Asylum immediately.

What the hell was going on with these copies? Why was his mother so tall? His father had always seemed so... soft? Was it just his imagination, or was that a bite mark on Thomas' neck!?

Oh God, did we end up in a vampire universe?

"Hey, my little prince..." The soft tone of Thomas Wayne’s voice caught his attention, and Bruce quickly realized that everyone’s eyes were on him.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no... too many eyes, too many people... Okay, okay, breathe, you’re in control, you can do this.

"I..." His voice sounded completely wrong!

"The doctor would like you to answer a few questions, kiddo. Do you think you can do that?" Thomas... his father tilted his head to the side.

Bruce could tell by the tremor in his father’s hands that he wanted to hold his own but was afraid to scare him—which was good. Bruce didn’t think he could handle being touched right now. He was under too much stress and didn’t need any more unwanted stimuli.

He looked at the doctor, a thin man with glasses—someone he knew, knew he had seen before, but struggled to remember where from. Whoever he was, Bruce knew he wasn’t a good person, so he searched the Bat’s memories for an answer.

Hugo Strange. Damn, what luck—of all people, we ended up with him as our doctor.

Looking at the man, all Bruce wanted to do was roll his eyes and tell him he was a terrible doctor and that his head was perfectly fine. But pretending to have amnesia or being disoriented was the safest choice for Bruce right now. After all, he still didn’t know what had happened. Batman could insist that this was an illusion, but Bruce felt it was something bigger than that—maybe dimensional travel? It wouldn’t be the first time they had gone through that.

Bruce hesitantly nodded his head while mentally preparing himself for the questions ahead. Luckily, he had enough medical and psychiatric knowledge to fake convincing amnesia.

"Alright, kiddo, I’ll start with some simple questions, and I want you to answer only what you can remember—don’t try to make anything up, okay?" Hugo asked in a disinterested voice. Bruce sniffled and wrinkled his nose, only now noticing the sour smell coming from the doctor.

"Alright then, what’s your full name?"

"I... I don’t know. I should know, shouldn’t I?" Tears escaped his eyes, and Bruce whimpered—acting like a child was easy when you had to play Brucie Wayne every day.

Hugo grumbled, making a face, and scribbled something on his clipboard. Behind him, Bruce heard Thomas whimper—and Martha purr? What the hell was going on with those two?

"Do you know how old you are?"

"No." He didn’t need to lie about that—he truly had no idea.

"Do you recognize these people?" Hugo asked, gesturing toward the couple behind him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes as if struggling to recognize them. A few minutes ago, he would have preferred death over facing his parents, but those two weren’t his parents—not the ones he knew, at least. They might be his parents in this universe, but looking at them wasn’t the same as looking at the faces of two corpses.

Chapter Text

Any fear his parents had after the first questions quickly faded as new ones arose. Beyond the basics, he practically knew nothing about how to behave like a child. I mean, yes, Bruce and Batman were parents in his universe, but none of their children could or should be used as an example for absolutely anything! Well, at least he could always blame memory loss to justify his behavior—something he foresaw doing a lot in the near future.

Stop getting lost in thought, Bruce. Keep questioning them about this whole Omega, Alpha, and Beta dynamic.

Oh yes, right.

"So..." His parents leaned in closer, as if every word Bruce had to say was the most important word in the world—it was bizarre, to say the least. "Can you explain better what Omegas, Alphas, and Betas are? I don't think I understand this yet..."

Thomas's eyes filled with tears again, as always happened in the past two days that he and Martha visited Bruce in the hospital—it was frankly exhausting to see the man cry and not be able to do anything.

"Of course, dear. Look, you must have noticed that sometimes people around you act differently, right?" Martha took the lead in the explanation—she seemed more active in taking initiative than Thomas.

I didn't notice anything different, except for the exaggerated scent of some doctors and nurses. Do you know what she's talking about, Bat?

Hmm.

That's not an answer!

"In our society, we are all born with different roles," his mother continued explaining, unaware of the internal discussion of her sons. "Some are Alphas, like me, and others are Omegas, like your father."

He nodded as if he understood, but it was the second time his mother talked about this, and he still didn't exactly grasp what being an Alpha or an Omega meant.

"You didn't understand again, did you, cub?" His father joked, his gentle eyes looking at them as if they were his whole world—it was warm but frightening. They only ever received those looks from Alfred for almost their entire lives. "Look, dear, Alphas are those with a natural instinct for dominance and leadership. They are naturally stronger, protective, and territorial. Your mother, as we've said, is an Alpha woman. Do you understand?"

"Yes!"

"Good. Now Omegas, like me, also have strong instincts. We feel everything more intensely, physically and emotionally. Sometimes, we have to step away from stressful situations or hide in our nests where it's safe. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Omegas are autistic.

I don’t think that’s…

Talk later, I'm trying to pay attention.

"Now Betas are more controlled—their instincts aren't as strong as they are for the other two dynamics. Alfred, our longtime companion and butler, is a Beta. Do you understand?" Bruce slowly nodded at his father—he thinks he understood. Apparently, these dynamics were just a way to categorize people. He could handle this change well.

"Any other questions, dear?" his mother gently asked.

I think I've asked too many questions for today. B, any questions you want to ask?

No questions for now.

Okay.

"No, I understand everything for now. Thank you."

During his time hospitalized, he had time to at least try to get used to the new things. There wasn't just a new form of society—there were differences in his body as well. In this new world, they had a very keen sense of smell, sharper teeth, and the apparent ability to purr and growl. Batman really liked growling.

It was difficult to adapt at first, because, as Batman, their body was a temple—a temple that they had total control and knowledge over. But now everything was strange and new. They were lighter than they were used to, and their motor coordination was a mess. But, of course, this was nothing compared to the pain they felt throughout their body.

They had none of the endurance they had built up over their years of vigilance—now everything hurt and bothered them.

When the time came to leave, they suddenly felt reluctant to go. Walking out of the hospital doors meant facing whatever was out there. And they didn't believe they were ready to see Gotham again. But in the end, what they thought didn’t matter.

In the first five seconds, their first impression of this old/new Gotham was a perceptual feeling of absolute sadness and pain. All of Batman’s work was undone before their eyes. There were homeless people everywhere, drugged adults and children collapsed in the alleys, women shrinking away at any sound from the dark...

This wasn't Batman's city. This wasn't their city.

Now isn't the time to lament—compose yourself, Bruce.

Easier said than done, B.

The ride back was uncomfortably silent. They sat in front of their parents while Alfred drove the limousine. Batman could tell how worried everyone was by the glances he got through the rearview mirror and the muffled conversation his parents were having. They really couldn't understand what was being said. And when things started to get tense, Alfred's voice cut through the silence.

"We've arrived, Master Thomas, Master Bruce, Lady Martha."

Nothing they could say or think could describe what they felt the moment they laid eyes on the mansion.

Bruce felt like a child again—and he didn’t like it one bit. But the emotions grew even stronger when they all stepped out of the car and stood side by side, looking at him expectantly—everyone waiting for his reaction.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed, and they couldn't move from where they stood. The mansion was identical to how it had been before their parents died, and neither of them could summon the strength to approach. Martha started to grow impatient and began climbing the stairs to the entrance, Alfred following close behind.

Thomas, with a sigh, crouched in front of him and slowly extended his arms toward them, testing their reaction to his touch. When they didn’t react negatively, Thomas picked them up in his arms and carried them into the house.

Dinner that night was a quiet event. Their parents must have found it strange that they remained silent during the meal. But Batman still had many things to think about, and Bruce was too overwhelmed to speak.

Chapter Text

Throughout his entire recovery, his parents made an effort to stay close, which was commendable, considering how tight their schedules were. In this alternate reality, Martha was the owner of all the Wayne family's businesses and managed the company in place of Thomas, while Thomas was a renowned neurosurgeon—"despite being an omega." They were still confused by this new social dynamic, but even for them, this quote from Gotham News sounded prejudiced.

If he wasn’t being cared for by Alfred at the mansion, then Martha would take them to visit her workplace and leave them in her office with full access to the company computer. The days they spent alone in their mother’s office were the only days they could use the internet for research, and not always did their searches yield results, since the internet of this era was terrible.

All they knew so far was that the year was 1980, Martha Kane Wayne was a high-society alpha who, despite being successful, had been admitted to Arkham Asylum a few times and had been accused of several aggressive attacks against other alphas and betas—although everything seemed to have been “forgiven” due to her pregnancy. They didn’t quite understand why Martha’s pregnancy was used as justification for an attack, but they were still investigating that. Thomas Kane Wayne was a neurosurgeon known for studying treatments for DID—ironically—and for being one of the few professionals in the field capable of discovering how this disorder worked in alphas and which “pheromones” to use to calm the mind of a person with this disease, whatever that meant.

Anyway, that was all they had discovered so far—nothing really useful. Maybe the fact that their father had ways to "treat" a disorder they had should be important, but the truth was that the article talking about this was very specific about it working only on alphas. And as far as they knew, they were too young to have "presented" as alpha, omega, or beta, though Alfred seemed confident they would be omegas like their father. Bruce supposed that idea made sense, since his father's genetics had always been stronger, but Batman thought the idea that genetics influence someone's personality or how they behave in society was ridiculous.

Anyway, when they weren’t gathering information on the office computer, they were at the mansion chasing young Alfred like little obsessors. Alfred had a wonderful scent to them, smelling of jasmine tea and freshly baked cookies—he smelled of home and safety, and they felt happy being near the butler, not to mention they felt more comfortable around the only person who looked exactly as they remembered.

Maybe Betas are the only people who haven’t changed in this universe.

Yes...

Do you think we’ll be Betas, B?

Hm.

That’s not an answer!

I still feel like we’re missing something very important about this whole ‘dynamics’ thing.

You’re just being paranoid.

My paranoia saved our lives.

No, your paranoia sent us to an alternate reality where we’re children...

You...

"Baby?" His mother's voice sounded behind them, making them fall silent and turn to look at the bedroom door.

Martha couldn't help but roll her eyes as she approached her son's room. The light was still on, which meant her pup was still awake past his usual bedtime.

She was lucky to have passed by his room—the only reason she was awake at this ungodly hour was because of her protective instincts and her nightmares about her son's condition five months ago. She was truly worried but needed to act firm if she wanted her omega to rest and have some peace of mind. She had hoped that a brief walk around the mansion would calm her alpha instinct to protect and guard, but now she had another reason to be awake.

"Baby?" She called without entering the room. She and her partners had already noticed how Bruce reacted to sudden contact and approaches, and they were trying not to overstep his boundaries.

With a sigh, she opened the door and fought to contain a laugh at the look of surprise on Bruce’s face—he had probably expected to be the only person awake this late.

"What are you doing awake? You should be in bed by now, pup." She frowned, but only for a moment. It was hard to be mad at her son when he lowered his little eyes and fidgeted with his hands in an anxious movement—he looked so much like Thomas that it was almost impossible for Martha to be strict with her little boy.

"Writing..." He closed the notebook in his lap and held it against his chest while whispering a quick and low response.

Martha raised a curious eyebrow.

"At three in the morning?"

What is he hiding? Why did he close the notebook?

He shrugged, still without looking her in the eyes. His scent was a bit bitter, smelling of anxiety and fear. Normally, her pup smelled like garden roses and green tea, but since he returned from the hospital, he only smelled of fear, as if he were an intruding pup expecting to be attacked by everyone at any moment.

"I don't want to sleep yet..." He shrank away from her when Martha sat on the edge of the bed. She wanted to smell her pup and stroke his hair, but ever since he returned home, Bruce didn’t seem to like touches much, so she contented herself with just watching him.

"Is it the bats again? Are they keeping you awake?" Bruce didn’t answer immediately—his scent grew stronger; he didn’t want to talk about it. She sighed, holding back her tears—she hated seeing her pup scared without being able to do anything to comfort him. "You need to sleep, dear. Or you won’t be a strong alpha like me or a healthy omega like your father."

"But..."

"No 'buts,' come on, lie down and go to sleep."

"Grrr..."

Martha was startled—had her son growled at her?!

"Bruce Thomas Kane Wayne, you growled at your mother!" Her instinct told her to punish the insolent pup, but Martha wasn’t known for being a mentally stable alpha—she rarely used her position in the pack to force submission. But her pup was...

He's scared—he doesn't recognize you as his mother...

His growl died before leaving his throat. She couldn't scold the pup—it wouldn't be fair or right. Besides the Beta of their pack, Bruce didn’t seem to recognize anyone else in the mansion—he wasn’t hostile, but he wasn’t receptive to her and Thomas getting too close to his space. Only Alfred was allowed.

At first, this was frustrating—Thomas suffered from his pup’s distance, and Martha felt horrible for her omega’s suffering. But she had to be strong for him and keep hope that Bruce would return to normal someday. Until then, she had to be patient...

"Just go to sleep, son—try to rest..." She got up from the bed and walked to the door without looking back.

"I'm sorry, Mom..." The soft whisper stopped her in her tracks. "I... I'm scared. For the first time in a long time, I'm really scared..."

Her pup sobbed, and Martha forgot the rule about not touching him—he had to initiate contact, she knew that, but she was dying to hug him, and he didn’t seem like he would make the first move.

She took a step toward him—he stepped back. But when she took another step, he stayed still. Without hesitation, she reached out and took her son in her arms—he didn’t hug or scent her, but he curled up and accepted being embraced.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry you're suffering—but I'm here. Your father and Alfred are here too—you can always come to us when you're scared." She watched in silence as Bruce bit his lip—a sign that he wanted to ask something. "Is something wrong, dear?"

"No. You can let go of me now, please?"

