Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Dick woke up, woozy and disoriented, his first instinct was to conduct an evaluation of his surroundings before he even opened his eyes. His head pounded with the persistent remnants of what had undoubtedly been an incredible headache. There was a sharp, constant pain in the junction of his shoulder and neck. He was sore and sticky between his legs. The feeling, while not entirely unfamiliar to Dick, was unexpected enough to fill him with alarm.

Almost instantly, he was able to sense another body beside him. He heard the soft whisper of breath that was not his own, and the brush of slowly shifting sheets. Dick froze almost completely still, terrified that the loud thumping of his heart would be audible to his mysterious bed partner.

But when minutes passed and no urgent danger appeared forthcoming, Dick dared to crack open his eyes. It took a moment or two for his fuzzy vision to clear.

A heavy duvet enveloped the lower half of his body. Normally, Dick might have found the warmth comforting, but itchy sweat clung to his legs and adhered the fabric uncomfortably to his skin, and he wanted to squirm away from it.

He laid on the left side of an impressively sized bed in a dimly lit room. No clock was visible from his position and he didn’t dare move to seek one out, but lines of golden sunlight filtered through the blinds onto the wooden floor. Dick’s internal clock agreed that it was probably morning, or very early afternoon.

The walls were unadorned by photos or paintings, but the top of the nightstand was cluttered with books, mugs, pens, and a flashlight. An ancient copy of Jane Eyre. A tightly bound, brown leather notebook. Dick breathed out a sigh of relief. He’d seen these belongings before.

“Jason?”

Beside him, Jason, who at some point during the night had appropriated most of the blankets for his own personal use, groaned and stirred. “Fuck off,” he mumbled, eyes cracking open to tired teal slits.

Then, abruptly, they widened, and with a hand on his forehead, Jason bolted upright. “Dick? What are you doing in my apartment?”

“Um,” Dick replied, rubbing his aching temples. “I don’t know.”

“The fuck,” mumbled Jason a little incoherently, yawning. He relaxed against the headboard, eyes slipping shut again.

Dick sat up, and as the duvet fell away from his form, arrived at the mortifying conclusion that, at some point during whatever it was that had happened last night, his clothing had abandoned camp. With a horrified squeak, Dick yanked the covers up to cover himself. He had a sinking feeling that his modesty was most likely a lost cause.

He tenderly caressed his stomach with one hand, feeling even sicker than before. With his other hand, Dick reached up to touch his neck. His blood went cold when his fingers came away sticky and red.

“Jason,” Dick hissed urgently, lungs constricting as if bound by a tight band. “What did we do last night?”

“Oh shit,” Jason said, eyes wide as they locked onto the sticky red sheen coating Dick’s fingers. “I don’t know.”

*

Earlier:

“Some species of albatrosses mate for life,” Damian recited, offering an illustrated information packet to an elderly rich woman. “There are twenty two species.”

“How interesting,” the woman agreed. She reached out a hand to shake Damian’s small one, and he gave it a firm, important-looking shake.

“Nineteen out of twenty two species are considered endangered,” Damian told her. “Some of them, critically. My father and I have started a fund to benefit their preservation. Your donation would be greatly appreciated.”

Charmed, the elderly woman smiled down at Damian, withdrawing her hand from his to clasp it on her purse. “Well, this seems like a very important cause. I’ll speak to Mr. Wayne about donating.”

Damian nodded. “Your generosity is appreciated,” he informed her. As she strode off, disappearing into the thick of the crowd, Dick smiled fondly at Damian from afar. In order to communicate his professionalism and sophistication to all of the event’s wealthy attendees, he had elected to exhibit his most expensive suit, which was small, pristinely tailored, and worth a month of rent for Dick’s apartment.

In the middle of the charity gala, surrounded by wealth and puffed up by pride, Damian looked just like a very small Bruce Wayne. It was no wonder the attendants of the event were so impressed by him.

No holds had been barred in the planning and execution of this fundraiser. The ballroom was elaborately decorated in the theme of blue, for both the sea and the sky--the albatross’ two domains, said Damian. It brimmed with happily murmuring socialites, milling about with glasses of champagne, laughing boisterously and remarking on how, depending on the opinion of the person in question, Damian was either the spitting image of his father or the polar opposite.

As Damian selected another pamphlet from his table, which was thoroughly occupied by fact booklets, high-definition photographs of albatrosses, and other papers and pamphlets, he caught Dick’s eye through the crowd, and his little face brightened.

“Richard,” he called, beckoning.

Obligingly, Dick joined his brother at his station. Primly, Damian handed him a pamphlet, and Dick opened it up to read.

Damian hovered at Dick’s side as he perused the information. “I wrote and designed it myself,” he informed Dick quickly. “Father only edited.”

“It looks professional,” Dick assured him. The images were glossy and high quality, and the fun facts were interesting and compelling.

Damian beamed. It was such a rare sight that Dick was tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture in case he never saw it again. But he knew Damian would balk at the unsolicited photography, so he settled for pulling his baby brother close to his chest in a tight hug. He buried his nose in Damian’s hair and inhaled to smell the comforting pup-scent. Damian had presented as alpha just a couple weeks ago, but it would be months before he started smelling the part. Selfishly, Dick wished he would stay young forever.

With a face of utmost offense, Damian wriggled away from the hug, and with one last affectionate squeeze, Dick let him go. “I’m so proud of you,” Dick said, gazing around the ballroom. “You’ve put so much effort into this, for such a good cause.”

Damian wrinkled his nose to tell Dick that he’d reached his quota of affection for the evening, but there was a persistent little grin at the corners of his mouth. 

Usually, Damian despised the Wayne charity galas; his abhorrence for formal events was rivalled only by his devotion to animals of all kinds. Albatrosses had been his most recent passion project. With a surprisingly professional PowerPoint, he had persuaded Bruce to establish a fundraiser for their benefit. All of his effort has culminated in this night.

Dick carefully folded up the pamphlet and stationed it in his pocket. He would decide later whether to frame it, hang it on the fridge, or grab a second copy and do both.

Loud footsteps sounded behind him, and a heavy arm settled over his shoulders. Dick turned, grinning, to see Jason pressed beside him. Generally, Jason’s hatred for Wayne galas was even more wholehearted than Damian’s. But when his invitation had arrived by mail and Dick had enlightened him on the event’s specifics, Jason had dramatically declared that, while he might be a murderer, he would never stoop so low as to ditch a fundraiser for endangered seabirds.

“Do you want to hear any albatross facts?” Dick offered.

“Hit me,” Jason agreed. 

Dick gestured for Damian to drop some knowledge, and he primly recited, “Some sailors consider it to be a symbol of good luck when an albatross follows their ship.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. “That’s handy,” he commented.

“Can’t have too much good luck out at sea,” Dick agreed. “I mean… sharks. Tsunamis. Icebergs.”

Damian rolled his eyes, even as Jason nodded seriously in accordance. “It’s the twenty-first century, Grayson.”

“Sharks have had a lot of time to evolve,” Jason asserted. “I sure wouldn’t want to run into a twenty-first century shark. Give me an eighteen hundreds one any day.”

Dick elbowed Jason, grinning, and Damian heaved a sigh, turning his eyes heavenward. In an undisguised effort to change the subject, Damian pointed to a display on his table. “We have pins,” he said. “And necklaces.”

Obediently, Dick turned to admire them. On glossy golden chains, there hung bird-shaped pendants with sparkling jewel eyes. They also came in dime-sized pins that were a little more subtle. 

“Get a necklace,” said Jason, grabbing one. He thrust his wallet towards Damian, who, looking pleased with himself, extracted Jason’s debit card and swiped it through his little handheld chip reader. It was probably absurdly expensive, but for Damian’s fundraiser, Dick was sure Jason was willing to be liberal with his expenditure. And the necklace was very pretty. They’d been specifically designed and commissioned for the event. 

Dick held still as Jason clipped the necklace around his neck. “There,” he declared when he was done.

Another guest stepped up to the table, and Damian began anew with his recitation of facts and sales pitch. Dick wanted him to feel independent, so he led Jason away, pulling him through the gaps in the crowd, wondering where Bruce was and if there were any open seats he could claim.

“How much was the necklace?” Dick asked when Damian was out of earshot. “I’ll venmo you it.”

Jason waved him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dick frowned. “I don’t let alphas buy me things,” he said sharply. 

“Jesus Christ, it was a gift,” Jason snapped, looking offended.

“It’s a principle,” Dick said, tone deliberately unreadable. 

Jason was dear to his heart. Had been since he was just a scrappy street kid, to when he presented alpha, to when he died and came back, and every moment in between. When Dick said he hated alphas, he didn’t mean it in a way that applied to Jason specifically.

But he had to protect himself. A gift from an alpha almost always heralded ulterior motives. And even when they didn’t, it was important to set the precedent that he was not putting up with any bullshit. Dick rejected both sides of the spectrum--gifts born out of good intentions and horniness alike. 

Curling his lip spitefully, Jason said, “I’ll text it to you later.”

“Thank you,” said Dick. His feathers still felt ruffled, but he knew it would be a dick move to ruin Damian’s scrupulously planned event with a bitter attitude. He sighed, nudged Jason’s shoulder affectionately with his own, and pointed to a table on the far side of the room. “I see empty seats.”

“Oh shit,” Jason said. “The fuck are we still doing here, then?”

He grabbed Dick by the elbow, and together, they began to power-walk across the ballroom to the only empty seats in sight. Dick kept on almost tripping over Jason’s legs, and Jason had to swerve abruptly out of the paths of several affronted-looking guests. Through giggles that he couldn’t control, Dick distributed apologies whenever necessary.

They were only a few yards away from the seats when Dick gasped, “Jay, wait!”

Jason, who was speed-walking too fast to stop, ran straight into a middle-aged man who had been on his way to the very same seats Dick and Jason had laid claim to. Dick stumbled into Jason and almost fell over, but at the very last moment, Jason caught him.

Pretending to swoon as Jason helped him up, Dick declared, “My hero!”

“I get that a lot,” Jason informed him. 

Behind them, the man they’d bumped into coughed intentionally and picked himself up off the floor. “Excuse me.”

Dick’s face went red, and he reached out a hand to help the man up. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “We weren’t looking where we were going. Are you okay?”

For a moment, the man eyed them, looking disgruntled. Then he shook himself off, and his expression lost some of its severity. “I suppose I’ll recover eventually,” he decided, brushing off his shirt and pants. He stuck out a hand for Jason to shake. “George Atkinson. I’m sure we’ve met before. I’m the head of Wayne Enterprises pharmaceutical department.”

“Wow,” said Jason, shaking the proffered hand as Dick examined its owner. Atkinson was tall, skinny, balding, and very sharp in his professional suit. An alpha, judging by the almost absurdly strong scent surrounding him. “That’s an important job.”

Atkinson offered Dick a handshake afterwards, and his skin crawled with discomfort where it met Atkinson’s. A very quiet breath of relief escaped him when the contact concluded.

Atkinson was the sort of alpha who struck Dick as ostensibly suspicious. He couldn’t put his finger on the specific reason--maybe the way his eyes lingered on Dick and Jason, or the way his smile seemed entirely divorced from the remainder of his expression. It was impossible to explain in a way that would make reasonable sense, but to Dick, George Atkinson radiated very bad vibes.

Also, a very bad smell. But that would be kind of offensive to mention.

“I’m very proud of the work we do,” Atkinson agreed. “Lots of important progress in the contraceptive field.”

Dick nodded and let out a noncommittal sound of interest, intended to communicate that while he was, in fact, politely engaged with the conversation, he would really rather not be.

Atkinson picked up on the hint and initiated a new subject of conversation. He turned towards Jason, tilted his head at Dick, and asked, “Is this your omega?”

Dick’s mood turned sour, and, unimpressed, he said, “Jason is a family friend.”

He hated the implication that an omega could not be friends with an alpha if they didn’t intend to fuck or, even better, get married and run off and have a hundred and one babies together. He hated the implication that an omega shouldn’t attend an event like this unsupervised. He despised the barbaric laws that made offensive stereotypes into the truth.

“I see,” said Atkinson with a knowing sparkle in his eyes that only served to piss Dick off further. He was still looking only at Jason, like Dick, as an omega, was a useless accessory to any adult conversation. Simmering indignance burned in his gut. 

In a quieter voice, Atkinson asked, “Who’s his escort, then?”

“I’m here with my father,” Dick snapped. What kind of offensive, invasive, none of his business question was that supposed to be? It was none of anyone’s business who Dick’s alpha was. He despised the fact that he even needed an alpha in the first place.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t pry,” Atkinson admitted, holding his hands up. “I was just curious. There’s a lot of alphas who’d love to be yours, you know. What are you waiting for?”

Dick was waiting for a system that didn’t deliberately oppress omegas at every opportunity. He was waiting for an alpha who didn’t do the same.

“I don’t know,” Dick said bitterly, instead of all that. “It’s been great talking to you. We’re going to go find my brother.”

“Damian?” asked Atkinson, whose head the hint had apparently flown right over. “I heard he organized this event himself.”

“Yeah,” Dick admitted. “We’re really proud of him.”

With a smile, Atkinson sighed. “Children are God’s gift,” he informed Dick, touching his shoulder.

Dick stepped away abruptly. “They sure are,” he said sarcastically. 

“Let’s not give the omegas any credit,” Jason agreed dryly, warning clear in his tone.

Atkinson laughed like he and Jason had some personal inside joke, and Dick was the butt of it. Humiliation crawled over his skin.

A waitress with a platter of wine glasses walked by, and Atkinson stopped her, grabbing a glass in each hand. “Wine?” he offered, holding one out to Dick and the other to Jason. 

Jason took his, but Dick declined, too upset to have any sort of appetite. His stomach churned with anger. “None for me, thanks.”

“Oh, just take it,” said Jason, putting a glass in Dick’s hand. “You’re so tense.”

Atkinson laughed, and Dick’s entire face went red with horrified mortification. “Excuse me,” he gritted out, gripping the wine glass so hard, it could break.

Feeling tense and hot with furious embarrassment from the horrible conversation, Dick stalked out of the ballroom, through the main hallway, and out the front doors. He needed to calm down somewhere cool and secluded. He needed to be away from all the people.

He’d only been sitting outside on the front steps for a minute or two when the door behind him opened, and heavy footsteps approached. Dick turned, already knowing who he’d see, and wordlessly scooted to make room for Jason.

He sat and handed Dick a plate loaded high with hors d'oeuvres. “I brought snacks,” Jason said.

Dick accepted the plate and raised a suspicious eyebrow at Jason. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason said, sagging in defeat. “I didn’t mean it that way, when I said you should take the wine. That was shitty.”

“Yeah,” Dick agreed dryly. He curled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. “I know you didn’t mean it, though,” he allowed.

“He was such a fucking asshole,” Jason said, expression tightening angrily. “Who the fuck gave him the right to ask all that shit?”

Dick shrugged. “You know what they always say.” He smiled, just a tiny bit, and turned his face away from Jason, gazing at the cool pavement beneath his feet. “It wouldn’t be a gala without rampant casual sexism.”

“Ah,” said Jason. “The ancient adage.”

“Pretty sure it was in an Aesop fable,” Dick agreed. 

“Wise words of old.”

Dick giggled, feeling a little better, and leaned into Jason, resting his head on his shoulder. He finally allowed himself to sip at the wine. It was pleasantly fruity. The hors d'oeuvres were weird and unfamiliar, but Dick ate those too, because he was hungry. Jason stole them off his plate and ate with much more gusto than Dick. 

“Do you actually like these?” Dick asked incredulously, mouth full. He chewed quickly in the hopes that he might swallow too fast to actually register the flavor, and was only mildly successful.

“Of course,” Jason said, confused. “They’re delicious. High-end.”

Dick wrinkled his nose. “Rich people food makes no sense.”

“Rich people in general make no sense,” Jason allowed. “Their food hits different, though.”

Dick snorted and shoved the plate at Jason, who accepted it happily. He finished his glass of wine, and felt pleasantly tipsy. What the fuck kind of wine was that, he wondered. Never in his life had he encountered a single glass of wine that could have this strong of an effect on him. 

“What kind of wine is this?” he asked Jason.

Mouth full of tiny appetizers, Jason shrugged, and swallowed in one big gulp. “Fuck if I know,” he said. “The good shit.”

Dick pulled off his jacket. It suddenly felt unbearably hot and itchy. “Is there more of it?” he asked.

“No,” Jason said seriously. “Wayne galas are known for how responsible they are with alcohol, there’s barely any of it in the whole place--”

Dick smacked Jason’s arm. “Go get us more wine and some food that’s edible,” he ordered.

Rolling his eyes, Jason stood to obey. In his absence, Dick found himself restless and lonely. It was tempting to pull off his shirt, too, but that would be egregiously impolite if any other guests happened to walk by, so he settled for unbuttoning the top two buttons and loosening his tie. He checked the weather on his phone. It was supposed to be sixty-two degrees out--Dick should be chilly.

Instead, he felt burning hot.

Jason was back with the wine before long. He’d forgone the pre-poured glasses, apparently, for an entire bottle, and he pulled out the cork and filled his and Dick’s wine glasses to the very brim. 

They drank, and before long, Dick was beginning to feel inexplicably clingy. He attached himself to Jason’s side like a magnet, resting his head on his shoulder and holding on with both arms, nuzzling into his scent gland. Jason smelled really good. He wished Jason would let him do this more often. More physical affection. 

But pressed so close to Jason, the heat was almost unbearable. Dick’s resolution finally cracked--he unbuttoned his shirt all the way and let it hang haphazardly from his shoulders.