With a broken heart, she obeyed, placing the pup back in bed.

"Just... just rest, okay? You’ll be going back to school soon—you need to regulate your sleep schedule."

"Do I really have to go?"

Martha looked at her son in surprise.

"To school? Yes, of course, you have to go."

"Hm," he grumbled, settling under the covers. "Okay."

She expected more discussion, but it seemed her pup was too tired even to argue...

Or was just tired of you...

With a final farewell, Martha left the room and closed the door with a heavy sigh. She mentally prayed for her beloved son and hummed a tune as she walked back to the master bedroom—her mind was playing tricks on her again. She needed her omega to calm down before she did something reckless.

Chapter Text

It was May 5, 1980. Some time had passed since Batman and Bruce had been living in this new world, and today was their first—and hopefully last—day at school.

Don't be so pessimistic, B. Jason loved going to school; maybe it won't be as bad as we remember.

Batman refrains from responding, mainly because he would sound rude, and Bruce didn't deserve his rudeness. So he holds back with an eye roll.

Alfred parks in front of the steps of Belfry Academy, opens the driver's door, and steps out.

"Master Bruce, we've arrived. Are you ready?" The butler opens the car door and laughs at their grimace with the usual affection. At least they still had the same Alfred, so they wouldn't feel alone—although the butler was certainly younger.

"Do I really have to go, Alfred?" Bruce asks, widening his eyes and pouting. It was easy to act like a whiny kid when you actually looked like one, unlike when he acted as Brucie and looked like a pervert with a fetish for whining, which was frankly embarrassing.

He will never give in to this silly trick.

Shut up, B, I'm trying to be cute, and you're making me look bitter.

Alfred stares at their face for a moment; there's conflict in his eyes, and his face twists into an obvious grimace. Bruce remembers how soft Alfred used to be with him at this time—a time before the death of childhood, before the birth of Batman. Alfred always gave in to Bruce's puppy eyes; all he had to do was blink at the butler, and Alfred would do anything for him. Sometimes Bruce wishes Batman didn’t exist; maybe then he could have been "normal," and Alfred would still love him. But without the bat, Bruce would be alone, and everything would be worse...

What were you thinking so much about, idiot? Your silent time was enough for Alfred to hear the school bell and escape your charms!

I'm sorry, but stop yelling at me, you jerk!

"Have a good day, Mister Bruce."

They argue internally, but outwardly Bruce replies politely before stepping out of the car and dragging himself to the stairs: "Have a good day too, Alfred."

When they reach the top of the staircase, they pause for a moment to watch the limousine drive away and try to reorganize their conflicting emotions. It wasn't common for them to lose control of their emotions, but thanks to their new body, everything was wrong. Now Bruce and Batman’s emotions affected their physical form, making them seem like a glitched video game character stuck because of a bug or slow internet.

While Bruce watches the limousine leave with longing, Batman is thinking about how to escape school—and consequently their parents. Bruce doesn’t agree with this, but Batman wants to investigate, causing them to clash.

"We need to calm down, Bruce..." Batman whispers, looking at their trembling hands.

"Easier said than done, B," Bruce whispers anxiously. "We can’t abandon our parents..."

"But they’re not our parents."

"They are, but you’re stubborn..."

"I’m smart enough to—"

Some kids walk past them, giving curious glances in their direction, making them remember where they were.

"We were talking out loud..." Realizing this causes even more nervousness in both of them. It had been years since their control had wavered—they were always able to keep the body perfectly managed. Bruce never spoke when they were Batman, and Batman never spoke when they were Bruce. It was an agreement between them: one wouldn’t interfere with the other’s control unless necessary or mutually decided. But now things had changed again. Their body was conflicted in a way it hadn’t been for years. Once again, it was as if two people were trying to play with a single controller instead of sharing it.

"This can’t happen again."

"No, it can’t."

"Let’s take deep breaths, B. We’ve been emotionally affected too much in the past few days. I suggest we stay quiet for the rest of the day and think together about an approach we both agree on," Bruce proposes, trying to be sensible and pretending not to notice the curious stares around them.

"Hmm."

"Good."

They take three deep breaths, inhaling slowly, holding for five seconds, and exhaling gently. After four rounds of this, their trembling hand finally stops, and they regain movement.

"Oh my god!" A gasp sounds as they turn to see a crowd of kids watching them with wide-eyed curiosity or envy.

"Is that Bruce Wayne?" A blonde girl asks her group of friends. "I thought he was dead..."

"No, he just had an accident," another girl responds.

"Nonsense, he clearly died, and the Waynes made a copy of him in a lab..." A boy in a cap conspires, staring at them seriously.

"This is ridiculous!"

"No, it isn't!"

As the trio argues, others farther away do the same, all debating absurd and ridiculous theories about what happened to Bruce Wayne.

The day was going to be difficult—they could already predict it based on how they had become the school's main attraction just by arriving. Hopefully, though, they could still get through the day peacefully. All they had to do was ignore all the childish whispers and move forward.

"Let's cross our fingers, B," Bruce whispered softly, forcing their hand to release its firm grip on the backpack. They couldn't seem tense now, or they'd look like easy targets—and that wouldn’t be good.

As they walked toward the entrance, everyone watched them closely. And although Bruce was used to it, he wanted nothing more than to grab Batman’s cape and completely wrap himself in it.

I knew you liked my cape!

Shhh, quiet!

While walking through the hallways, Batman analyzed every possible escape route, while Bruce carefully observed each child who got too close. They could both see and hear all sorts of reactions—gasps, sighs, and even intense looks from slightly older boys and girls. Bruce was almost certain he'd heard some kids around twelve or thirteen whispering things like, "The Wayne boy will be a beautiful omega when he grows up," or "Wayne will be a powerful alpha."

I feel more and more like we misunderstood the dynamics, Bruce.

I’m willing to agree with you, B.

As Bruce Wayne and Batman, they were used to being desired—God knows how often their thighs, chest, and jaw had been praised. But now? They were just children. Their body was tiny, pale, and skinny; they looked like an innocent porcelain doll! What on earth was there to desire in them that was making preteens whisper about them being "alpha" or "omega"? And what did being an alpha or omega even mean?!

While walking, lost in thought, Batman noticed a small and nervous figure rushing toward them.

The boy's foot slipped on the school floor, and he fell backward. Batman reacted quickly, extending their good hand, grabbing the boy's arm, and pulling hard—normally, this would have prevented the fall. But normally, they weren’t so small or weak, so the action only resulted in the boy crashing directly into them.

Damn it, B! You didn’t think this through!

Hmm.

Don’t "Hmm" me!

Hmm.

Jerk.

They opened their eyes, and on top of them was a familiar boy, about their same physical age—perhaps between ten or eleven years old—with dark brown hair and matching eyes, wearing a dark blue school uniform similar to theirs.

"You..." Bruce tried to ask if the boy was okay, but he was interrupted by the boy's shrill scream.

"I'm so sorry, Wayne!" he shouted, blushing, before scrambling off them and running away.

"Sionis, you bastard! Come back here!"

Still on the ground, they carefully got up, minding their injured arm. In the distance, they saw a much bigger student running toward where the boy had come from. He looked furious, and they highly doubted he only wanted to talk to the fleeing boy.

Trip him!

Bruce yielded control, and Batman immediately sent the bully tumbling to the ground. It didn’t take much thought—now that they were more aware of their body, Batman used a more effective tactic: he simply stuck out their foot as the angry boy ran past.

The troublemaker fell face-first onto the floor with a loud thud, making everyone in the hallway stop and stare.

Wow, you just assaulted a child. Congratulations.

You told me to trip him.

And you obeyed! Come on, B, you’re supposed to be the smart one!

Hmm.

Quick, he’s getting up—make up an excuse!

"My foot slipped."

That’s the worst excuse ever, B!

Normally, Batman didn’t have to lie directly—he was terrible at it. It was much easier to let Bruce lie for him. Batman was always quiet for a reason, and that reason was his lack of social tact—something his Justice League colleagues knew very well.

The truth was, their current situation was entirely Bruce’s fault. If Bruce had been the one speaking, his voice would have sounded soft and full of feigned remorse, which would have made the bully and anyone else more forgiving. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Bruce speaking, and his tone sounded monotone and almost mocking.

"What’s your problem, brat?"

They were grabbed by the collar of their uniform, now face-to-face with the acne-covered face of a pale boy who looked a lot like Tim—but with a squarer jaw and none of the small eyes he'd inherited from his mother.

Batman took a deep breath and let Bruce take his place.

Bruce smiled like "Brucie" would and extended their tiny hand, expecting the older boy to shake it.

"I'm Bruce Thomas Wayne, nice to meet you." The hallway was silent as everyone watched the interaction. "I deeply regret that my earlier slip caused you harm. Please accept my most sincere apologies, Mister..." He waited for a name, but Drake only scoffed and shoved them onto the floor, walking away while muttering something about "stupid omegas and their nonsense."

"Rude," Bruce muttered, getting up carefully to avoid straining their already aching arm.

"This almost feels like Arkham Asylum," Batman complained, brushing off the wrinkles and dust from their uniform.

"That’s exactly where we'll end up if you don’t shut up," Bruce whispered irritably at the meddling bat. Batman went silent, and Bruce regained full control of their body, bending down to pick up their backpack from the floor.

As soon as they stood up, two more students ran past and bumped into their injured arm.

"Damn it!" Bruce groaned in frustration. "What did we do to deserve this?"

...

Okay, actually—don’t answer that. I know exactly what you did to deserve this! But what about me? What did I do to deserve this?

Me? It was you…

"Need some help finding your way, little one?" a playful voice asked. Bruce opened his eyes.

Standing before them was her. Simply one of the most beautiful women they had ever known, the one they had fallen in love with years ago—the strongest woman they had ever met, aside from Diana.

Selina Kyle.

She shimmered under Gotham’s dim sunlight, with her gorgeous chocolate-colored skin, jet-black hair tied into rasta braids, and radiant brown eyes. She wore the standard school uniform for girls: a white dress shirt, black skirt, white knee-high socks, ballet flats, and—to stand out—a cheetah-print jacket instead of the usual plain black one.

Adorable.

They thought as they looked at this tiny version of Catwoman.

Selina extended her hand, and they took it, introducing themselves.

"Bruce Wayne."

"I know, silly—everyone knows who you are," she replied with a sly smile. Her tone was what finally made them realize something was off.

"Why are you here?" Batman asked, and Bruce had to resist the urge to slap his own face.

Selina stepped back, surprised by their sudden change in tone and expression. Bruce quickly took the lead, smiling in embarrassment.

"Forgive me—that sounded" he cleared his throat, "rude. Anyway, I don’t mean to pry, but you seem different from the other girls. You’re not from here, right?"

She raised an eyebrow and looked them up and down.

"What do you think?" she challenged. They knew whatever Bruce said now would define their future friendship.

What do I say?

You’re the socially adept one between the two of us, Bruce!

I know—but what if she’s an alpha? If I compliment her like we did our Selina, she might be offended!

I don’t know—say anything!

Bruce gave his best smile.

"I think you’re way too cool to be one of the boring girls I usually meet, darling."

You just flirted with Selina!

I know!

We’re eight years old, Bruce!

I know!

A loud, high-pitched laugh echoed through the hallway, interrupting their debate.

"Oh my God, you’re adorable!"

They were hugged by the young girl and shaken as if they were a new favorite toy for a tiny cheetah cub.

Do you feel that?

Yes.

She smells nice.

Yes.

They relaxed in the arms of their favorite person. It had been a long time since they needed this. Alfred was great, but far too formal for hugs—especially since they were avoiding contact with their own parents. So being embraced by someone they genuinely liked and missed felt amazing.

Chapter Text

“So, little one, where are you going?”

“...”

B, where are we going?

Hm.

What do you mean you don't know either!?

Hm.

Bruce rolled his eyes and dug through the pockets of his uniform. He found some loose lint, a chewing gum wrapper, and finally the paper with his schedule. They looked at the schedule with more disdain than they'd like to admit and finally replied.

“English class. And you?”

Selina’s eyes sparkled, and he barely had time to react before she shouted excitedly, “Me too! We must have the same schedule! Come on, I’ll take you to class!” she said before just grabbing him and pulling him by the hand.

Ugh, human contact.

Shut up, B. It's just Selina.

I know, but don't you think something strange is going on with her?

They looked up a bit—Selina was a few centimeters taller than them, and her clothes looked well cared for and new, which should’ve been odd since, as far as they knew, Selina was poor at that age...

I’m not talking about her appearance, dummy!

Don’t be rude, B!

I mean the way she’s acting with us.

Bruce frowned, confused, and almost tripped. Thankfully, Selina’s grip on his wrist kept him from falling.

“You okay, little one?” Selina asked with a sweet smile and gentle voice.

“...” Bruce was starting to understand what Batman had been trying to say, but he couldn’t let Selina suspect anything, so he smiled. “I’m fine, thanks.”

She’s up to something.

No kidding, genius!

I forgot how she acted in the past! How was I supposed to know she wasn’t always the woman we knew!?

Just don’t let your guard down, Bruce. Selina’s only this friendly with people she’s just met when she wants something. Stay alert.

Bruce nodded, adopting a more serious demeanor, and continued to let Selina drag him through the hallways.

They were the first to arrive in the classroom — that was already the first red flag for them. Why would Selina bring them to class before the bell? Was she planning something, or was it just a coincidence no one else had arrived yet?

Don’t start getting paranoid, B. We need to think clearly. Maybe we’re just early.

Tell me one time something ever happened to us by chance.

…

That’s what I thought. Quickly, sit at the front!

Bruce looked around. Selina had chosen a seat in the back. The classroom was too large — if they sat in the front, there were too many people who could sneak up on them!

B…

Already thought of that, Bruce. Sit in the front — we’re not fit for combat, we have to rely on the teachers’ protection.

Bruce pulled a bitter face as the bell rang again and some students finally began to arrive. With one last look at Selina, he quickly moved to the desk closest to the teacher’s and sat down.

He hated the idea of relying on others for protection, especially because he knew how little Gotham teachers cared about their students. But B seemed to have a plan, and Bruce had never had to doubt B before.

Within a few minutes, the room filled with children, and soon after, the teacher walked in. She was tall and thin, wearing a formal uniform with a long skirt and button-up blouse — she'd be the perfect actress to play Petunia Dursley in the Harry Potter films.

At least she doesn't look like Umbridge — or we’d officially be screwed, right B?

Bruce tried to joke, attempting to stay relaxed, but unfortunately, as was typical of Batman, he had vanished — retreated into the deepest corner of their complex mind, likely busy figuring out the next move.

During English class, Bruce meditated and doodled some silly sketches of himself and Batman on his notebook paper. In his own dimension, he’d never do such a thing — he’d never risk exposing his identity over some childish drawing. But now? Now Batman didn’t exist. In fact, hardly any vigilantes or superheroes existed. If his memory was right, superheroes only came into the public eye after Superman’s first official media appearance.

Superman… Clark…

Bruce missed his friend. Ever since Alfred died and Selina left him at the altar, Bruce had been alone. His kids hardly visited, and Batman was his only companion. Sometimes Clark and Barbara would stop by the manor to check in on them, but Barbara was always too busy, and Clark had a wife and son to care for. His visits became rare after Jon Kent was born…

He sighed and let his thoughts drift to the silly drawings in his notebook.

He’d drawn Batman riding a unicorn and himself riding a dinosaur.

He missed his dinosaur...

Chapter Text

Selina, on the other hand, kept thinking about Bruce. It had been some time since Oswald, Gotham’s latest criminal, had quietly taken over the streets, looking for ways to surpass Carmine Falcone. Unfortunately for Selina and her friends, that meant being at the mercy of men.

Madame Maria’s orphanage for girls was never a good place—few places in Gotham were—but things had gotten worse after Oswald bought it to open one of his “businesses.”
What was once a shelter for orphaned girls had now become a nightclub that welcomed the worst kind of men every night. The children who used to live there either ran away or became the club’s prostitutes.

Running away sounds like a good idea in theory, but it was a thousand times “safer” to be behind four walls with some form of sustenance than out on Gotham’s streets, where—if you weren’t kidnapped and trafficked to even worse places—you’d end up hooked on drugs and die discarded in some alley dumpster.

Selina would hardly leave her “job” to risk becoming another corpse on Gotham’s streets. She and Oswald worked reasonably well together: she supplied him with a few omegas, and in return, he left her alone. She hoped to negotiate for all the other girls at the orphanage, but she knew Oswald would never agree, so Selina had to prioritize herself. That’s what she was doing now.

A few days ago, the boy from the city’s richest family had suffered an accident. Delivering him to Oswald was the best bet Selina could make. With the Wayne family’s money, Oswald could quickly rise through the ranks of crime. That was the deal that brought her to where she was now. Oswald enrolled her in Bruce’s school, dressed her up, and invented a convincing backstory.

Selina Kyle, daughter of two major entrepreneurs from Africa. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, just because she had dark skin didn’t mean she was African—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that all those rich idiots didn’t suspect she wasn’t one of them, and therefore wouldn’t suspect her when she kidnapped little Bruce.

The boy was strange. His expressions changed quickly, he talked to himself, seemed clumsy, and knowing the history of the alpha in his pack, Selina wouldn’t be surprised if he was clinically insane or something like that. He was shorter than her, with straight black hair he kept perfectly neat. There were nearly healed scratches on his neck, below his left eye, and a smaller one on his forehead. He still wore a sling and cast on his left arm.

He had icy blue eyes and a face so adorable and unique that Selina thought she might melt. In other words, he was the perfect victim—and Selina’s ticket to a better life. And when the chance to help him appeared, Selina grabbed it in the blink of an eye.

Both were only pulled from their thoughts when a new student walked in, ten minutes late.
Mr. Louis looked at the boy, perplexed.
“Can I help you?” the gray-haired teacher asked.
“Yes, I was told I’d be in this class,” the new student, a red-haired boy, replied.
“Well, what’s your name?”
“Thomas. Thomas Elliot.”

Oh great, this school is basically a convention of figures from the past I never wanted to see again.
Shut up, B, this is a good thing.
How could anything about this possibly be good?
Well… I mean, they’re still just kids, right? We can stop them from becoming villains!
… you’re way too optimistic.

They were interrupted again by the teacher, who seemed uninterested in the student but needed a few answers to move on with the lesson.
“Mr. Elliot, can you explain why you’re late?”
“My parents had to stop by their company. There were some unexpected issues and it took longer than planned, so I had to walk to school,” he replied, indifferent, as if he were already used to it—which Bruce could understand. After all, many parents didn’t have time for their children because they were busy. But it was still neglectful to let a ten-year-old walk alone through Gotham’s streets, especially with Tommy being an Elliot!

“I see. Just go take a seat,” the teacher gestured for Tommy to enter. Tommy nodded and looked around the room. He saw an empty spot at the table where they were sitting and decided to sit there.
“Hey Bruce,” he greeted softly, then turned to face the teacher, pretending to pay attention. “I heard about your accident. Are you feeling better?”

…
Damn.
Yes.
He already knows us. How should we act?
I don’t know! Let’s keep pretending we have amnesia!
Then go on, he’s staring at us!

Bruce pulled himself together, cleared his throat, and smiled gently.
“I’m sorry, Thomas, right?” The other boy nodded, looking confused.
“I hit my head during the fall and it left my thoughts and memories a bit scrambled. If you don’t mind, after class I’d love for you to tell me more about our friendship. I’m looking forward to getting to know you again.”

The silence and Tommy’s wide eyes were the only response Bruce received from his former childhood friend—and longtime enemy of Batman.

Chapter Text

When English class ended, they quickly left the room. Batman was convinced Selina had bad intentions, and Bruce had a bad feeling about Tommy. Both agreed to stay as far away as possible.
Now they were heading down toward their locker. It took a bit longer than usual since Bruce didn’t remember the layout of the building, and Batman wasn’t helping—he was thinking out loud about his paranoias and being incredibly annoying about what they needed to do.
In other words, Bruce had a terrible headache and wanted to yell at the bat out loud, but was forced to pretend everything was fine, smiling and waving at anyone who looked his way.

Locker number 506 was theirs. It was a simple locker like the others, with the only difference being the scribbles on the metal—insults like: “Omega whore,” “Alpha lunatic,” or even “Demented Wayne.”
Wow.
Yeah.
When Jason complained about kids being cruel, I didn’t expect them to be so uncreative too.

Bruce rolled his eyes and opened the locker.
Seriously, B, it’s the lack of creativity that bothers you? We’re eight years old…
Actually, we’re seven…

He took a deep breath and stopped himself from facepalming. Batman could be a pain sometimes.
As I was saying, we’re almost eight, and our locker was vandalized with rude and inappropriate words!

In his mind, the bat laughed, which only irritated Bruce more. Sometimes he just wished he could put his friend in a box and keep him quiet for a second.

Come on, Bruce, don’t be a Victorian lady. You and I both know being called a “whore” isn’t even close to our worst nickname.

I know, idiot, and I wouldn’t care under other circumstances. But those words were written for a seven-year-old! What happened to fighting bullying?
…
…
You know that doesn’t exist yet, right?
Huh?

“Hey Bruce!” Tommy called out, suddenly appearing—probably trying to surprise him.

Bruce was so startled by the sudden appearance that he instinctively gave control to the bat. Luckily, the abrupt switch wasn’t enough to make Batman attack Tommy.

Shit! Where did he come from?
The hallway.
I know, idiot! It was a rhetorical question!
Then why—

“Your smell is funny, you know?”

Batman stared at the other boy in confusion. Was he calling them smelly?

Did you remember to put on deodorant before leaving?

Bruce cringed internally at his friend’s question. He couldn’t say for sure what he did that morning. Honestly, they rarely did anything outside their routine, so Bruce could only assume he had put on deodorant—but now he wasn’t so sure.

Batman rolled his eyes and decided to get straight to the point.
“Are you calling me smelly?”

Tommy was startled, then started laughing until he cried. Batman didn’t react outwardly, but felt irritated by the lack of a quick answer.
“Oh God, Bruce, you’re hilarious, buddy.” Tommy wiped his tears and threw an arm around the younger boy’s shoulder.

Batman quickly handed control back to Bruce and stayed lurking in their minds, just listening to the conversation but disconnecting from physical sensations.

“See, it happened again!” Tommy pointed excitedly, as if he’d discovered something big.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Tommy. Could you explain, please?” Bruce asked with his best cute smile. He was used to having a man or woman hanging off his arm, but they were usually perfumed or at least acceptable in terms of smell. Thomas, however, had a sour scent—not entirely bad, but not good either. It was very strange.

“Okay, okay, no memories, got it. So, I don’t know how much you remember from our last biology lecture, but omegas and alphas have strong and distinct smells. I, for example, am an alpha—just like my dad and grandpa—so my scent is strong and irresistible.”

Bruce and Batman couldn’t disagree more with that statement. Their noses were burning just from being near Tommy. It was almost the same sensation as being close to Dr. Hugo.

“Meanwhile, omegas usually have softer, sweeter scents—something wonderful, made to please their alphas.” Tommy glanced at Bruce and sniffed dramatically, making him recoil a bit. “Like I said, alphas and omegas smell differently, and usually, until your secondary gender presents itself for the first time…”
What the hell is he talking about?
Shut up, I’m trying to listen!
“…the person tends to smell weak and insignificant. You’re only eight…”
We’re seven!
“I’m seven.”

Tommy ignored them.
“Usually your gender shows up between ten and twelve years old—or at least your scent starts to appear around that age. But for some reason, your scent has been much stronger since you arrived.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Bruce asked, worried. He hadn’t fully understood this whole alpha, omega, secondary gender thing, but something told him they wouldn’t like what they were about to hear.

Tommy stared at them seriously. Both were now frozen in the hallway, not blinking. Bruce felt tense and ridiculous at the same time.
“Well, actually, I have no idea.”
“Huh?”

Tommy laughed at Bruce and kept walking, dragging his friend along by the arm.
“I dunno, buddy. We only had one lecture about it before parents started protesting against sex ed. But who knows, we’ll have to wait until the next lunar cycle or something. Watch out for strong abdominal pain and blood… I’m pretty sure there was blood involved…”

The boy kept walking and rambling, but neither Bruce nor the bat were listening anymore.
B…
I don’t think…
B, we’re werewolves!
Bruce, calm down. I don’t think we—
Lunar cycle, pain, blood—damn it, B, that’s what all this alpha and omega stuff means, we—
Bruce! Take a deep breath, you idiot! You’re giving us a panic attack!

Bruce was really making things worse at that moment. His vision was blurring, his breathing was speeding up, and he was almost sure Tommy was desperately trying to get Bruce to stop hyperventilating.
Breathe with me, Bruce. We’re not werewolves…
How can you be sure?
First, because that’s a ridiculous idea!
You’re ridiculous, Mr. “Bat man.”
Shut up and listen to me. I think Tommy wasn’t talking about werewolves, or that alpha and omega have anything to do with wolves in general…
But what about everything they’ve told us so far? Calling us pups, talking about scents, dominance and submission, talking about packs! B, this is werewolf stuff!
Bruce…
What are we going to do if everyone’s a werewolf? How are we going to protect Gotham during the full moon? And the risks? Do we have to be chained up somewhere so we don’t hurt anyone? And if we leave the planet? Would the moon still affect us or would it be worse if other moons influenced us—
Bruce!
What?
Shut up. We’re not werewolves. We just have a uterus.
…
…
“Bruce!? Oh my god, help, he fainted!”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Batman’s head was hurting—he’d probably hit it when he fainted. Batman needed to take some medicine… oh right, he couldn’t. Damn it, he’d forgotten they were kids again.

“Damn.”

“Bruce!” Thomas’s voice startled him, nearly making the bat jump off the infirmary bed he was lying on. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Thomas was fast and managed to catch Batman before he fell.
“Oh, my pup, my lovely pup, I was so worried!”

Questions started pouring out of Thomas, but Batman couldn’t hear them. He was still disoriented from waking up and the sudden hug. Thankfully, Alfred appeared to save him.

“Master Wayne,” he called with the same British accent the bat had always loved, the only difference being the absence of the raspy tone that came with the butler’s old age.
“I know it’s difficult, but I suggest you release the young master—he’s looking paler by the second.”

Thomas quickly stepped back, his face covered in tears, apologizing profusely. But Batman wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the butler.

Batman was so tired, so overwhelmed by everything that had happened lately. He usually relied on Bruce for support, but his friend wasn’t doing any better, which meant all the weight of responsibility fell on Batman’s shoulders.

He hadn’t interacted with the family’s butler before. They’d agreed it was dangerous to switch places while at home. Not that he cared—Thomas and Martha weren’t his parents. But… Alfred was. And he missed him so much.

“Al…” the bat whispered softly, not wanting to show his vulnerability so openly.

He knew he’d failed when both men turned to him with worried expressions.

“Young master, are you alright?”

Are we alright?

No answer. Bruce was out cold, probably still recovering from all the stress he’d endured.