Jason grinned at the sight, and laughed, and Dick loved the way his chest rumbled with it. In the darkness of the very late evening, silhouetted by the golden light streaming out through the windows, Jason looked attractive in ways Dick had never really noticed before. He was tall, broad and strong--everything an omega longed for. His hair was dark and the perfect length to curl just a little when it was messed up. Impulsively, just because he could, Dick reached out to run his hand through it, messing up the gel.

Jason laughed and grabbed Dick by the wrist. “What was that for?” he asked, not letting Dick go.

Dick beamed at him. He felt giddy and loose, sort of like the afterglow of a really good heat. “I don’t know,” he said. “Are you hot? It’s really fuckin’ hot.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Feels like rut, almost. But it’s off schedule--”

“Ew,” interjected Dick, wrinkling his nose. “TMI.”

Jason snorted. “You asked!”

“I guess,” Dick said. He wriggled impossibly closer to Jason. He was practically on the alpha’s lap. It felt strangely like all his inhibitions had taken leave, and Dick was acting on nothing but instinct and impulse. It was a heady feeling. Intoxicating.

Come to think of it, it really did remind him of heat. But that shouldn’t be for another couple weeks at least. Why would his heat start so suddenly? It was unnatural.

“I think I’m going into heat,” Dick said, voice awed. “That’s so weird.”

“TMI,” Jason mocked.

Dick giggled breathlessly at him. “Jason,” he said, very quietly.

“Dick,” said Jason.

Dick leaned in very close. “I’m horny.”

Jason laughed for a minute like that was the best thing he’d ever heard. Dick grabbed him by the neck. He wanted Jason to shut up for a moment, but also, his instincts were screaming for an alpha--any alpha. The nearest one available. He couldn’t let Jason leave.

All of a sudden Dick couldn’t contain himself for even a second longer--he surged forward into Jason’s arms and pressed his lips to Jason’s. For a moment, Jason just held him there, unmoving, then, as if a decision had been made, he tilted his head to adjust the angle and was moving his lips against Dick’s. It made his fucking insides melt. His head was devoid of logic or reason. He just wanted Jason--so fucking badly. He couldn’t even think.

“Need you,” Dick whined when they pulled apart to breathe. Jason panted into his mouth. Dick squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“I get that a lot,” Jason agreed, teasing. He stood, very abruptly, and Dick squealed when he was almost ejected onto the concrete. Jason grabbed him by the elbow and hoisted him up before he hit the ground. Dick wrapped his arms around Jason’s neck, and Jason growled approvingly. Dick shivered at the sound. A real, purely alpha noise. He’d never heard anything like that from Jason before.

“Take me home,” urged Dick between hot, liquid kisses. 

Jason pulled back. Dick would have felt cold from the loss of proximity, but Jason’s stare, roving up and down his body before landing on his face, was so incredibly full of heat.

“You want to?” Jason asked. His thumbs rubbed little circles into Dick’s arms, where he kept a firm grip. 

Dick nodded, too breathless to reply. All of this was so sudden, and he felt so incredibly far gone. He just wanted to be swept up into an alpha’s bed. Into an alpha’s arms. 

He wanted to be mounted and bred. He wanted to be claimed.

And Jason was right there. All he had to say was yes.

Slowly, Jason nodded, like a decision was being made. He pulled Dick a little closer and gave Dick a kiss on the forehead--and God, the tenderness made him just go limp, all hot and fuzzy and desperate for Jason.

“Let’s go home,” Jason agreed in a whisper.

Chapter Text

Dick kicked Jason out of his own room shortly after they woke up together--when Jason stood on shaky feet and declared that he was going to cook breakfast, Dick locked the door behind him with no intention of opening it up. That would be pretty inconvenient to Jason--if Dick remembered correctly, the only bathroom in the apartment was attached to the bedroom. Still, he had to be alone. He couldn’t stand the sight of Jason.

Panic clogged his throat and constricted his lungs. He paced around the foot of the bed, unable to properly breathe or sit still, for long, torturous minutes. His hand kept drifting back to the fresh mating bite. He squeezed it just to feel the pain, just to verify that it really was there--and then he dashed to the bathroom to wash off the specks of red that had welled up onto his fingers, because he couldn’t bear to see the evidence of what had happened.

He wanted his pack. He wanted his home--his nest. But he couldn’t get out of the apartment without facing Jason, and he knew the two of them would need to speak about this. He dreaded that conversation viscerally. 

Acting on autopilot, Dick grabbed the duvet and a couple pillows off the bed and dragged them across the bedroom into Jason’s closet. In the dark, enclosed space, he pulled together a nest. It was haphazard and rushed, but the claustrophobic area soothed the omega inside of him that was desperate for comfort, and the smell of his alpha appeased his instincts no matter how much Dick’s rational mind despised it.

God. His alpha. He had an alpha now.

He wanted to throw up.

It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes spent in the closet nest before there was a banging on the bedroom door.

“Dick,” Jason called, sounding worried. “You good in there?”

Dick did not respond for a minute, and the loud knocking persisted. “I brought food,” Jason said.

Dick felt a burning surge of disdain rise up in his gut. As if Jason thought that, just because it worked last night, all he ever had to do to earn Dick’s forgiveness was feed him.

Memories of last night were difficult to come by. It was like he was trying to catch them with a net: while the big chunks caught in between the strings, all the smaller details slipped away.

He remembered being pissed at Jason until he brought the hors d'oeuvres, which Dick hadn’t even ended up liking anyways. He remembered the wine-- drinking it with Jason, swallowing, and feeling his inhibitions washed away as easily as sandy footprints in high tide. 

He remembered begging Jason to take him home, and Jason looking at him, kissing him, agreeing after a few pregnant moments of pause. 

He didn’t remember what happened after that. But the context clues gave him a pretty fucking good idea.

Bite on his neck. Soreness and come between his legs. It didn’t take the world’s greatest detective.

“It’s my bedroom,” Jason asserted, beginning to sound annoyed. “I’m coming in whether you like it or not.”

Suddenly mortified to have been hiding in a closet, Dick jumped to his feet, slammed the closet door shut behind him, and dashed to the bathroom. He locked himself in and raided Jason’s cabinet for a washcloth. It was imperative that he get clean before facing Jason.

“Christ’s sake,” sighed Jason through the door, but he wasn’t angry anymore. “You okay?”

Dick swallowed. Took a deep breath.

This was Jason. 

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said.

When everything--bite mark and elsewhere--was as clean as Dick could reasonably get it, he steeled himself and finally made his exit from the bathroom.

Jason stood in the middle of the bedroom, clothed in a pair of basketball shorts and a worn, baggy T-shirt, holding a plate of diced fruit and scrambled eggs. He looked like almost as much of a disaster as Dick--his hair was uncombed, his clothing was wrinkled and unwashed, and his scent was heavy with stress.

“Cooking as coping?” asked Dick dryly.

Jason smiled sheepishly and handed the plate to Dick. “Whatever works,” he said.

Dick held the plate in one hand, but his appetite had never been smaller. Bright red strawberries cut in perfect halves. A peach, diced into easy slices. Blueberries, small and fresh. And eggs, just the way Dick liked them-- just on the edge of burnt, because runny egg grossed him out. 

Before, Dick might have appreciated that Jason knew the sort of foods Dick enjoyed-- that, somewhere along the line, he’d paid any amount of attention to Dick’s dining preferences. Now, in the context of this new and horrible thing, he didn’t know what to make of it.

He set the plate down on the bed and Jason’s face fell a little.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Jason admitted, sounding miserable. “Nothing past sitting on the steps with you at the gala.”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek. He felt like he could taste the sex, still heavy on his tongue, and wanted it out. He was probably imagining it, though. It had been hours.

“Neither do I,” said Dick. “We can’t have been drunk enough for that.”

“Not even a whole bottle of wine between the two of us,” Jason agreed. “No way in hell. We were drugged.”

Dick stared past Jason at the room beyond. He felt a little bit mentally checked out-- maybe fifty percent present for the conversation, if that. He knew it was important. 

But it also didn’t feel completely real.

Bonding was just some weird thing that happened to other people. Not Dick. Especially not Dick and Jason. Together.

Dick and Jason. Now that they were mates, Dick and Jason was going to become a thing.

Dick and Jason’s place. Dick and Jason’s belongings and furniture and pets. Dick and Jason’s pups. That was what everyone would expect, at least. And there was no way Dick could give it to them.

Fuck fuck fuck. The sick feeling returned to Dick’s stomach in hot, churning waves. He wanted to go back to his nest. He wondered why he’d ever left it.

Then, something on Jason’s neck caught his eye. A big, dark bruise in the shape of a bite mark. 

“Christ,” Dick said, reaching out to touch. Jason looked startled, shoulders tensing up like he was getting ready to fight. He exhaled slowly through his nose, and made a visible effort to stay still.

“I bit you,” gasped Dick. 

Another layer of mystery became apparent, and Dick felt even more lost than before.

“Hard,” agreed Jason with a grimace.

“Why would I do that?” Dick wondered aloud. He could visualize the puzzle pieces, spread out over an expanse in his mind’s eye, but he couldn’t figure out how they were supposed to fit together. “That’s not how a claim works, the alpha has to bite the omega for it to work. We both know that.”

“So that was part of the drug, then,” suggested Jason. “We’re both given the same drug that makes you want to bite.”

All of a sudden it clicked, and the full picture was visible. “Shit,” said Dick, hand on his forehead. “The case we’re working on.”

Jason’s eyes went wide-- the realization was setting in for him just as hard as Dick. Almost as abruptly, they went narrow with anger. 

“I have the files in my system,” he said, voice short and unreadable. “Look.”

He led Dick through the hallway to the kitchen, where a square, wooden dining table occupied the center of a fanatically neat space. The counters were clear except for kitchen appliances. There was a fruit bowl in the center of the table. Not a single utensil was out of place.

Jason pulled out what looked like an average Macbook but was actually a souped-up Bat-laptop in disguise. All the bats had them-- they could be taken anywhere, and any civilian who witnessed it would be none the wiser.

Dick leaned over Jason’s shoulder and watched as he pulled up the files, heart sinking like a stone in his battered chest.

The case was ongoing-- it had crossed Dick’s radar only a month ago, and progress had been slow. There were very few common threads tying each victim together, and little to no leads regarding the culprit, or whether a culprit even existed. It didn’t seem like a classic villainous scheme.

Dozens of newly-formed couples in the past month had reported waking up with no recollection of the previous night, mated. Each of the omegas had been knotted and bitten-- each of the alphas sported a bruise on their own shoulder in turn, where the omegas, who lacked fangs, had tried to bite them. 

The first few times, it seemed like the couple had just gotten drunk and hooked up. Not worth investigating-- so they hadn’t. By now, Dick ruefully understood, there would be no evidence of drugs left in their systems to search for and test.

But the same thing happening to dozens of couples, all within a relatively small time frame inside the same city, constituted a lot more than an unfortunate coincidence. Something was happening to these people to make them suddenly claim each other-- they were all being drugged.

By whom, Dick didn’t know. Using what drug, was another unanswered question.

The why, Dick could guess at pretty well.

To strip away the right of omegas to be independent.

To claim the ones who didn’t want to be claimed.

*

“Shit,” said Jason, shutting the laptop and sliding it away from himself on the table.

“Sums it up,” Dick said.

Jason frowned like Dick’s voice had cut him. His eyes glimmered with anger, but it didn’t seem to be directed at Dick-- he stared at the wall behind them like he wanted to set it on fire. His fist, clenched on the table, was shaking.

Dick, meanwhile, felt mostly numb. This wasn’t his life. This was someone else’s, and he was watching it through a screen. This wasn’t real, so there was no need to worry. No need to think about it.

Mostly, he thought about how he still ached, even through the unfeeling haze. He still ached.

“We’ve gotta catch this bastard,” said Jason, voice so tight it shook. He slammed his fist into the table and it rocked dangerously. Dick stepped backwards away from it, but his eyes for the most part saw straight through the wood.

“Yeah,” said Dick. He’d assumed that was implied.

“Fuck. Goddamn--” Abruptly, Jason stood up, and pushed in his chair. Dick stepped back again. 

That drew Jason’s eyes to Dick, and when they made eye contact, he sagged a few inches like the bow strings inside him had all abruptly snapped. The anger in his eyes was replaced by something else, writhing in abject anguish. 

“Dick, you have to believe me. I’m so sorry.”

Dick bit into the side of his cheek until he tasted blood and still the numbness persisted. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, because somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that if they talked now, he’d say unforgivable things. 

“I would never,” Jason pleaded. His expression was frantic. The air around him vibrated with a horrible nervous energy.

Distantly, Dick realized that he looked heartbroken.

*

In his own apartment, everything looked a little grayer-- like some of the color was missing. He was only imagining it, of course. Midafternoon sun spilled through the open windows like paint tinting everything golden, and Dick’s characteristic clutter was colorful as always: Green potted plants, sprouting on shelves and tables and countertops. Clothing strewn about like the place was one big, inhabitable laundry basket. No one piece of furniture matched the other: the coffee table was a modern, transparent affair, while the couch was green corduroy, and the television was straight out of the nineties. Blue curtains. Dark brown bookshelves atop a purple rug.

Maybe it was the fact that the apartment didn’t even belong to Dick anymore. It was registered under the name of his alpha: Bruce Wayne. Now that Dick had a new alpha, he had no claim over the flat. Just some of the stuff inside of it. Clothing, decorations, other belongings. 

Dick had once loved this apartment. Now it felt dim.

Still, it was a quiet, calm place where he could get his thoughts in order and figure out his next few steps. He was claimed, not helpless. He tried to convince himself that the two could be different.

He took an ice-cold shower in the hopes that it would dispel some of the numbness-- counterintuitive in theory, but Dick knew the hot water would bring back memories he didn’t want to dwell on: memories of heat. 

That done, and as clean as could reasonably be, Dick curled up on the sofa with his laptop on the armrest and his phone in one hand. Jason had forwarded him the case files-- not that Dick hadn’t already had them.

It occurs to Dick that Jason was probably at as much of a loss as he was. Scrounging around at things to do that might make it better.

Dick’s phone was vibrating again. It hadn’t stopped doing that throughout the morning, but it was only now that he felt like his emotional capacity was enough to handle it.

Four missed calls from Bruce, and another coming through. Dick sighed, leaned his forehead on his elbow, and swiped to answer.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling since last night.”

Bruce’s harsh voice was a distinct contrast from the fuzzy numbness that had plagued Dick’s brain since he woke up. It cut right through like a knife.

“Jason’s,” said Dick. His voice sounded clear and calm. 

“I saw you two leave together,” Bruce said suspiciously. “Are you two--”

“We’re mated,” Dick said. Better rip the bandaid off now than deal with the hassle of deception later.

There was silence over the line for a couple of tense seconds. Dick tapped his cheek with his fingertips and pursed his lips.

“What?”

“Jason and I,” said Dick slowly, “are mated. As of last night.”

Again, silence. Dick marvelled at Bruce’s speechlessness. Who knew this was all it would take to render him mute?

“I… don’t even know where to start. Why? Since when were you-- you and Jason?”

No, Dick thought sarcastically, the other Jason. “Yes, Jason,” he snapped. “I don’t owe you the details. It’s between me and him.”

“I cannot believe,” rumbled Bruce, “how irresponsible--”

Dick put the phone on speaker and pulled it away from his ear. He didn’t need to hear the tirade so close-up.

“--a completely rash decision. Goddamnit, Dick. I thought you didn’t even want an alpha.”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek and stared down at the floor. He couldn’t even make eye contact with his cell phone. Thank God this conversation wasn’t happening in person.

“You know this can never be undone,” said Bruce before finally shutting up.

The significance of his words sunk in like a brand, and that was when Dick’s emotions finally began to well up in place of the icy reverie. “I know,” he said, choked.

A mating bond can never be broken.

A mating bond lasts for life.

“I… Dick, I wish I knew what you were thinking right now.”

Again, Dick maintained his uncharacteristic silence. He couldn’t think of anything to say that would make Bruce happier.

He considered briefly the prospect of telling Bruce they’d been drugged. But that brought up the issue of consent, and the subsequent lack thereof, and.

Not a topic he wanted to discuss with Bruce. Not a topic he wanted even remotely associated with Jason, who, despite Dick’s earlier anger, Dick knew would never violate someone’s trust in that way. 

If anything, it was mutual.

It was the fault of whoever drugged them.

“Listen,” Dick said after a few awkward moments of quiet had passed, and it became clear that Bruce was not going to be the one to pick the conversion back up. “I’ve got reason to believe there’s something shady going on in Gotham the past few months. Those reports of couples mating, and being unable to remember it after. I think it’s not a coincidence.”

Bruce sucked in an audible breath. “Is that what--”

“No,” Dick cut in hoarsely. “No.”

“Come home,” Bruce pleaded. “Bring Jason. I can’t just let you--”

“You don’t need to let me do anything,” snapped Dick, suddenly angry. “Just because I’m telling you about this, out of courtesy, doesn’t mean it’s any of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business,” Bruce asserted. “I’m telling you to come home.”

“No,” Dick repeated, frustration welling up in his chest. “I said no. I’ll send you the case details later, and then--”

“You’re not working on the case,” snapped Bruce.

“Why the hell not?” demanded Dick. “Is it because I’m an omega? Is it because it’s too dangerous?” 

“It’s because I’m your alpha and I said so,” Bruce snapped. “Come home--”

The tiniest, mirthless smile twitched on Dick’s lips. “You’re not my alpha anymore,” he said.

He hung up the phone.