“No…” A sob escaped his throat. Thomas stepped forward, but Batman didn’t want him! He wanted his father! He wanted Alfred!
“No!”

Thomas backed away, surprised and looking devastated, but Batman didn’t care. He didn’t care! That man wasn’t his father, and he didn’t want to be hugged by him. Why was it so hard for everyone to understand that? Why did they keep invading his personal space? Why was everyone being so difficult on purpose?

“…master.” Someone’s voice was calling, but it sounded so far away.

Batman wasn’t used to having panic attacks. He was always prepared for everything! But lately, things had been spiraling out of control, and he felt so small and useless.

Of course, Bruce’s own breakdowns weren’t helping Batman stay calm. It was already hard enough sharing the same body, but it got worse when they started sharing emotions with each other. Not all emotions—only the strongest ones, like rage, love… or fear, in this case.

A warm hand gripped his shoulder, and finally, he could breathe again.

Where were they again?

“Young master, breathe. You’re alright.”

“Alfred!” He jumped into the butler’s arms, relieved not to be alone anymore. It was awful when Bruce disappeared. Being alone had always been a habit for Batman, but he was never truly alone. He and Bruce were like conjoined twins—living without the other’s presence was simply agonizing and certainly didn’t help either of them stay calm.

What was Bruce’s breakdown about again?

A soft scent of tea and freshly baked cookies filled his nose. It came from Alfred’s neck and was incredibly soothing to the bat, who quickly nestled into the butler’s embrace.

“Young master!” The voice sounded almost scandalized, as if what he’d done was wrong. Still, Alfred didn’t push him away—he simply turned to look at Thomas, who was now sobbing like a wounded animal…

Oh…

OH!

“Alfred! Do I have a uterus!?” The scream surprised everyone. In fact, even the bat was shocked by his own reaction—he never screamed. That was Bruce’s thing. Even when Jason died, Batman didn’t scream. He retreated deep into their mind and suppressed all his rage and desire to kill the Joker, while Bruce stayed where he was, holding their son’s body and screaming his pain for all to hear.

“Master Bruce, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but…” Alfred began, but the bat didn’t wait for him to finish and started explaining.

“We were confused about this whole alpha, omega, and beta thing. We understood some parts, but not everything! So we asked Tommy, but he wasn’t explaining it properly, so we…” He paused, took a deep breath, and regained some control.
“Sorry. As I was saying: I misinterpreted some of the information, and that caused me to faint from stress. But now I think I really understand, and I need answers to confirm my theories.”

Silence. Looking up, he could identify distinct expressions—first, calm and understanding; second, shock and confusion. No surprise there—Alfred was the calm one in this situation.

“Well, young master, first I want to thank you for your kindness in explaining what happened.” Batman nodded patiently, Alfred’s voice easily calming him.
“Secondly, to answer your previous question: yes, you most likely have a uterus, but…”

“Oh my god…” He regretted asking.
“I think I’m going to be sick…”

Alfred gripped his shoulder firmly, making him look at him.

“Don’t be so hasty, young master. Let me finish.” He ordered sternly, the same tone the older man always used when Bruce and he messed up or sounded rude.

The bat obeyed, took a deep breath, and nodded to show he was listening now.

“Now, pay attention. Yes, you may have a uterus, but we’re not sure. You have strong alpha genes too, not just omega ones. And still, you could be a beta. There’s no way to know yet, but you’re too young to worry about that.”

That makes no sense! He wanted to scream, but he wasn’t rude, so he waited for Alfred to finish his lecture before speaking.

“And about your collapse—tell me, were you that scared just by the thought of being an omega?”

Behind the butler, Thomas looked even more miserable than before, almost ashamed. Batman was too confused to care about the man right now.

“I was a little scared, yes. I mean, how would that even work? I’ve used the bathroom before, and I’m sure I have a penis!”

Silence again, and now the tension vanished, replaced by laughter from both adults.

“Oh, pup, is that what worried you?” Thomas looked so relieved that the bat felt silly for asking.

The older Wayne approached the bed gently so as not to startle him, then sat down and placed his hands on his lap to show his son he didn’t plan to touch him.

“Omegas have a uterus regardless of their primary gender, dear. Whether they’re men or women. However, it takes time for that organ to fully form in our bodies, which is why it’s not always possible to know someone’s secondary gender until their first heat.”

“And what’s a heat? Do you mean menstruation or animal-like heat? Will I want sex during my heat?” The question made Alfred choke on air and blush, looking away, but Thomas laughed and explained.

“An omega’s first heat is just cramps, heat, lots of sweating, and mood swings. But if the omega already has a partner nearby, then yes—in that case, you’ll desire sex. That’s why it’s very important to be aware of your heat cycles. A lone omega in heat can be an easy target for alphas. That’s why we omegas always surround ourselves with our pack for protection—or with our pups, to protect them.”

“And what happens if I’m an alpha and get close to an omega in heat? Will I attack them by instinct?” he asked, calmer now but still worried.

“Only if you’re a cruel alpha, dear. The media spreads the idea that alphas can’t control themselves around omegas in heat, but that’s a lie. It’s just a stupid excuse used by horrible alphas to defend themselves against rape accusations.”

That was the first time Batman saw Thomas resemble the real Thomas Wayne he knew—a just and strong man, full of will and rage against injustice!

“That’s stupid! I’d never be that kind of alpha!” It sounded childish, but Batman had no other way to express his anger at such injustice.

Thomas and Alfred smiled.

“Yes, dear, I don’t think you’d be that kind of alpha. But even if you’re an omega, don’t worry. Your mother and I are fighting for omegas to have rights and freedom. We hope you grow up in a more evolved society before your secondary gender presents itself.”

The bat finally managed to sigh in relief. Finally, some things were starting to make sense.

Basically, omegas were transgender men, alphas were transgender women, and betas were the heterosexuals, so to speak. Right, right—they could survive as omegas, although menstruation would be uncomfortable at first, and it would be even more dangerous for them to go out on patrol, but…

Oh no.

He turned to Thomas and stood on the bed to be at eye level with the older man.

“Where do the babies come out from…”

Thomas blushed and laughed.

“The same place they go in, dear—through the…”

Batman jumped off the bed and ran to the infirmary bathroom. He didn’t think he could survive childbirth if the baby came out of his butt.

He threw up and fainted. Bruce would have to deal with this crap alone now.

Chapter Text

“Okay, so you're saying we have a vagina?” Bruce asked for the second time. They had returned home after the last fainting episode, and only Bruce was conscious for this conversation. He was having a hard time understanding things the Bat had already explained to him before.

“Yes, dear. If you're an omega, you’ll have a vagina,” his father replied patiently. Behind him, his mother and Alfred were quietly laughing, while Thomas just looked calm and happy to be talking to Bruce.

“But I have a penis?” It wasn’t a question. Bruce had used the bathroom many times and was sure he had a male genital organ.

Do you think our penis will fall off if we’re an omega?

…

…

Go back to sleep, B. You’re terrible company for important conversations like this.

He refocused on the physical conversation. Luckily, his father wasn’t speaking at the moment when he and the Bat were arguing.

“No, no, pup, your penis won’t fall off.”

Damn it, were we talking out loud again?

“Actually, male omegas are usually born with male genitalia. However, when they reach a certain age and present as omegas, a slit opens below their member, usually symbolizing that their uterus is fully formed.” Bruce nodded. It still didn’t make much sense to him, but it was a huge relief to know he wouldn’t just wake up one day and find his penis had fallen off.

“And what about female alphas, like Mom?”

Martha approached Thomas and hugged her husband from behind as she began to explain that part of the biology.

“We female alphas are born only with a vagina. But, just like male omegas, there comes a point in our lives when a penis starts to emerge from inside our bodies and grows outward.”

“So everyone has both a penis and a vagina? What’s the difference between an alpha and an omega if everyone has both sexes?”

Alfred stepped forward to explain this time.

“Look, Master Bruce, your mother no longer has female genitalia. When alpha women present as alphas, their previous genitals disappear, replaced by their new sexual organ. Now, male omegas do have both genitals. If they’re female omegas, then they’ll only have the genitalia they were born with. The same goes for male alphas and betas.”

They left Bruce in silence for a moment. He needed to process all this information before saying anything.

Inside his mind, he and the Bat were running around like maniacs, trying to file each new piece of biological data into a mental folder. They had a small fight over where to store these facts—Bruce wanted to put them in their existing anatomy folder, but Batman thought it was wrong to mix such different information in an already established folder.

When they returned to consciousness, it was already nighttime, and their parents had put them to bed—something Bruce could only be grateful for, since he still couldn’t move from where he was. That was rare for them. Bruce and Batman were usually in perfect sync. Few things shook them significantly, but these last few months had been incredibly stressful—which was ironic, considering they were used to living a very stressful life.

“Do you think we’ll have to stay here much longer, B?”

“…”

They took a deep breath, trying to realign and regain control of the body again.

“I think we need help.”

Bruce tried to laugh, but he was still paralyzed. It was like trying to play a video game—you try to move your character forward or backward, but someone disconnected your controller, and all your character can do is wait for someone to plug it back in.

“Wow, the great Bat admitted he needs help?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, okay. But… who are we going to ask for help? We’re alone…”

“…”

The Bat took a deep breath—or tried to. It was a bit claustrophobic when they were like that, both trapped in their own mind while the body survived on autopilot.

“We have to leave.”

“We can’t abandon our parents.”

“They’re not our parents.”

“But they’re the parents of this body, B! How would you feel if someone possessed one of our boys and took them away?”

“… I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I saw the boys. I don’t think I’d even know if they were gone… because they already are.”

That hurt. Bruce hated when Batman said things like that.

“We’re not Thomas and Martha’s pup anymore, Bruce. We’re adults. We’re older than Alfred, for God’s sake!”

“I know…”

“Then we need to leave. We have to plan an escape and look for help as soon as possible.”

One of their fingers twitched—but that was it. They still couldn’t move, but it was a start.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Maybe look for Zatanna or…”

“Zee is younger than us.”

“Then we’ll go to Zatara. He’ll know what to do.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t ‘Hmm’ me, Bruce!”

“I was just thinking… what about our… what about Martha and Thomas?”

“What about them?”

“We can’t let them die!”

“And why would they die, idiot? Without you here they don’t…”

The room went silent for the first time since they woke up. Batman hated this universe. He hated how it made them argue so much, how it made them suffer even more because of the past.

His body relaxed, and the Bat regained control. It was a brief relief, because unfortunately, Bruce had isolated himself from Batman again, leaving the Bat alone once more.

A heavy, tired sigh escaped his lips. Batman knew he’d been cruel to Bruce. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault their parents had died. It had taken years to convince Bruce of that, and now he himself had accused his friend of being responsible.

He really hated this universe.

Time to start working on leaving as soon as possible.

Batman threw the covers off and got out of bed. His priority now was to distance himself from the Waynes as quickly as possible without making it look intentional.

That would be the easy part—he just needed to get kidnapped. The problem now was remembering someone with enough power and interest to kidnap Bruce Wayne at this age. Penguin was out of the question—the Bat was pretty sure Oswald wasn’t a crime boss yet. So he’d have to turn to Falcone. But how could he draw enough attention to be considered easy prey?

Well, he’d have to figure that out tomorrow. Maybe at school he could sneak out after the first class and make a quick run through Gotham’s worst neighborhoods.

For now, Batman needed to pack a bag and set aside some money. With luck, his parents’ safe code was the same as in his universe.

Chapter Text

“Goodbye, Alfred,” Batman said, hugging his father. If everything went according to plan—even if they didn’t get kidnapped today—Batman still wanted to enjoy every remaining moment he had with Alfred before he had to leave and never see his father again.

“Have a good day, Master Bruce.” The hug was returned gently and warmly, but Alfred let go as quickly as he could. Despite the worried look on his face as they parted, the butler said nothing.

The bat remained standing on the stairs, watching the car drive away until Alfred disappeared from view. He stood there staring at the street until the school bell rang.

He knew he needed to go to his first class, to show up at school so no one would raise alarms before he could escape—but he couldn’t. He was frozen, and for the first time in years, he was afraid.

Bruce hadn’t spoken to him since last night, leaving the bat alone in the worst hell a man could know: his own restless mind. He spent the night sneaking around the house, hiding money in his school bag, stashing two changes of clothes and some canned food. He made two emergency bags, just in case Alfred or the Waynes found the first and undid his work. Usually, making backup plans was calming for him—Bruce always encouraged it to help them find some inner peace and rest. But without Bruce around, Batman couldn’t rest or feel peace.

He was alone. Not the kind of alone they felt after losing Jason—back then, they still had Alfred, and later, Tim. But now? Now he was alone in every way. No Bruce, no Alfred, no Jason or Dick, no Tim or Damian. Just… just alone, the way he never liked to be.

A tired sigh escaped him. He gripped the strap of his bag tighter and turned to enter the school—only to have a sack thrown over his head.

What’s happening? How did someone get close to me without me noticing?

The strong smell of the sack disoriented him. Someone had probably soaked the fabric with some kind of drug. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem—their body was trained to resist drugs like that. But in this universe, they were just a child. Damn it!

Batman passed out without even being able to react.

They had been kidnapped—probably part of the bat’s plan, that idiot.

Now Bruce was there, pretending to be unconscious in an unfamiliar car, forced to endure the strong, disgusting smell of vomit and sweat, probably from previous victims.

Honestly, what was Batman thinking? Getting kidnapped was the worst possible plan! They didn’t even have a way to defend themselves, for God’s sake!