*

It was difficult to occupy himself for the rest of the afternoon. He felt restless and jumpy, full of nervous energy that he didn’t know how to dispel, and so he spent a couple hours doing push ups and lifting weights in his living room. After that, he was sweaty and disgusting, which he used as an excuse to take another shower. That one was cold not by choice, but because his apartment had the worst water heating in the universe. 

When he emerged from the bathroom, there was a missed call on his phone. That was mildly surprising, because in a fit of petty annoyance earlier that day, he’d elected to block Bruce’s number until Bruce either bought a new phone or maybe grovelled in person. 

There was a text to go along with the missed call:

come to my place for dinner. we gotta talk 

Dick spent a few minutes anxiously considering his options before finally replying:

What are you cooking?

The response came in within less than thirty seconds:

lasagna

Dick pulled on a jacket and a pair of shoes. He supposed that if the talk was inevitable either way, he’d rather do it over a plate of lasagna.

*

When he arrived at Jason’s apartment, he let himself in without knocking. The apartment felt a lot warmer than Dick’s, somehow. While Dick’s was colorful, organized chaos and unregulated mess, Jason’s felt cared for. Lovingly cleaned and meticulously organized. All the decor fit together like a model home magazine. 

The apartment itself was a lot cheaper than Dick’s had been. But it was obvious that Jason took better care of his. Dick didn’t quite know what to make of that.

The kitchen, when Dick wandered in, was warm with the scent of food cooking. Jason, in jeans, a black T-shirt with enough holes that it should have been thrown away several years ago, and a pair of red socks with tacos on them, hovered over the stove with so much focus that he didn’t even notice Dick come in.

The sight was endearing and intimate. A glimpse of Jason, in his home and his element. Comfortable.

Dick announced himself by pulling a chair out from the dining table, loudly enough that it scraped.

Jason turned towards him abruptly, but didn’t startle. “Jesus. Have you tried knocking?”

Dick shrugged with a rueful grin. “I didn’t think to,” he said.

Jason pulled out the chair across from Dick and sat down. “The lasagna’s in the oven,” he explained awkwardly, when neither of them seemed inclined to dive into the more pressing topic. “I was just cleaning up a bit.”

“Looks clean enough to me,” Dick said, glancing around. Other than the cooking supplies still scattered over the countertops, the place practically sparkled.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Your definition of clean is what the rest of the world considers the site of a disaster.”

Dick grinned. It was easy to fall back into a rhythm of teasing, but behind the natural ebb and flow of their conversation, there was a tension.

Dick put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in a hand. He gazed past Jason, at the oven just behind him. He sighed.

Jason scowled, shifting uncomfortably.

“Want something to drink?” he offered.

“Water,” said Dick. “Thanks.”

Jason stood to pour two glasses from the tap and then sat back down. For a couple moments, they sipped in silence. 

Then, as if a flip had switched, Jason set his glass down so hard that water sloshed over the top. “Listen,” he said, suddenly intense. “I got a few things to say.”

Dick nodded and made a sweeping hand gesture. Be my guest.

“First of all, I tested for drugs in my system after you left. There was nothing there but I’m assuming that’s just cause it was so fast-acting. We can test you too, if you want. I don’t know how long the drugs stick around in someone’s system, but it’s worth a try.”

“The… mating cycle… was a lot shorter for us than natural ones are,” Dick pointed out.

“Another indication of drugs,” Jason agreed.

Dick nodded. He was sure they had been drugged. There was no other reasonable explanation.

“But… that said. I know it’s… an explanation, right. It’s why last night happened. But it doesn’t feel like-- an excuse. I…” Jason curled his fist so hard it shook on the table and the knuckles turned white. His voice stayed steady. “I took advantage of you and what happened is irreversible. I’m so sorry. I’m--”

“Stop it,” Dick said. “It’s not--”

“Yes it is,” Jason snapped. “I’m the alpha, I should have--”

“We were drugged,” Dick snarled, standing. “Just because you’re an alpha, you think you’re so strong, doesn’t mean it wasn’t completely out of your control. That’s the whole point of this shit. They’re taking away our… control.” 

Dick’s voice almost broke at the very end, and he had to take in a deep breath to make sure it stayed steady.

Jason shut up, but the taut line of his jaw was dissatisfied, and his fist remained clenched on the table. 

Dick sat back down. 

“I told Bruce we were mated,” he said tiredly, drawing little circles on the tabletop with his finger. “Not why or how.”

Jason frowned. “So he thinks we’re… actually together?”

Dick frowned. “I guess,” he said. “If he believed me.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” asked Jason. 

“Because I’ve made it very clear all my life that I didn’t want an alpha,” Dick said shortly. 

He regretted his words instantly when the guilt returned to Jason’s expression full force. “Damn it,” Jason said quietly. “I--”

“Don’t say sorry again,” Dick warned.

The oven beeped and Jason stood. He pulled on two bright red oven mitts and removed the lasagna from the oven after checking the temperature with a thermometer. It was set on the counter, steam rising in gentle curls.

Dick bit the inside of his cheek. “I know it’s not ideal for either of us,” he said. Jason’s lip twitched upwards at the monstrous scope of the understatement. “But there might be… a silver lining.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t look entirely opposed to the idea-- just surprised that Dick was proposing it.

“Since we can’t undo it,” Dick said, guilt and turmoil churning in his stomach at the very reminder, “we might as well play it for it’s advantages.”

“Like?” prompted Jason, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Dick clarified. He felt selfish for trying to twist their predicament to suit his own needs when there was very little Jason could get out of their arrangement. But it was worth proposing, at the very least. “But if we make it all official and everything, get registered as mated, all that…” He swallowed and his dry throat clicked. “Bruce won’t be my alpha anymore.”

“Is that a good thing?” asked Jason, doubt turning his voice dry and humorless.

“I don’t like the authority he has over me,” Dick admitted, frustrated. Years and years spent living in Bruce’s shadow. Bruce calling Dick his partner but treating them like his… like his employee, or something. There to get a job done. In regular need of correction that only Bruce could provide. “But you’d be my alpha in name only.”

Jason looked away. The side of Jason’s face that Dick could see was creased in indecision. Guilt still furrowed his eyebrows, and his jaw was no less tense than before. But he didn’t look angry. It made Dick feel even more guilty for putting him in this position.

“Alright,” Jason said finally. He turned to look at Dick more fully, and somehow, meeting his eyes was a sting and a comfort at the same time. His expression was intense and stormy. “Fine.”

He stood and grabbed two plates from a cabinet. One was set in front of Dick, and the other at Jason’s seat. Jason cut a monstrously huge slice of lasagna and, silently, placed it on Dick’s plate.

“Eat that,” he ordered.

That command was vastly preferable to the overwhelming majority of Bruce’s. Dick ate.

Chapter Text

The next day Dick and Jason went to the court to be registered as mates. Then, once it was legal, they began the process of clearing out Dick’s apartment. On paper, the flat belonged to Bruce, and besides, it would look weird if a mated couple lived in two separate apartments.

Somehow, Dick couldn’t bring himself to clear the apartment out fully. It wasn’t that he was particularly attached to the place, or that he was feeling lazy and procrastinatey, or that moving was a pain in the ass.

It was that getting rid of the apartment would make everything feel real. 

So he packed a box of clothing, relocated all of his Nightwing gear, and boxed up his favorite nesting materials. The rest, he didn’t touch. Bruce wouldn’t mind paying the rent on an apartment Dick wasn’t living in. He probably wouldn’t even notice the money missing.

“Is that all you’re going to pack?” asked Jason doubtfully. He stood in the doorframe, one hand on his hip. He’d offered about ten times to help carry one of the boxes, but Dick maintained that he had it under control.

Dick shrugged, awkward with the weight of a box under each arm. “I can’t think of anything else I need,” he said.

“Not immediately,” Jason said. “But I mean. This isn’t… temporary, or anything. Even once we defeat the bastard who did this, we’re still--”

“I know,” Dick interrupted, looking away. He focussed his gaze on the wall, right by the window. Wondered how, even with the sunlight streaming in, it looked gray. “But we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

They made it quickly to Jason’s apartment, and Jason hurried into the kitchen like it was calling his name. Dick wondered how one person could possibly enjoy cooking so much. To Dick, all of the preparation and subsequent cleanup was a chore. 

When Dick opened up the closet to put his clothes away, he found that his embarrassing closet-nest of the other day had disappeared. The implication made his cheeks flush red. Jason would have had to see it, understand what it meant, and clean it up himself. 

That Jason had witnessed evidence of Dick behaving in such an omega fashion was mortifying beyond words. But, he supposed as he pushed all of Jason’s clothes to one side of the rack and began to hang his own clothing on the other, he would have to get used to it. Jason was his mate now. His alpha.

You don’t always get what you want in life , Dick told himself firmly before he could begin to dwell again on his own self-pity. And, if he had to have any alpha in the world, he would rather it be Jason. Caring, considerate, fiercely protective Jason. 

A lot of omegas had it a lot worse. It was selfish to be so upset. 