Bruce held back a growl of frustration. He and Batman had enjoyed this new change where they could growl and purr—it was a pleasant and fun sensation for them—but now it was a huge inconvenience. He needed to keep pretending to be unconscious and stay calm and emotionless so he wouldn’t growl and blow his cover.

Screw it. Focus and keep your breathing steady, Bruce. You can do this.

He thought to himself and forced himself to follow his own advice. Thankfully, he managed to stay calm for a while, but his frustration returned full force when the car suddenly stopped, sending his small body crashing against the trunk door.

“Damn it!” he cursed quietly as his weight landed on his casted arm. Then he bit his lip and prayed no one had heard his voice.

“Hello, little one,” a muffled voice came from outside. It was familiar, but sounded strange—younger.
“Did you bring my delivery?”

For a few moments, Bruce couldn’t hear anything, but it wasn’t necessary. In seconds, the trunk opened and he shut his eyes.

“Here he is, Mr. Cobblepot.”

I know that voice!

He opened his eyes before he could even think. The light hurt his vision, but he had to look—he had to see for himself.

“Selina?”

The young woman had a fake smile on her face, but it faltered when she heard him call her. There was guilt in her eyes, but no regret. Something had happened—Bruce was sure of it. Selina was many things, but above all, a survivor, and never truly cruel. He couldn’t blame his friend for this. Whatever deal she had with Oswald, it was for her own survival.

“Step aside,” the man ordered, pushing Selina away from the car. When he came into Bruce’s view, he had confirmation—that was the Penguin.

“Ah, look at you.”

Bruce bared his teeth when Oswald cooed and reached out toward him. As an adult, that would’ve been terrifying to anyone watching, but as a child, it only made everyone laugh at him.

“What an adorable pup, Selina. Well done, dear.”

Bruce was lifted by his armpits, held up in front of Oswald’s ugly face like a kitten.

“Very good work, indeed.” The voice lost its earlier tone, taking on a more serious façade. Penguin nodded to one of his goons—the tall one with the dumb face—and Bruce was handed off to another man. He squirmed and growled, trying to break free, but that only made everyone mock him more.

“Take him to my office. We’ll keep him there until someone notices he’s missing.”

“Yes, boss.” The goon holding Bruce replied and turned to follow Penguin’s orders. But Selina stepped in front of him, arms crossed stubbornly.

For a moment, Bruce thought his friend had a plan—something to trick Penguin and escape together. But one sentence reminded him this wasn’t his universe, and that wasn’t his friend.

“Hold on there, big guy. What about my payment?” she demanded, hands in the pockets of her cheetah-print jacket. She was probably holding a knife—or even a gun. With Selina, you never know.

The goons laughed at her boldness, but Penguin just smiled and reached out to ruffle her hair. From the way she didn’t flinch, Bruce guessed she was used to that surprising gesture of affection.

“Follow me, little one. I’m a man of my word, and what I say is law. You’ll get your money.”

“And my ticket out of the country.”

“And your ticket, of course. Tell me where you want to go, and I’ll buy it for you right away.” It was a promise. Penguin might be a jerk, coward, and idiot, but he was a businessman—and he always kept his end of the deal. That was admirable, unfortunately used to boost his reputation in the crime world.

Selina smiled, looking slightly more relieved than before, but still alert, shoulders tense. She was ready to dodge and run if needed.

“Shall we?” Oswald gestured dramatically toward the door. There was no umbrella in his hand, and he didn’t limp—probably why he wasn’t called Penguin yet.

Well, when Batman comes back, we’ll make sure that idiot ends up limping.

It was a cruel thought, but Bruce didn’t care. He was frustrated and upset. All he wanted was for this whole mess to end and to return home, where he lived alone and could scream for Clark if he needed help.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne was a very strange little boy.
That was Selina’s only thought as she followed Oswald and his henchmen through the hallways of what used to be her orphanage.
Unlike all the other children Selina had met, Bruce didn’t seem scared at all—in fact, he looked rather calm, if not downright irritated.
It wasn’t the expression she expected to see on a spoiled, overprotected kid. Actually, it resembled the look she’d seen on some cops before—not the corrupt ones, but the rare kind, the truly good ones. Soldiers who’d known war and death, not idiots who only knew money and drugs.

“Come in, darling,” Oswald gestured like a knight toward the open door of his office, the same office that once belonged to Madame Maria, an old hag who ran the orphanage.
Selina stepped forward but hesitated when she saw the henchmen taking Bruce away down the opposite corridor.
Part of her wanted to ask about the boy’s fate, but she stayed strong and swallowed the question. Bruce was no longer her problem.

She entered and walked up to Oswald’s desk. The office wasn’t impressive—not yet—but something told Selina that one day this place would be luxurious beyond compare, whether thanks to all the money Oswald would squeeze from the Waynes or from his “young merchandise sales.”

“I must admit, little one, I didn’t expect you to pull off this job as well as you did.”
There was a mocking tone in the older man’s voice. Normally, that would be enough to send shivers down any pup’s spine, but Selina didn’t flinch.
Oswald himself wasn’t a threat to her. As a beta, Selina wasn’t affected by Oswald’s omega pheromones, so he couldn’t control her.

He sat behind his desk and turned the key to one of the drawers.
“As promised,” he said, placing a thick envelope on the desk. “Ten thousand dollars.”

Selina waited for the omega to pull his hands away from her reward before stepping forward. She grabbed the envelope and tore it open to check the bills and their authenticity.

“They’re real bills, darling. I wouldn’t deceive you. I’m an omega of my word.”
His laugh sounded like a choking bird. Selina felt disgusted by the foolish man, but also a strange, unfortunate fondness.
Beta or not, she was still a pup, and her instincts craved the validation and company of an adult omega to nurture her.

“And what about my ticket?” she asked, slipping the envelope into her cheetah-print jacket.

“Just choose where you want to go, and I’ll send you out of the country with fake documents and a good story so you can live on your own until you’re sixteen without worrying about child services.”

Oswald seemed to be waiting for something else—probably hoping for regret or hesitation on her part. But she didn’t back down.

“Perfect.”

He laughed again, strangely proud.
“You know, girl, you’ve been like a daughter to me these past few months. I never thought I’d be proud of anyone but myself, but you? You’ve earned it.”

Her chest warmed at that, but she didn’t show how much those words affected her.
She only needed her ticket, and then she could leave.

“I’ve already decided. I want to go to Paris. I’ve learned the basics of French from my time at Gotham High. I’ll manage just fine over there.”

“And your school? Do you know which one you’ll attend?”

“Not yet, but I’ll find a maid to handle enrollment and other matters for me. I don’t need you to do anything else besides buying the ticket.”

Oswald smiled and nodded.
“Very well. Go pack your bag. You’ll be heading to the airport in the morning. I strongly suggest you travel light—it’s not wise to walk around Gotham with too many belongings.”

“I know. I was born here,” she rolled her eyes. “Still, thanks for the tip. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Cobblepot.”

They exchanged a respectful nod, and Selina left the omega’s office.
Something in her chest wanted to go after the little boy she’d condemned to a terrible life, but her rational mind refused to search for him.
She knew that if she saw those big blue eyes looking at her with hope, she’d break her part of the deal with Oswald and lose her future forever.

I’m sorry, Bruce. I’ll pray for your life once I’m in Paris enjoying mine.

She didn’t have many clothes, not even a rolling suitcase, but she had a shoulder bag. It was old and worn, but it would do.
That bag had been used during her escape—the day she arrived at the orphanage after deciding once and for all that she would change her life, one way or another.

Selina was only six at the time, small and skinny, barely able to carry the bag.
But she was better now. She was already nine, almost ten.
She was tall, and thanks to the small thefts she committed, she was a bit more nourished than before.
Unlike years ago, Selina no longer had to be afraid.
She had survived—and she would keep surviving.

“Ugh!”
A groan echoed through the thin walls.
Ever since Oswald bought the orphanage, hearing children—especially omegas—cry out in pain had become extremely common.
But that groan didn’t sound like a child.

“You bastard!”
“Brat!”

More and more shouting followed, along with chairs falling and glass breaking.
Selina didn’t care. She was used to those sounds of violence, and honestly, she didn’t care at all about what was happening outside her room.

She needed to pack her bag—and that’s what she would do.

All the chaos outside continued as she folded her clothes to fit inside the bag.
They were few, but she planned to have many more once she started living in Paris!

It would be a dream.
She could already imagine herself in designer clothes, wearing beautiful dresses, doing amazing hairstyles, and best of all—getting a cat!

Yes, she was very excited about her future.
And for the first time, she was daring to hope for a better life.
Of course, she knew she’d have to save money and find a way to maintain her façade as a rich girl.
She couldn’t let adults drag her into another orphanage, after all.

“Damn it!”
Someone—probably one of the men who visited at night—slammed against her door.
She didn’t care.
There were some aggressive young omegas in the orphanage.
They were beautiful, but not very smart.
I mean, it certainly wasn’t smart of them to try and fight against much bigger and stronger alphas.

With all her clothes folded and organized in her bag, Selina opened her wardrobe to grab the outfit she’d wear tomorrow.
Unlike the others, which were simple and worn, this one was special.
Selina had stolen it from a store in Gotham’s rich district.

It was a dream—everything she’d ever wanted in an outfit.

The shirt was simple, with no print or details, but the fabric felt amazing to wear.
The leggings were black and fit her body perfectly, the material so thin she felt naked despite being dressed.
There was also a small pair of fingerless gloves and, of course, a beautiful jacket with little leopard spots!

Selina couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
She would finally wear that gorgeous outfit and walk toward her future in Paris, leaving Gotham and all its nightmares behind.

She grabbed the bag where she’d stored the outfit to keep it clean and wrinkle-free, kissed the plastic, and hung the clothes on her door so they’d be the first thing she’d see when she woke up.

With a yawn, she lay down on her moldy-smelling bed and sighed.
Despite her hopeful future, she had to admit she’d miss Gotham.
It had been her home for so many years.
But now she had to leave.
Still, she’d never forget everything she’d learned in this city.
She’d use her knowledge and experience to keep surviving and growing in life.
And if one day she did something she’d regret—well, then she’d go shopping to feel better.

A smile spread across her face, and she finally fell asleep, dreaming of a blue, clear sky, the smell of coffee and croissants, and of course—dreaming of the cats she’d have once she arrived in Paris!

Chapter Text

Martha and Thomas were completely desperate!
It had been almost three hours since they received a call from their pup’s school. One of the teachers had asked if Bruce was okay after his breakdown on the first day, and when Martha asked if her pup was alright, the teacher said he didn’t know—because Bruce hadn’t shown up for class.
None of the three adults in the house needed to hear anything else before rushing to the car and heading straight to Gotham High.

Upon arrival, unfortunately, Martha was forced to stay in the car and wait while Alfred and Thomas ran inside the building to check the security cameras and look for clues about their son’s whereabouts.
It had already been over an hour, and neither the beta nor the omega had returned.
Martha was usually patient and composed. She went to weekly therapy, took yoga classes, meditated, and never missed a single dose of her medication. She was a good alpha, a good wife—she did all of that to keep her omega and her pup safe from any harm she might cause if she ever lost control.
But now?
Now Martha was scared, worried—but above all, Martha was angry.

Whoever the bastard is that took our baby from us, we’re going to destroy him!
We should destroy everyone in this useless school!
They don’t care about pups!
It’s all that damn Pennyworth’s fault!
He didn’t take care of our baby!

The voices were unbearable.
Martha felt like she was about to lose her mind. She needed her baby—she needed him now!
Where is he?
Who took him?
What should we do?
Why does everything always happen to her family?
What a great alpha you are, Martha—just as good as your own father!
He said he didn’t want to go to school!
You should’ve listened to him!
This is all your fault!
Yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault…

“Darling,” her beloved’s voice was the only thing capable of pulling her mind out of the terrible thoughts.
“Martha, my love, take a deep breath. I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

She tried to obey her husband, tried to breathe deeply, but it was so hard.
The voices in her head didn’t need to breathe—they just kept talking and talking nonstop.
Everything hurt as Martha slowly felt herself unravel.

“They won’t stop,” she whispered breathlessly.
She felt exhausted, yet her body was buzzing with unused energy.
She felt like she was going to faint, yet her feet itched to run.

“I know, I know, darling, I know. It’s going to be okay.”
Her husband’s eyes were beautiful.
She loved Thomas—her beautiful omega.
He smelled like home, like safety.
He smelled like their pup.

“Alfred is on his way. The cameras where our pup was supposed to be weren’t working. Maintenance was delayed, and they have nothing to help us find Bruce…”

“No…”

“Shhh, it’s okay, darling. It’s going to be okay, alright?”
He didn’t seem as confident as he was trying to appear.
Martha hated herself for that.
She should be comforting her omega!
She was the alpha—she should be better than this!
Why couldn’t she be better…

“Darling,” he called softly, trying to make her eyes lock onto his, trying to anchor her mind so she wouldn’t drift too far.
“Martha, it’s going to be okay, alright? It’s going to be okay. We’re going to the police station, we’ll report a kidnapping, and we’ll pay whatever it takes to find our pup and bring him home safely.”

Thomas took a deep breath.
His eyes were swollen.
Martha could smell his tears—and Alfred’s scent too…
The butler was always there to comfort Thomas.
The two were always so close.
Sometimes Martha hated Alfred for being everything she couldn’t be for Thomas…

“I know where your thoughts are going, Martha.”
She looked back into her husband’s eyes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alfred getting into the driver’s seat and heading toward the police station.

“You’re doing fine, my love. You’re a good alpha, alright? I love you. We’re going to be okay. Today is just a bad day, but it’s not the end of the world. We’re going to find Bruce, and we’ll never let him out of our sight again.
This isn’t even the first time he’s disappeared—remember when he got stuck in the walls?”