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. They were going to get through this.

*

Jason made fried chicken for dinner. Dick marvelled at how similar, yet unlike, it was to Alfred’s cooking: the same skill and dedication, with a wildly different menu and execution. Alfred would die before he lowered himself to preparing something so unhealthy. But Jason turned cooking into something fun.

It was, as expected, delicious, and Dick, who had neglected breakfast and lunch, ate with gusto. Jason watched on with a puffed up chest, exuding the intoxicating musk of alpha pride. He offered Dick seconds and then thirds, and when those were declined, made a big production of grumbling and crossing his arms before packing the leftovers into a tupperware in the refrigerator.

They skipped patrol that night in favor of research: they had decided to take a remote approach to the mating drug case until they had more definitive evidence.

The first order of business was to scan over the security footage from the gala. Since that was ostensibly where they had been drugged, it was likely that suspicious activity had been picked up in the video feed.

The sun set slowly behind Jason’s curtains, and in the fuzzy darkness of night, everything seemed softer. Jason’s silhouette, resting beside Dick on the couch in the illumination of the laptop’s glow, suddenly became a little less threatening than before. A little more familiar. Someone Dick could let himself melt into, all companionable closeness.

He didn’t, in respect to Jason’s boundaries. Still, Dick felt more relaxed than before. Working with Jason was much more easily navigable than living with him. 

To separate the workload into more manageable portions, Dick watched the security footage of his actions that night, and Jason did the same with his own. It was slow, difficult work. The video was sped up so they didn't need to spend five hours watching the entire gala, but any time either of them got too close to another person on the dance floor or accepted anything to eat, the footage had to be slowed down and analyzed as carefully as possible.

Several hours passed in that fashion, quiet except for their keyboards’ clicking and their own hushed voices every now and again. It was almost two a.m. by the time Dick spotted anything out of place.

“Look at this,” he said, turning his screen toward Jason and pointing at it.

Jason narrowed his eyes at the screen. Dick pressed play.

In the footage, Dick and Jason stood next to each other, chatting with a middle-aged businessman Dick had almost forgotten about. The humiliation and indignity of that particular conversation all came flooding back afresh. Dick set his jaw in a tense line.

The man in the footage stopped a waitress and grabbed two glasses of wine. He passed one to Dick, who refused, and then to Jason, who shoved it into Dick’s hand.

Jason stared at the screen with an expression of abject horror. His eyes were wide, but his jaw was tense, and he made no sound.

Dick hit pause. “I remember that guy now,” he said. “He was this sexist asshole alpha who kept trying to tell me children were a gift from daddy God, or something. And we took drinks from him. Shit, I’d bet you anything it was him.”

Jason still did not speak. Mutely, he rewound the footage a minute or two, and they watched the scene again. 

“I don’t see him putting anything in the drinks,” Dick admitted. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t. You remember his name?”

It was another moment of silence before Jason spoke, and the aggressive alpha pheromones flooding the air were concentrated enough that Dick wanted to hold his breath to avoid breathing them in.

“I fucking… shoved that drink into your hand. Jesus Christ.”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way Jason’s voice had sounded-- low, intense, and stretched unbearably thin, like at any moment it might break. 

“It’s done now,” Dick said.

Jason slammed his laptop shut and stood, beginning to pace the room with footsteps that resounded through the floorboards. “If I hadn’t felt the need to fucking… control you like that… God fucking damnit.”

“It’s okay, Jason.” Dick wasn’t sure what else to say. “Sit back down.”

Jason turned to glare at Dick, but it wasn’t anger that filled his expression. It was anguish, devastating in its clarity, dripping from every part of him-- the way his shoulders slouched and his tight fists shook just barely. 

“I just wanted to have… fun. And you seemed so tense.”

Dick’s mouth fell open before he was able to produce words. For a moment he stared at Jason, and for the first time since all of this had happened, was able to fully take him in. 

Jason looked exhausted, and lost, and sad. Uncharacteristically earnest in a way that brought back ancient memories of the kid he’d once been.

Like this, it was impossible to maintain his anger. Dick felt his frustration drain from his bones like ice on a window, melting and dripping down the panes. 

“Sit back down,” Dick said softly. He felt as limp as a wilted flower, all of the beauty and vigor of innocence gone. “It’s okay.”

Jason sat. Dick scooted closer so they weren’t quite touching, but almost. Close enough to feel the heat of Jason’s warm breath as he leaned close. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

Dick’s heart stuttered.

“Let’s rewatch,” Dick said quietly. A spell had descended over them, over the dark apartment, and Dick worried that to speak too loudly would shatter its irreplaceable sanctity. “We didn’t see him put anything into the wine.”

Sure enough, another viewing yielded the same result. Atkinson never put anything into the drinks, at least while the security cameras were running.

Dick closed the laptop. His eyes were tired from staring at the screen all night, and his heart ached with an unshakeable melancholy weight. His mind felt waterlogged by everything he had yet to process.

“Maybe it wasn’t in the wine,” Jason finally suggested. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging painfully on the ends, looking harried and exhausted. Guilt still radiated from his hunched figure, but the pain in his eyes had dulled to a numbness with which Dick was well acquainted.

“Like a pollen?” Dick asked. “Like Ivy.”

“She’s in Arkham,” Jason said. “But a copycat, or something.”

Dick tilted his head, considering. “That makes sense,” he said, turning to face Jason.

Jason nodded grimly. He frowned at the floor, irretrievably lost in thought.

“We can deal with it more later,” Dick said eventually. Jason’s scent had settled from his earlier turmoil, and now it filled his mind and lungs pleasantly--the scent of pack. He felt his muscles relaxing, sinking a little into the sofa. “I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

“I’ll make you some tea,” Jason murmured, beginning to stand.

Dick blinked, mind feeling pleasantly sleepy. “You don’t have to,” he mumbled.

A glance to the clock told Dick that it was two forty-three a.m.; patrol would usually be drawing to a close by now so that Dick could be in bed by four. Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to fall asleep in Jason’s apartment.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t stayed over with Jason before, in safehouses after patrol when he was too exhausted to make it home alone, or on long nights when he just wanted to crash somewhere he felt safe. It was that he’d never done it in this strange context of their new reality. Would Jason want to share the bed? Would Dick want that?

He comforted himself with the knowledge that this was Jason. Disregarding recent events, he’d never felt uncomfortable around Jason before--never. 

But despite being fully aware that what had happened wasn’t Jason’s fault, Dick couldn’t quite convince himself to let his guard down. His mind still thrummed with anxiety even as his instincts begged him to melt into Jason’s scent. Turmoil rocked his stomach.

When Jason came back into the room, he carried one cup of tea on a tiny saucer. He set it down on the coffee table, in front of Dick. Dick stared at it as though he’d never seen anything like it before.

Jason gestured at it. “Well? I didn’t make it to be decorative.”

Dick turned to Jason, eyes wide. “For me?” he asked. He was too tired to properly process.

“Who else?” Jason asked.

Dick pressed his lips shut, picked up the mug, and took a sip. It was good. Herbal, and sweet with honey and milk. 

He swallowed, sudden emotion welling up in his throat.

While Dick sipped the tea and tried not to let his throat close up, feeling overcome for reasons he couldn’t even begin to identify, Jason began to pack away all of their tech. Dick scooted off the couch to help him, reaching towards his laptop, but Jason shooed him away.

“Drink your tea,” he instructed with a glare. Dick did not dare disobey.

When the teacup had been cleaned and packed away in a cupboard and the living room was organized once more, it was three a.m., and there was nothing left to do for the night. Dick wanted to go to bed, desperate to get as much rest as he could manage, but wasn’t sure where Jason wanted him to sleep. He hovered awkwardly in the hallway, between the bedroom’s open door and the couch.

“You can take the bed,” Jason said, clearly sensing his indecision. “I’ll take the couch.”

Dick shook his head. “I’m not going to put you out of your bed,” he said.

“You’re not putting me out,” Jason said, looking annoyed. “I’m offering.”

“Well, I’m thanking you very much for your consideration, and saying I’ll take the couch instead.” Dick crossed his arms. If Jason didn’t want to share the bed with him, then that was fine. Dick was perfectly happy to take the couch, which looked reasonably comfortable with its decorative throw blankets and pillows. But he refused to kick Jason out of his own bed.

“You need the bed,” Jason insisted, voice going soft. “I know you like to nest. I saw… in the closet…”

Mutely horrified, mind going staticky with irrational humiliation, Dick snapped at Jason. “Don’t play the omega card! Just because you’re a big, strong alpha doesn’t mean you’re above comfort--”

“Dick, just take the fucking bed,” Jason snapped. “I’m trying to do a nice thing for you. Let me do it. I know you don’t like gifts from alphas, but this isn’t a fucking gift. Okay?”

Dick pressed his lips shut. In the wake of his overreaction, he felt ashamed and acutely mortified. “We can share,” he said finally. “If that’s okay.”