They were both crying now, but trying to laugh at the situation.
Honestly, it was a bit absurd how easily Bruce got himself into trouble.
He was a magnet for it—always full of curiosity and energy, running through the halls of the old Wayne mansion and investigating its secrets.

“You and I panicked, thought he was hiding in the closets, and when we couldn’t find him, we freaked out.”
She laughed.
It was such a silly day.
Bruce was barely three years old, and they were still getting used to being parents.

“Remember when we grabbed the sledgehammer?”
“Yes, I was ready to tear the whole house down to get Bruce out of the wall.”

You didn’t even think when you raised that sledgehammer—you could’ve hit your pup if it weren’t for Alfred…

“Thank God for Al. Having a beta around is always an advantage. He balances us well.”
Thomas nodded toward the butler, who returned the gesture with a soft smile in the rearview mirror.

Yes, he was right.
Alfred was a blessing in their lives.
Martha was just worried.
These terrible thoughts against her friend weren’t right.
She knew how much the butler loved Bruce—maybe even more than she and Thomas did!

And he smelled of anguish and worry.
Martha shouldn’t be feeling aggressive or resentful toward Alfred.
He was suffering too…

Thomas should be with him…
He’s better than you.
Thomas and Bruce deserve the best…
Alfred loves them both.
He’s grounded and calm.
He knows how to keep everything under control.
The truth is, he’d be a better partner and father than you…

“Miss Martha,” the beta’s voice came through the car, always soft and laced with an English accent.
“I sense your anguish and fears. Please, calm yourself. It will be alright. I have contacts in MI6. If the police prove useless, I will do everything in my power to find the young master—you have my word.”

Thomas sighed in relief.
He always felt better when Alfred took control.
Martha was grateful for that, but still resented her inability to bring the same comfort to her omega.

“See, darling? It’s going to be okay. We’ll be together. We’ll find Bruce. Try to get some rest. Being stressed will only harm you. Let me and Alfred handle everything…”

She stopped listening to her husband and simply rested her head on his shoulder, feeling defeated by her own uselessness as an alpha.

As the car continued toward the police station, the voices grew louder and louder.
Martha needed to find her son—or she would lose her mind.

Chapter Text

I still can’t believe you let us get kidnapped.

Shut up, Bruce.

Seriously, what have we said about making decisions without consulting the other?!

Batman sighed, already feeling his bad mood creeping in. They were in a room that reeked of mold and was covered in dust. He was cold and, honestly, regretting every life choice that had led him to be stuck with a bunch of idiotic henchmen.

“He’s so cute.” “He’s tiny, definitely going to be a fine omega.” “The boss hit the jackpot. Who would’ve thought we’d find a goldmine this fast in this business!” “You think the boss is gonna sell him or use him as a bargaining chip?”

Those were just a few of the most irritating lines they’d been forced to listen to in silence. Their captors were so disgusting and dull that Batman was seriously tempted to abandon Bruce and hide inside their minds.

Don’t you dare!

Oops. Did I say that out loud?

No, but I know you, idiot. Now stop whining and start thinking about how to get us out of here.

Batman sighed again. He truly regretted every recent decision since arriving in this new universe. He pulled himself together. Despite his annoyance with Bruce’s lecture, his friend was right. Batman had gotten them into this mess — even if not on purpose — and he was going to get them out. He just needed to focus.

The iron bars of the cage were cold against their skin. The space was tight, but not claustrophobic. There was still room to move a little.

The room was a relic of abandonment. Peeling walls, old wooden floors, a recognizable and repulsive stench of sex — all made worse by the two sealed windows. The ceiling had leaks, looked like it would collapse at the slightest touch. Everything was dark. The henchmen hadn’t turned on all the lights; they were going to play poker and didn’t want to risk anyone cheating, so they left the room dimly lit. The only light came from a flickering bulb in the corner near their makeshift table. It glowed yellow and blinked at irregular intervals — 20 seconds on, 3 off. A pattern. Everything has a pattern. They liked patterns.

Their five captors were less than three meters away, backs turned. They spoke loudly, insulted each other, and threw punches like brutes. Two of them had guns on their laps. Another chewed something that looked like jerky. The third was too distracted gossiping about the new shipment. The fifth watched the others silently, probably drunk and drowsy. None of them were truly paying attention.

Two armed. If we can get out of the cage…

The door is locked. Simple lock. The key is with the guy on the left — hanging from the side of his pants. Estimated weight: 300 grams.

They’re standing on a rug. The key is light enough to fall onto the fabric without making noise. The man moves a lot, enough for the key to swing away from his body. If we can get out of the cage, maybe we can pull it with something.

Batman took his time analyzing their prison. He’d been out for a while, and when he woke up, Bruce had spent hours complaining instead of being useful. Now they were on a countdown until Penguin arrived.

Bruce, anything I should know? Or did you just spend hours in this cage doing nothing?

He could hear Bruce mocking him in the back of his mind, could even feel his friend rolling his eyes.

The cage had a gap at the base. Poor welding. If they applied pressure with their foot, they could break it. But it would make noise.

Hm.

His eyes scanned the group ahead. All adults, all large, but not all muscular. If he was right, the two armed henchmen didn’t have enough strength to handle the recoil of their weapons when fired. That meant their aim would likely be terrible — a potential advantage. With two armed idiots and three big idiots, Bruce and Batman were the most agile in the room, which was good since they definitely couldn’t fight in their current state.

We need a distraction. Something that doesn’t come from us.

He felt Bruce take control, and was satisfied to return to the “passenger seat.” It was much easier to think when his mind wasn’t busy processing every external stimulus.

There.

Bruce looked up at the ceiling, specifically at the light bulb. Batman didn’t get it.

What do you plan to do with the bulb?

Wow, Mr. “World’s Greatest Detective,” isn’t it obvious?

Clearly not, or I wouldn’t be asking.

Bruce rolled his eyes. Batman was certainly a genius when he wanted to be, but sometimes his mind was so overloaded with useless thoughts and analyses that he missed the obvious.

The bulb, B. It’s the only light source right now. If it breaks, they’ll get up. One of them will have to cross the room to turn on another light. That’ll give us enough time to escape and sneak toward the table.

Bruce waited for a response and smiled, exasperated, when he heard a soft “Oh.”

Your plan is risky. But viable. We need something to throw. Do we have anything in our pockets?

Bruce searched his jacket and pants. Nothing. Just lint and an old piece of gum. Frustrated, he looked around the cage floor. There were newspapers and a dried puddle of urine, probably from the dog that used to be kept there. Bruce moved the papers and finally found something useful — a bent, rusty nail. He picked it up carefully to avoid pricking himself on the metal tip. The last thing he wanted or needed was to die of tetanus.

B, are we vaccinated?

…

Is there a tetanus vaccine in this timeline?

Focus, Bruce.

Okay, sorry.

The nail would be useful, but they needed to calculate the angle. If they missed, the bulb wouldn’t break. If they hit it, they’d have less than 15 seconds before someone turned on another light — maybe 30 if the idiots started arguing about who should get up.

Right. When one of them stands up, the chair will scrape loudly against the floor. That’ll be a good moment to open the cage.

Hm. What if the guy with the key is the one who gets up to turn on the light?

Then we should prepare to escape through the window. Hiding until they leave would be dangerous — they’d search the room before going outside.

The windows look heavy…

Then I hope you’re ready for some pain, because if necessary, I’ll jump through the glass and we’ll fall down.

…

…

Well, at least we’re only on the second floor. We’ve survived worse falls.

Bruce smiled. He loved his friend’s insanity — it was gratifying, though sometimes concerning. But who was he to judge, right?

They waited until the light dimmed. The bulb flickered. 7 seconds on. 3 off. Again. Again. The pattern was constant.

Bruce held the piece of metal. His hands were small, but steady. He took a deep breath. The bulb flickered. 7 seconds. 3 off. The plan was in motion.

Chapter Text

The lamp goes out.

Bruce throws the nail with precision. The sound of impact is dry, almost timid, but enough. The lamp bursts with a muffled crack, the nail hits it and falls silently onto the carpet beside the shards of glass. The men curse and shout, blame each other and push one another, almost starting a stupid fight about whose fault it is.

It’s perfect, even better than they had planned.

The chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh squeal. One of the thugs stands up, swearing loudly—it isn’t the man with the key. The others complain, mock him, argue. No one looks at the cage.

Bruce is already in motion. The small body slips through the gap. Batman takes control for a second—just enough to ensure the movement is silent, efficient.

They carefully approach the table, each of their steps synchronized with those of the thug who got up.

No one notices their presence when they hide under the table, the stench of the men’s feet assaulting their nostrils, but they ignore it in favor of focusing on the keys.

Batman moves closer to the thug with the keys. He’s armed, one of the skinny ones, his foot bare, and Batman can see a stupid dolphin tattoo on his heel. He extends his arm and waits patiently as the keys sway with the man’s movements. The key swings, taps against the hip of the seated man and then moves away, doing this several times before the bat reaches it with his thin, small fingers. A tug. It comes. No sound.

Good B!

He smiles at his friend’s childish cheer—it felt good to be celebrated by Bruce.

Once the keys are in hand, they know they have only a few more seconds before the lights come back on, so Batman dashes across the carpet. The improvised table is only a few steps behind them when the light comes on. The thugs celebrate like fools, happy that the light has returned and they can resume their games. One stumbles, another laughs. The chaos is useful.

The lock on the door is simple. The key turns with a soft click. The door opens and creaks, but the men’s noise is louder than the door, and they don’t even notice.

They cross the threshold. The hallway is empty. The air is colder, cleaner. But not safe.

Bruce tries to close the door behind him, thinking they were safe, but then comes the smell—salt, paper, and… fish?

Footsteps approach, accompanied by a soft purring sound.

Damn it, abort mission! Back to the room, Bruce!

And so he does, crawling silently back through the crack of the half-open door. No one notices, and he crawls under the cabinet beside the door, just in time to hide when Penguin steps inside and everyone falls silent, staring at him.

He was alone. But his presence filled the room like smoke. It was strange, very strange—the stench of Oswald was awful and sour, but something in Bruce relaxed with him around…

Careful, he must have some ability we don’t know about, avoid inhaling while he’s here!

Batman doesn’t need to say it twice. As quickly as he can, Bruce takes off his jacket and ties it around his face. Unfortunately, it’s still not enough to block Oswald’s smell, so Bruce takes the old gum from his pocket.

He unwraps it, puts the mint candy in his pocket, and tucks the gum wrapper between his nose and his jacket.

Ugh, I hate this smell.

Shut up, B, it’s this or risk being controlled by Penguin and his weird scent!

“Gentlemen,” Penguin says, his Jersey accent strong—he isn’t yet the man Bruce and Batman know, he doesn’t yet pretend at an elegant accent. “How are you feeling tonight?”

The men glance at each other awkwardly, strangely shy.

“Well, Mr. Cobblepot, we’re great, especially now that you’re here…” the largest of the thugs answers before stammering and trying to correct himself. “I-I mean, we’re doing very well, boss, no problems so far. And you, how was your meeting with the young beta?”

Silence spreads. But Penguin doesn’t seem bothered—in fact, he laughs.

“Oh, dear, you know, delightful as always. Selina is a lovely young woman and, above all, very useful. After all, without them we wouldn’t be nearly as rich as we are now!” Some men cheer and even raise their glasses in a toast as Penguin revels in the attention.

“Speaking of riches, boss, tell me,” the man with the keys steps forward, hands trembling with excitement. “When do we take the next step? Are you going to sell the boy, or will we use him as leverage?”

“Should we send one of his fingers to the Waynes?”

“Or sell him as a premium prostitute? I swear, a face like his would be very profitable.”

All five men nod and smile as if they’re discussing a football game rather than planning to prostitute a child.

They felt disgusted, but above all, they felt angry.

Penguin silenced them easily, raising his hands like a priest calming his flock.

“Calm down, little ones, calm down.” Oswald lowered his hands and smiled before purring loudly.

At first, neither of them understood why the man was purring, until they looked at the thugs.

They’re blushing?

Gross, don’t tell me we’re about to watch Oswald get fucked by his harem of ugly men?

Don’t be disgusting, Bruce. Look at the way they look at Oswald.

Bruce observes more closely—they seemed tame, eager, like puppies in love with their owner.

Not love, idiot, they’re his children…

They don’t even look alike…

Adoption exists, and you know it very well since you’re compulsive about adopting.

Oswald was speaking again, they’d missed part of it thanks to their inner conversation—something they’d have to fix soon—but it seemed he was just praising his sons, even letting them sniff his neck or kiss his hands. It was disgusting, revolting—parents shouldn’t act like that with their children!

“That’s enough, boys, enough, mommy has spoiled you too much already, it’s time to talk about the future.”

Mommy!?

Now both of them were nauseated. Oswald definitely didn’t see those men as children, and they didn’t see him as a father. It was more like some disgusting sexual game. Bruce definitely didn’t want to be around when that happened.

Get ready to run, B. As soon as we get a chance, we’re going through that door and away from this filth as fast as possible.

Hm, agreed.

“As I said before, Falcone may be the most dangerous man in Gotham, but he is certainly not the most powerful.” A yellowed smile spread across the criminal’s lips. “Martha Kane and her omega are the two most powerful and wealthy public figures in the city. They are defenders of the omega cause and pioneers in developing new technologies and medical treatments. They are adored by many, but…”

Penguin turns dramatically, drawing every thug’s eyes straight to his ass.

“They are also hated by many. But we can change that, and bring the beloved Waynes to our side, making them more useful.”