Jason inhaled deeply and let the breath out in a loaded sigh, and Dick hoped desperately that the scent of his distress wasn’t noticeable on the air. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, inwardly pleading with Jason to say yes. He didn’t think he could handle rejection should Jason say no.

“Okay,” Jason said, letting his shoulders drop. “If you’re fine with that then I am.”

Dick exhaled. The fight had all drained out of him, leaving him even more exhausted than before. He just wanted to sleep. And maybe Jason’s warm presence and comforting proximity would make it a little easier.

*

By the time Dick padded into the dark bedroom from the bathroom, dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, Jason was already under the covers on one side of the bed. There were two pillows and an extra blanket laid out for Dick--other than that, he was left with the other half of the comforter that Jason was already comfortable beneath. 

Uncharacteristically nervous, Dick laid down on his side of the bed. He stayed flat on his back, head turned away from Jason, beneath the duvet. He remained tense and unrelaxed.

Beside him, Dick could sense that Jason was much the same. He did not so much as twitch a muscle, and his breathing was so perfectly rhythmic that it could not be anything other than purposefully regulated. 

Dick wasn’t sure how much time passed in this strange, tense silence, before he heard Jason sigh. “You can get comfortable,” he said. “Don’t be so fucking tense.”

Dick pressed his lips together. He didn’t know what he was so worried about. Jason making him feel uncomfortable, or the other way around, or both?

 “You’re acting dumb,” Jason said flatly. “We’ve shared a bed before. I used to visit you in Bludhaven when we were kids.”

Blinking his eyes open in the dark, Dick’s eyes blurred the bedroom into fuzziness. The memories came into sharper focus, beautiful and soft through the lens of the years gone by. “I wasn’t really a kid then,” Dick recalled softly.

“You were eighteen,” Jason said.

It felt like yesterday and it felt like a hundred years ago.

“That was fun,” Dick murmured. “Weird how fast things change.”

Jason didn’t say anything. But the energy in the room had lost its wary tension. Finally, Dick was able to relax, sinking into the bed and curling up under the comforter. He hugged his extra pillow to his chest and nuzzled his nose into it. It still smelled like Jason, and Dick found as he fell asleep that it wasn’t a bad thing at all.

*

In the morning, Dick woke up to an empty bed and the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. Sunlight shone onto the bed via an open window, and the clock told him it was eight o’clock.

Dick padded into the kitchen to find Jason at the stove, cooking bacon and eggs. There was coffee in the pot and places at the table were already set.

Jason glanced up when Dick walked into the room. “It’ll be ready in like, ten minutes,” he said. To Dick’s amazement, he had put on a bright red apron over his sweatpants. Other than that, his chest was bare. 

Dick nodded, still half asleep, and made his way back to the bedroom to get dressed and ready for the day. The outfit he chose was casual, a half-assed kind of effort, and he hesitated when he spotted something else on the bedside table.

The albatross necklace Jason had bought for him the night of the fundraiser to sponsor Damian’s cause.

He held it up to the light, examining the delicate little charm on the end. Something about it made his stomach churn--maybe the memories of the night Dick associated it with.

He put it back onto the table.

Breakfast was fully prepared when Dick reemerged. Jason was already sitting at his own seat, scarfing it down with gusto. Dick pulled out his own chair and sat. The food was already served, and a cup of coffee accompanied it, soft curls of steam rising above.

Dick took a sip. Cream and sugar just the way he liked it.

While they ate, they discussed their next course of action for the case. 

“I don’t wanna go all in since we don’t know for sure it was that Atkinson guy,” Dick began once his plate was empty and all that was left was his coffee mug. Jason, who had gone in for seconds, was still eating. Dick’s mouth twitched in a fond grin as he watched. Alphas and their insatiable appetites. “But I’m thinking. What if I go in today undercover. He works at Wayne Enterprises. I’ll pretend to be visiting Bruce when I bump into him and am wowed by what an amazing and interesting job he’s doing. I’ll be able to talk to him, get a read on anything suspicious.”

Jason frowned. “I guess,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “But I could do it instead. That way, you could--”

“It doesn’t work if you do it,” Dick interrupted, annoyed. “The public doesn’t know you as Bruce Wayne’s son anymore. You’d just be some random guy.”

Jason scowled. “You sure it’s safe? I could--”

“I’ve got this under control, Jason.”

Jason fell silent. He stabbed at his bacon with a very angry fork. “Fine,” he said eventually, face set in a grim frown. 

While Jason sulked, Dick cleaned the kitchen. It had thus far been Jason’s responsibility, but Dick wanted to prove that he could contribute, too, and that he was grateful for everything Jason had done so far.

It took him an embarrassingly long moment to determine how to work the dishwasher, but when that was squared away, Dick was able to clear away the plates and get the kitchen sparkling once more. It was weirdly satisfying to behold the clean kitchen when he was done. He’d never put in this much effort at his own apartment.

Jason’s disgruntled expression did not go away, but he grunted his thanks at Dick. That would have to suffice. Dick was not willing to compromise on this case. Especially not because Jason wanted to be protective.

Unfortunately, visiting Wayne Enterprises meant that Dick was going to have to suck up his pride and call Bruce, whose number on his phone was still blocked. Reluctantly, Dick unblocked him, and before he could psych himself out, hit the button to call.

It only rang once before Bruce picked up. “Why did you block me?” he growled out instantly.

“Hey Bruce!” Dick figured that if he sounded cheerful enough, maybe they’d both forget why they were angry. “I was thinking of visiting you at work today.”

“What,” said Bruce flatly, like he thought he’d misheard. “The last time you did that, it was career day at school, and you were sixteen.”

“So it sounds like I’m totally overdue for a return,” Dick said.

On Bruce’s end of the line, there was a scuffing noise like footsteps, and the sound of a door closing. “Is this for a case?” he asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Dick admitted. “One of your employees is a suspect. We don’t have anything concrete, so I’m not going all out yet, but I just wanted to come in and see.”

“Hmmmm,” said Bruce, drawn out and sounding displeased. “Who is it?”

“Don’t try to take this case from me,” Dick warned, defenses flaring up. “I know you. Jason and I have this under control.”

“Who is it?” Bruce repeated.

“Bruce,” Dick threatened.

There was a moment of silence.

“Fine,” Bruce finally acquiesced. 

“George Atkinson,” Dick said. “The guy from the pharmaceutical department.”

“Hm,” said Bruce again. There was no hint of any reaction, like he was utterly indifferent about his employee’s potential villainy. Dick knew better, though. Bruce wasn’t pleased. “He was at the gala the other night.”

“Was he?” Dick asked innocently. 

Bruce sighed. They’d been through this sort of conversation enough times throughout the years that Bruce clearly knew when to pick his battles. This wasn’t a hill worth dying on. “What time should I expect you?” he finally asked.

“When are you arriving?” Dick asked.

“Ten.”

“I’ll see you at eleven, then,” Dick decided. That would give him plenty of time to prepare, and decide on a strategy.

Longsuffering, Bruce sighed. “Dick, I need you to get me in touch with your… with Jason. He’s not answering my calls.”

Dick bit the inside of his lip and rolled that thought around in his mind. “I’ll talk to him,” he agreed reluctantly. “But no promises.”

“Fine,” Bruce agreed. “Eleven.”

*

Unenthusiastically, Dick put on a nice pair of slacks with a matching button-up, tie, and blazer. If there was anything he hated about Wayne Enterprises, it was the dress code. Dick looked in the mirror and thought he looked like an insurance salesman, or something. Jason, smoothing a wrinkle on Dick’s chest, said he would fit right in.

He drove himself to Wayne Enterprises, because he didn’t want Jason anywhere near the building for the rational fear that he would be unable to resist his urge to butt in and take over Dick’s case.

A couple people stared at him as he made his way through the hallways and elevators to Bruce’s office, but no one said anything. He did look like belonged, after all. Tim and Damian visited Bruce’s work all the time-- why shouldn’t Dick?

In his phone, he kept records on Atkinson’s past actions in and outside of Wayne Enterprises. On his person, hidden microphones recorded the sounds around him. In all honesty, he didn’t anticipate finding anything groundbreaking today--hence why he was visiting as himself as opposed to Nightwing. 

Still, it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. And Dick was.

On the third floor, the secretary buzzed him into Bruce’s office with a questioning tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow. “Visiting Bruce,” Dick explained. “Been a while since the last take your kid to work day.”

The secretary grinned. “Your brothers are here all the time,” she said. “Damian is adorable.”

Dick grinned softly. “Yeah.”

He didn’t actually have anything he needed to say to Bruce. But it would look strange for Dick to be seen aimlessly wandering the building. 

Bruce was on the phone when Dick entered, so Dick waited quietly for the conversation to finish. It sounded incredibly dull. Taxes, paperwork, more taxes. Or, that was what Dick paid attention to, at least. He’d never been particularly interested in Wayne Enterprises. 