Bruce shivered—he wanted to run, but he also wanted to stay and hear more.

“We’ll use the little Wayne as leverage. Martha is unstable and therefore dangerous, but as long as we have her pup, all we need to do is guarantee that he’s alive and safe, in exchange for a small price, of course.” Everyone laughed. “We won’t sell the boy, nor put him on display as our most expensive whore—no, we’ll make better deals!”

“Are we going to transfer the Wayne fortune into your name, boss?”

“Of course not, that would be too risky and draw too much attention to us!” he shouted angrily, making his men cower like frightened dogs. Oswald quickly regained his composure. “What we’ll do is much safer—we’ll keep the Waynes on a short leash. As long as we have the pup, they won’t dare turn against us.”

The rage rose like fire. But the body remained still. Breathing controlled. Muscles tense. Eyes fixed—they needed to get out before they did something reckless.

“We will milk their fortune until it’s dry, use them to enrich ourselves and grow until we’re more powerful, richer, and more dangerous than anyone in this city!” He turned to his men with arms raised in celebration, as if victory were already his. His thugs cheered together, all excited for their boss.

“Hooray!”

“Hooray for the boss!”

“Hooray for our mommy!”

With the noise of their shouts and all attention fixed on Penguin, Batman took control and ran out the door with silent steps. He didn’t even close it before moving in search of the stairs.

The hallway ahead of them was narrow, damp, reeking of a mix of cheap disinfectant and dried blood. The walls, once painted pastel tones, were now layered with grime and handprints—some small, some large. The floor creaked beneath their light steps, and every sound felt too loud in the tense silence that enveloped the building.

We have three possible routes. Find a window with a fire escape. Go down the stairs and risk being cornered by other thugs, or break into the rooms looking for a hiding place and wait until they stop searching.

All of those options are terrible!

They moved with precision. The small body allowed them to go unnoticed, but the mind was on high alert. Every shadow a threat. Every noise, a possible ambush.

Well, excuse me, Mr. Wayne, but I wasn’t awake when we arrived—I have no idea where to go!

I…

The sound of distant voices echoed behind the walls. Muffled laughter. A scream of pain. Then silence.

The orphanage was a labyrinth of pain. Doors padlocked from the outside. Windows sealed with boards nailed hastily. In one room, they passed a broken crib and children’s toys scattered like forgotten relics. In another, a chair with straps on the arms and white stains on the seat.

Maso room. Improvised. Recently used.

They felt disgust, but kept going until they neared the lit door where they had heard the sounds.

The light seeping out was weak, yellowish, flickering. A low hum—maybe from an old heater or a poorly installed generator. The sound constant, but irregular. A broken pattern.

There are two people inside. One is panting, not in pain. The other is crying. Scared.

The smell… blood, sweat, and sex. Stinking of cheap perfume.

They press against the door. Don’t open it. Just peek through the crack.

Inside, the room is small, stuffy, lit by a single bulb hanging from exposed wires. The floor is covered in thin, dirty mattresses. On them, young girls—between 12 and 17—curled up, some asleep, others wide awake with eyes wide open. All bruised. All silent.

Bruises. Cuts. Restraint marks on wrists. One clutches a teddy bear with her arm bandaged. Another tries to hide her face with her hair, but can’t disguise the trembling.

All watching while a large, sweaty man looms over a girl, abusing a small one who cries and bites her lips to hold back her screams.

They remain still. Watching. Calculating. The escape plan changes. The mission changes.

And time starts to run faster—they needed to help, they wanted to help.

B…

I know.

Their eyes scan the girls, searching for the oldest, the most reliable. There were four in total, the tallest in the center hugging her knees, the other two beside her looked no older than 13. Their hope was the girl nearest the wall, the one with hair over her face.

The plan was to approach her and ask for help getting them all out quietly, but the plan went down the drain before it even began when Penguin shouted from afar: “Where is the damn pup!”

With that, their cover was blown, the man and the girls turned toward the voice of Penguin and spotted Bruce in the doorway.

The disgusting man opened his mouth, and before he could shout, Bruce lunged at him.

They had no hope of winning a fight against an adult, but they could use the surprise to bring him down for a while.

Kicks to the neck and punches to the eyes made the man fall off the girl and crash naked to the floor, clutching his stinging eyes.

Batman took control and landed a precise blow to the attacker’s groin, making him howl in pain.

“Quick, we have to run!” The bat grabbed a blanket from the floor and threw it over the poor victim’s body, took her hand, and gestured for the others to follow, but that’s not what happened.

None of them moved. None tried to follow him.

“You don’t understand, we have to go!”

Silence—they barely blinked, and Batman could barely react before all of them screamed.

“Mommy! Mommy, he’s here! The pup is here!”

The cries caught him off guard—he didn’t understand why they were giving him away. They just wanted to help!

“No time to think, B! Run!” Bruce took over and carried them out of the room, fleeing from the screams and the footsteps of the thugs.

Everything after that was a blur—too much adrenaline in their body, they couldn’t calm down and think straight. It was strange, as if neither of them was in control, as if their body was acting purely on instinct!

“Ugh!” One of the men who tried to grab them groaned—they had bitten his arm and, judging by the blood, it was bad.

“You little bastard!” Another man lunged at them, and without thinking, they leapt with their mouth open, straight for his neck like true animals.

“Brat!”

More and more shouts, chairs crashing, glass shattering—they barely remember. All they know is they were slowly blacking out, disappearing into the back of their minds.

“Fuck!” was the last thing they heard before losing consciousness.

Chapter Text

Selina was feeling dreamy that morning.

As soon as she woke up, all she had to do was ignore a few insults from Mr. Cobbeplot’s men. Then she headed to the bathroom and managed to be the first to use it! There was no competition—she just went in and used the bathroom without any rush. It was perfect; the whole day felt perfect.

All she needed to do now was grab her bag and go to the boss’s office to pick up her ticket to Paris, and that was it—her new life would begin!

“Ugh, heavy bag.” That was the only complaint she allowed herself to make. She would not ruin her own day by acting negatively.

With the heavy bag on her shoulders, Selina walked toward Oswald’s office, doing her best to avoid bumping into the boss’s men or the other girls. They all seemed hysterical and exhausted—no doubt they had worked through the night and wouldn’t be good company—so Selina simply ignored them.

“Mr. Oswald…” She quickly dodged when a book was thrown in her direction. Her bag fell to the floor and the door slammed shut behind her. “Hey!”

The boss turned to her. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and a permanent snarl on his lips.

“You!” He tried to approach her with his dirty claws reaching out, but Selina was quick to growl and pull out her old pocketknife.

“Back off!”

Oswald stepped back, seeming to regain a bit of his awareness. He took a deep breath through that horrible nose and backed away, rubbing his forehead.

Now that she wasn’t under the fierce gaze of an irritated omega, Selina noticed with some interest how the boss was walking strangely, putting more weight on one foot than the other. He seemed to waddle like a penguin.

“Say what you need and leave. My night wasn’t good,” he grumbled, sitting behind his desk and opening a bottle of whiskey without even looking at her.

A curious part of her wanted to ask what had happened the night before, but she wasn’t foolish enough to risk her freedom by irritating the boss further.

“My ticket,” was all she needed to say before a fake passport and some other documents were tossed in her direction.

“Now get out of here, I…” He stopped himself, pushing the whiskey glass away and suddenly sniffing the air. “Do you smell that?”

Selina sniffed the air but smelled nothing beyond her own sweet and soft omega scent and her beta scent.

“No, just mine and yours,” she sneezed. “And a bit of dust.”

Oswald slumped in his chair and downed his drink in one go.

“Get out, girl, before I change my mind.”

Selina didn’t need to be told twice. She ran to the door, grabbed her heavy bag onto her shoulder, and left that orphanage as fast as she could.

Without looking back, she walked quickly to a bus stop, not daring to sit down. She had her money in her jacket and was ready to drop her bag and run if necessary.

Fortunately, nothing happened to her during the entire trip to the airport. Sure, a few thugs looked her way a couple of times, but something always seemed to drive them off before they tried their luck.

Throughout the boarding process, everything continued to go perfectly—suspiciously perfectly. Even when her bag went through the X-ray and she saw one of the security guards open his mouth to call her out, he suddenly went silent, closed her bag, and gave her a wide smile. “Safe travels, miss.”

It was strange. Her whole “perfect” day had been strange since she woke up. She hadn’t wanted to think about it before, but now it was simply impossible not to.

The first bizarre event of her day happened right when she woke up. Her beautiful and wonderful outfit had fallen to the floor at some point during the night, and she had no idea how—she definitely didn’t sleep with the window open, and she never left the door unlocked. Anyway, she ignored it. It could’ve just been the rats, right? Gotham has lots of rats.

The second event was the bathroom. Something big had happened while she slept, because there was always a huge line of girls fighting to be the first to shower, all desperate to clean off the filth from “work.” Again, Selina chose to ignore it and just be happy to take the first shower and brush her teeth first.

Then there were the strange behaviors of the henchmen and the girls at the orphanage—all tense and tired, searching every room. Some were even injured, which wasn’t unusual for the girls, but it was strange for some of Oswald’s men.

Still, she chose to ignore all of it, and continued ignoring many other things—like the omega scent she had associated with Oswald, but which was far too sweet to be his, the occasional growl she heard behind her whenever a man tried to approach her on the streets, the strange look and smile from the security guard who checked her bag…

Yes, she definitely ignored many strange signs to avoid letting anything ruin her day.

“Miss Kyle?” The flight attendant, a beta with a fake smile, addressed her.

“Yes?” she asked tensely, afraid something had gone wrong just when she was so close to escaping that life.

“Your ticket says you’re in first class, not economy. Could you please come with me?”

Okay, now she knew for sure something was very wrong. Oswald would never have spent extra for her to fly first class—she was only his problem when she worked for him, which was no longer the case.

Reluctantly, Selina followed the woman to a fancier part of the plane. She expected other people—truly rich people—but there was no one else, just her.

“Is it just me in this area?” she asked, tense, wondering if maybe her hope had been foolish and Oswald had planned to kill her all along.

“Oh yes, I was informed that your parents paid double so you could enjoy total privacy,” the attendant replied delicately, taking her bag and, with some effort, storing it in the luggage compartment.

“But…”

“If you need anything, just ring this bell,” she gestured to a small bell beside Selina’s seat, “and I or another flight attendant will come to serve you.”

She bowed awkwardly and rushed off, leaving Selina alone and very confused—but mostly, very scared.

Something was definitely very wrong with this whole situation. Why would Oswald spend that kind of money just to get rid of some orphan like her? What was the reason for all this?

“Attention passengers, we are ready for takeoff. Please fasten your seatbelts and turn off your phones. Thank you.”

Well, it was too late to run now—the plane was already taking off.

“Ah,” she sighed, collapsing exhausted into her seat.

Selina was so happy, but also so scared. What would she do now? If all this wasn’t part of Oswald’s elaborate plan to get rid of her, then she still needed to think about her future. Of course, she had many plans and was very excited, but… no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about those huge blue eyes of Bruce Wayne.

How was he now? What was he going through?

All these questions came to her now that she was alone and heading toward her dream.

“I need to get him out of my mind.” She reached for the bell, but just as she was about to ring it, a muffled noise caught her attention.

“Get out…”

“Stop…”

“Shut up.”

There were two people arguing—people who smelled of confusion and concern. It was strange; the scent was the same, but at the same time so different… it was a scent she knew well.

The luggage compartment opened and her bag fell to the floor with a dry thud. She pulled out her pocketknife and pointed it at the bag, ready to attack if necessary.

The zipper opened, and she found herself face to face with a pair of familiar blue eyes and a shy smile.

“Hey, Selina.”

Chapter Text

He had no idea who he was or how the hell he ended up in that situation!

The only thing he remembered was waking up and suddenly being held by a rotten alpha!

So he bit, kicked, growled, and even tore off a decent chunk of skin from one of the men surrounding him. He was confused and lost, unsure of what to do—so he ran. He ran from the filthy hands trying to grab him, ran from young omegas pointing and screaming at him. He simply ran.

He had no idea how to walk on two legs. Every time he tried to do so to check if he was being chased, they would weaken and he’d lose his balance. So he was forced to run like an animal.

His vision was also impaired. Lost among countless corridors and surrounded by endless darkness, he relied on his second-best senses: smell and hearing. He moved and hid as if he were back in primitive times, using the shadows to camouflage himself, walking on all fours to avoid making noise, using scent and sound to navigate. It was as if he really were an animal—maybe some kind of monkey...

Bat.

Something in his mind answered. It didn’t feel like a voice or a conscious thought, just a quick glimpse of images—memories that didn’t belong to him. Strange, but useful.

That flash of memory not only identified him as a creature but also revealed a clear goal: he needed to escape—not just from the corridors, but from the city, maybe even the country!

“Find him! Find him now!” A loud, screechy voice seemed to squawk with rage. It was funny—strange, but somehow fitting.

Penguin.

Another flash that wasn’t his. A large, fat bird dressed in a suit. Apparently, the owner of that voice was a giant penguin, just as he was a bat—or some beast resembling that nocturnal animal.

Along with that information came the image of an old door with a sign that read “Mr. Cobbeplot.” It seemed his mission was to reach that room. Easy—he just had to act like a bat!

Looking at his hands, he quickly realized they were perfect for gripping, but one of them was covered by something hard and white, which definitely hindered his movement. He’d have to get rid of it...

There was nothing around where he was hiding—just a moldy, dusty corridor with a few dirty windows. He needed something sharp to cut that thing off his arm.

The window seemed like a good choice. The glass was dirty but looked thick enough. However, if he broke it, everyone would hear and know where he was. Still, he had to get rid of that obstacle that kept him from climbing...

Well, he’d have to take the risk.

Without thinking much, he punched the window. His fingers hurt, but the glass didn’t cut him thanks to the strange white fabric wrapped around his arm.

“Did you hear that!?” The voice of the alpha he had bitten rang out, distant—downstairs. He’d probably be the first to reach him if he ran. “He’s upstairs!”

They were coming. He knew it from the heavy footsteps—more than six of them.

With a large shard of glass in hand, he pierced the white fabric and used all his strength to tear it away from his arm.

Once his limb was finally free, he quickly got rid of his shoes and ran to the wall beside the window, wedging his small fingers into the cracks. They bled and ached under the weight of his body, but the pain didn’t bother him—he had a mission to fulfill.

“The window—look!”

They had arrived, but it didn’t matter. He was already high up, clinging to the ceiling—like a bat!

Luckily, the ceiling was made of wood, and again his fingers were thin enough to grip the cracks and move around. Unfortunately, it was very hard to see upside down, and it made him dizzy—not good.

Worried he wouldn’t be able to stay hidden on the ceiling much longer, he hurried to look for the door. Just when he was about to give up, he found what he was looking for.

Now I just need to get down... but how?

He closed his eyes and tried to reach for more useful information like before. At first, nothing happened, but soon his mind received valuable flashes. It was a cub, a cub his size, just with darker skin and more colorful clothes. He laughed and jumped in incredible ways—almost like a bird doing aerial tricks!

The information was useful. Though he didn’t think bats could do the same acrobatics as birds, he still had to try—otherwise, he’d fail his mission!

He took a deep breath. In the memory, the cub was hanging from a chandelier, holding his weight with all four limbs—just like he was now. Then the cub let go of his hands and let his body fall backward, supported only by his feet!

It was terrifying, but he managed. He wedged his fingers into a wooden crack and made sure they were firm before letting go of his hands and falling backward, hanging upside down.

Okay, he was doing it.

Then the little bird laughed in a creepy way.

He tried to laugh like the cub, but his laugh was strange and sounded wrong, so he decided to skip that part.

The cub gently swung back and forth, careful not to let his feet slip, then curved his whole body backward and let go with his feet, flipping and landing on his feet!

Following the information his mind gave him, that’s exactly what he did.

It was terrifying to fall, but he succeeded—though he couldn’t stay balanced after his feet touched the ground and landed on his butt.

He whimpered and rubbed his sore side, but swallowed the cry and ran to the door, using the handle to steady himself and push it open.

Finally, he was where his goal lay—a smelly, ugly room reeking of fish, with a glowing screen on a desk. Just like he saw in his memories!

Perfect! But now what?

He waited for more flashes, but none came. So he decided to mess with everything he saw, searching for clues and trying to trigger new information. Nothing happened—at least not until he tried to open a drawer in the desk. It was locked, but that seemed to activate something in his mind.

His eyes scanned the desk and quickly spotted a paperclip. He grabbed it with his less bloody hand and twisted it until the tip stuck out. He didn’t know what happened next, but he shoved the tip into the keyhole and fiddled until a soft “click” was heard.

Then he opened the drawer, eager to see what was inside—but... it was just a bunch of paper?

Money.

His mind provided an explanation. He shrugged, grabbed as much paper as he could and stuffed it into his pockets, shirt, and pants. At the bottom of the drawer, he saw a thin rectangular object with some numbers on it.

Card.

It seemed important, so he took it.

With nothing else to do, he climbed onto the desk and sat in front of the glowing screen. It was strange and too square—something inside him felt that this little screen should be wider and thinner, better somehow. Well, he wasn’t there to judge screens.

There were buttons under the desk—buttons with letters. Without waiting, he let his body guide his hands, and it worked. In seconds, the screen changed and now he was seeing images of a white bird.

Plane. Escape.

More strange flashes—images of giant iron birds and black bats. Sometimes he was inside the white bird, other times inside the bat. It was weird, but he understood his new goal.

He clicked the keys again until he found a photo—it was a cub, older than him, with darker skin and brown eyes. Very cute.

Cat.

Yes, that made sense. She was a cat—she even had cheetah-like fur!

He kept clicking until a single question appeared on the screen: “Purchase?”

“Yes” or “No”

He clicked “Yes,” and now the screen asked him to enter the card numbers. With no other option, he did.

“Your purchase was successful!”

A strange sound startled him, and he remembered why he had stayed silent until now—he was still in danger. But what to do now?

Run.

And so he did. Following his instincts, he crept behind the office door. It opened, and several alphas entered. The last to walk through was the bird from his memories—the one dressed in black, squawking like a real bird.

He acted fast, leaping onto the fat bird and using his weight and the element of surprise to knock it to the ground.

The bird’s screams drew the alphas’ attention, so he tried to shut the door. Unfortunately, the fat bird’s leg was in the way, and he couldn’t close it.

“My leg! You damn brat!” the fat bird tried to grab him, but he was quicker and ran, taking advantage of the alphas’ distraction.

He ran until he found a door with a familiar scent—a safe scent. Quickly, he grabbed his paperclip and fiddled with the lock until the door opened.

Inside, the little cat from before was peacefully asleep on the bed. He liked seeing her so calm.

“Find him!”

Sadly, he didn’t have the luxury of peace like she did.

He closed the door behind him and looked for a safe place. Nothing seemed good, and he was starting to feel tired. Part of him just wanted to curl up in bed with the little cat and hide in the comfort her scent gave him. Another part knew it would be reckless and risky to wake the sleeping cat.

Luckily, he soon found a second option—a safe and perfect one!

It was a small bed. He had to curl up tightly, but it smelled like the little cat and, best of all, it was easy to open and close, making it safe, fragrant, and dark enough for a nap. Simply perfect.
As he drifted off to sleep, dreams of colorful birds and cute little cats filled his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Selina narrowed her eyes at the brat in front of her.
He had just spilled out a story so absurd she didn’t know whether to laugh or kick him off the plane.

The boy blinked slowly, lazily, like a sleepy cat with no rush to prove anything. There was something annoyingly cute about him, but Selina refused to let those blue eyes fool her.

“…You’re serious?” Her voice came out dry, heavy with disbelief.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unchanged.
“You don’t believe me?”

A sigh slipped from her as she settled more comfortably into her seat, the elegance almost automatic, as if she always assumed she was being watched—even when no one was paying attention. She crossed her legs, propped an elbow on the armrest, and looked down at him like she was appraising an object at auction.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You don’t know how you ended up in my suitcase. But, conveniently, you paid off the right people to keep their mouths shut about it?”

The boy shrugged—a small, dismissive movement—and nodded as if it were obvious.

“Right.” Selina raised her brows, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Even I don’t believe it,” he answered without changing his tone. For a moment, his eyes lost focus, glazed over at something unseen. The air around them seemed to shift; Selina wrinkled her nose, swearing she’d caught the scent flicker, like a strange perfume carried on the wind. Then he blinked again and returned to normal, just as expressionless as before. “Ever since I woke up from the accident in the cave, weird things have been happening. Really weird things.”

He didn’t rush, didn’t try to convince her—he just stated it like someone remarking the sky was blue.

“But I don’t need you to believe me. I just needed to get out of Gotham, and you already helped with that by taking me away.” The boy tilted his face, as if recalling something. “So… thank you for kidnapping me. You made my plans a lot easier.”

Selina blinked. Twice.
The only response that came to mind was a curse.

“You know what? Screw it. You’re not my problem. Stay in your corner and I’ll stay in mine. Just don’t bother me.”

“Ok.” That was all he said, before calmly standing and walking toward the discarded suitcase on the floor.

Selina straightened in her seat, narrowing her eyes.
“Hey.” He turned to her, unhurried. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Blue eyes slid from her to the suitcase, then back to her, as if she were the idiot for not realizing.

He let out a lazy “hm,” shrugged again, and simply crawled back inside the worn bag. Selina stared, dumbfounded, as the boy folded himself in ways that made no sense to fit inside. The zipper closed from the inside, and a long, satisfied sigh escaped before silence reclaimed everything.

For a good while she just sat there, staring at the suitcase like she expected a rabbit to pop out of it with a pocket watch. Nothing happened. No sound. No movement.

It seemed… empty.

Selina dragged a hand down her face, stifling a short, incredulous laugh.
“Heaven help me…” she muttered, sinking back into her seat. “Why do these things always happen to me?”

Determined to salvage what was left of her sanity—what little remained—she reclined her seat, asked the flight attendant for some grape juice, and let first class serve its purpose.
The boy? He could stay sleeping in the damn suitcase.

The plane’s engine hummed in a constant drone, muffled by the first-class cabin. Selina sank into the wide seat, a glass of grape juice in hand. The purple liquid glimmered in her eyes, though she didn’t drink—just swirled it, trying to convince herself she was on the right path. Paris. Finally ready to forget the horrors and live the life she deserved.

For a few minutes, she managed to fool herself. Almost forgot about the brat.

Almost.

The suitcase by her side looked like a sleeping animal. No movement, no sound. Hard to believe Bruce Wayne was crammed in there. The most irritating part was exactly that: how naturally he had settled in, as if escaping Oswald and his gang only to hide and nap inside a bag was the most normal thing in the world!

Selina huffed, adjusting in her seat.
“Damn brat…” she muttered.

A flight attendant appeared with a trained smile.
“Miss, would you like to have your dinner now, or wait until later?”

Selina straightened at once, adopting her most adult air.
“I’ll have it now, please.” She smiled the way she’d practiced in the mirror, like a lady of high society.

The woman walked away satisfied, not noticing a thing out of place.

The moment she disappeared down the aisle, a faint sound came from the suitcase. A muffled throat-clearing. Then silence.

Selina narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered, glaring at the bag.

In response, the zipper shifted. Slowly, almost inaudibly. The boy appeared—just his blue eyes first, gleaming in the dimness of the bag’s interior. They fixed on her.

“I’m thirsty,” Bruce said in a sleepy tone that made Selina want to scream.

She set her glass down on the tray table with too much force, the crystal clinking.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She kept her voice low, teeth clenched. “If anyone sees you here, I don’t even want to think what’ll happen to me!”

Bruce blinked slowly. Then, as if he had all the time in the world, he crawled out of the suitcase. He stretched his skinny arms, yawned, and sat cross-legged on the carpet like a cat claiming territory.

“I don’t want to bother you. I just need water.”

Selina glanced around. The aisle was empty. For a moment, she thought about shoving him back inside, zipping it shut, and ignoring the protests. But that look of his… that calm, unbothered gaze wasn’t normal for a child. It was the look of someone who didn’t seem to understand what was going on—someone irritatingly innocent.

“Fine,” she hissed. “But you’re getting the water and disappearing again, understood?”

He nodded, as serene as ever.

Selina pressed the call button and leaned back, trying to convince herself she still had control of the situation. But deep down, she knew: this boy wasn’t a problem that could simply be zipped away in a suitcase.

The call light was still on when the attendant returned with a glass of cold water. Selina thanked her with a false smile and slid the glass down to Bruce unnoticed—the boy was crouched under her, perfectly hidden by the wide seat.

As soon as they were alone, he drained it in one gulp, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and just stared at her.

“And now?” Selina arched a brow, arms crossed.

“Now I wait for dinner,” he replied, as if obvious, and then smiled in the most irritating way.

“My dinner,” she corrected, pointing a finger. “You go back in the suitcase.”

He lay down on the plush carpet, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.
“I don’t think so.”

Selina breathed deeply. Counted to three. Five. Ten.
“Bruce. In. The. Suitcase. Now.”

He turned his head to look at her, then sniffed at the divider wall, his small, adorable nose twitching as his stomach growled.
“It smells like food.”

“They haven’t even served yet!”

Bruce shrugged, impassive.
“I’ll wait.”

And he did. Like an irritating statue, motionless, his blue eyes fixed on her. Selina tried to distract herself, flipping through the in-flight magazine, swirling the juice, but he never looked away. Never blinked. Never made a sound. Just there.

By the time the tray finally arrived, her shoulders were stiff with tension. An elegant plate of meat with dark sauce, roasted potatoes, grilled vegetables… and a colorful little bowl of freshly cut fruit.

“Bon appétit, mademoiselle.” The attendant smiled and left.

Bruce crawled out from under the seat, and Selina immediately raised her fork like a weapon.
“Don’t even think about it.”

Bruce sat beside her without asking, eyes lighting up at the sight of the fruit.
“I don’t eat meat. Just that.” He pointed.

“And I want peace, but I’m not getting it.” She jabbed a potato with more force than necessary.

He didn’t answer. Just kept staring. The silence weighed heavier than any word. When Selina brought the potato to her mouth, he sighed—loud and dramatic. Then sniffed and rested his chin on the table, staring at the fruit like a kitten outside a fish shop.

Selina tried to resist. She really did. But it was impossible. His scent practically screamed sadness, like he was begging, Look how cute I am, please have pity on me. She hated him.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, slamming her fork down.

Bruce blinked. Slowly. Satisfied—because he knew he’d won.

With a growl, she snatched the fruit bowl, speared a piece of melon, and shoved it toward him.
“Here. And don’t say I’m not generous.”

He bit into it, chewed calmly, and smiled for the first time. A small smile, but genuine.
“Thank you, Selina.”

Selina huffed, turning away.
“Don’t get used to it.”

But deep down, she already knew it was too late. Because the moment he opened his mouth again, asking for another piece, she couldn’t stop herself from feeding him once more.

It was really unfair how adorable that brat could be.