Finally, Bruce set down the phone and looked up at Dick. “What’s your plan?” he asked with no preamble.

Dick took a seat on the corner of Bruce’s desk. “I was just gonna bump into him and start a conversation. Do a little vibe check. See if he’d tell me what he was working on.”

Bruce pursed his lips at Dick’s informal tone. “I’ve never seen anything suspicious from him before,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. I trust you’ve got backup ready.”

“Of course,” Dick said. “Jason’s on call.”

If possibly, Bruce’s grimace grew even more sour, like he had just tasted something incredibly unpleasant. “About Jason,” he began. 

Dick turned his eyes towards the ceiling, like maybe if he wasn’t looking at Bruce, his words would be unable to take effect.

“Dick,” Bruce chastised. “This is serious. I just… help me understand. I can’t see why you’d decide to mate with him when all your life you told anyone who asked that you never wanted an alpha.”

Dick turned away from the ceiling, away from Bruce, and to the enormous window that made up one of the office’s walls. This high up, he could see Gotham sprawling out across the landscape like a painting. Small streets, small cars, small people. Distance helped blur life into a much more manageable perspective. Dick swallowed, trying to buy time to find words.

“Jason is a good alpha,” he said. “He’s a good man.”

“I know that,” Bruce said, quiet. “I trust him, despite… well, even when I think I shouldn’t. But it was so unexpected. I…” He cleared his throat. “Worry about you.”

Dick finally made eye contact with Bruce, feeling a little touched. “I know,” he said, shocked that Bruce had managed to put what they both knew he felt into words. “But I’m okay. Jason is… he cooks every day. He… he knows me better than I ever realized. He treats me well.”

“And you’re doing the same for him?” Bruce asked.

Dick exhaled slowly. “I’m trying,” he said.

Bruce nodded. 

Having exceeded their collective emotional capacity for the afternoon, Dick refocused on the case. “Can you give me an excuse to be up in the pharmaceutical department?” he asked. “I know it’s on the other side of the building.”

“I’ll do you one better,” he said. “Let me come with you. I can start the conversation, and you can lead it where you need it to go.”

Dick scowled. He should have known this was going to happen. “I told you not to take over.”

“I’m not,” Bruce said. “But he and I are alphas. I read your case files--you think he’s motivated by a desire to control omegas and their bodies, based on conservative traditional ideas. So I start that sort of conversation--mirror his sexist views--and you see how he reacts, if it checks out.”

Dick bit his lip, unhappy. “I guess,” he said. “But I’m serious. I’m in the lead on this one.”

Bruce’s jaw was tense, but he must have seen something in Dick’s expression that convinced him, and he relented with a slumping of his broad shoulders. “Fine,” he said.

*

The pharmaceutical department was on one of the top floors. Wayne Enterprises ran an operation that was intended to help lower-income families access affordable drugs. Part of that, and the part that Atkinson specialized in, was the birth control and contraception department.

Ironic, Dick thought. But unsurprising.

Atkinson was high up enough to have an office of his own, but when Dick and Bruce made it to the door, it was empty. He had gone on a coffee run. 

And that, Dick realized with a meaningful glance at Bruce, was perfect.

When they approached the coffee cart and made it within earshot of Atkinson, who was stirring sugar into his cup, Bruce said loudly, “Sweetheart, would you get us some coffee? I need it after my nine a.m. this morning.” He grinned, that classic airhead Brucie smile directed downward, and patted Dick on the back, pushing him towards the coffee cart. 

Jesus. Dick knew he was faking, and it still grated on his nerves.

Obediently, he approached the coffee cart, and purposefully bumped into Atkinson. His coffee spilled onto his white button down. 

Dick gasped in horror. “I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “My bad, I feel awful--”

When Atkinson looked up, Dick pretended to have only just recognized him.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, “this is the second time I’ve done this to you, isn’t it.”

Atkinson’s expression was unreadable. He wiped coffee off his shirt with a thin paper napkin. 

Bruce appeared behind Dick and clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “You need to be more careful, Dick,” he chastised. To Atkinson, he said, “I apologize for my omega. I don’t know who raised him to be like this.”

Dick forced a grin as the two alphas laughed at the joke.

“Two for two,” agreed Atkinson, smiling down on Dick. There was this one specific smile that all alphas knew how to do--the one that said, precious sweet omega, don’t you know I’m better than you? Atkinson’s performance was straight out of the textbook. “How’ve you been?” he asked. “How’s Jason?”

Mildly surprised to hear that he’d remembered Jason’s name, Dick said, “He’s good. We actually just got mated.”

“That’s incredible!” Dick examined Atkinson’s face for any trace of surprise. But, as though Dick wasn’t even really there, he turned back towards Bruce. “You must be proud.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bruce admitted. “It took a lot to convince me to share him.”

Atkinson laughed like he knew just the feeling. “I’m sure it’ll all be worth it soon.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and with the way Dick was still stood beside him after their collision, he was able to brush his long fingers across Dick’s stomach.

Dick forced himself to bear it. Distantly, he felt nauseous and humiliated. But for the sake of the mission, it was easy to compartmentalize. Even without the security of the uniform, no bat ever left home without a mask. 

“Actually,” Dick heard himself say, watching in the reflection of the wide blue windows as his expression twisted unhappily, “We’ve been having trouble with that. I’ve-- well, you don’t want to hear it. Sorry.”

He turned away, staring at the floor, permitting his scent to color with the faintest wisps of shame. Dick turned his gaze to Bruce, pleading on the outside, and Bruce drew Dick in with a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s been having trouble with his cycle,” Bruce confided, voice hushed. Inwardly, Dick marvelled at how flawless their nonverbal communication remained, even after all these years. On the outside, he curled closer into Bruce’s broad chest, eyes down. It was so disgustingly out of character that if he saw himself in a mirror, Dick wouldn’t know who he was.

Atkinson frowned sympathetically. “How so?” he asked. “I don’t want to pry, but I’d love to be able to help. I am a doctor, after all.”

Dick glanced around nervously. “Maybe we could go to your office?” he suggested timidly. “It’s just…” 

“Of course,” said Atkinson. When Dick looked up, his posture spelled comfort, and his dark eyes gleamed. 

Inside the office, Dick was directed to a tiny couch, because he was clearly a delicate flower who could not bear to stand unsupported for fear of randomly becoming faint. Bruce stood, arms crossed and stance wide--that classic Alpha stance. Atkinson took a seat in his expensive leather office chair. The office looked like any other--no visible clues, which was expected. Dick would love to have a moment alone in this office to investigate. Maybe Nightwing would return later that night. 

“So. Unreliable cycle, you said?”

Under the pretense of nervously biting his inner cheek, Dick considered what approach to take. The drug was an inducer, after all-- so maybe Dick should play it like he needed to be induced.

“You can tell him,” Bruce prompted with a nudge. That almost drew a snort from Dick. None of this was true, or rehearsed. But Bruce was the original expert bullshitter.

“I stopped having heats last year,” Dick said. “I couldn’t figure out why and nothing I do will make them come back.”

Dick watched Atkinson’s expression very, very closely in the moments following his confession, and was rewarded by the barest twitch of an eyebrow. “Really,” he said slowly, leaning closer to Dick. “Not at all?”

Dick’s heart gave a slow thump, and then began to speed up in earnest. If Atkinson had, in fact, administered the drug, then he’d either assume Dick was lying or that the drug had been somehow ineffective. 

Dick let himself squirm a little in his seat. It was not hard to pretend to be uncomfortable.

“None?” pressed the pharmacist. 

“One,” Dick admitted. After that, he sealed his lips.

Atkinson’s lips twitched, just barely, but it was not a smile. A tick. Dick wondered how much he could get him to reveal. When he forgot about the circumstances, moved past the way he needed to lower himself, an exciting puzzle was all this was. 

“So tell me about that one,” said Atkinson. Dick realized he was beginning to grow impatient. His lip kept twitching and he persistently rearranged his feet. 

Dick shrugged. “I think it was triggered by Jason’s rut. That’s when we got mated.”

Atkinson’s nervous energy settled a little. Dick observed watchfully under the guise of an anxious, wide-eyed stare. 

It was absolutely maddening how easy it was to play the meek omega. All he had to do was fall into the role he’d been taught all his life.

“How long did it last?” 

“Just for the night.”

The pharmacist’s posture softened, and for just a moment, he almost looked kind. His gaze on Dick was easy, nonthreatening—he looked on Dick like a poor, confused child. 

“How unusual,” said Atkinson. “If you wanted to conceive, you might look into inducers.”

“Really?” Dick asked, leaning forward and trying to curb the impatience on his face. “I… don’t know.”

Bruce stroked down his arm with two light fingers and Atkinson nodded sympathetically. “I know new medications are scary. We don’t want anything messing with our bodies. But this is a field I’ve studied for two decades. If anything was unsafe, we wouldn’t use it.”

“Do you develop the drugs yourself?” asked Dick. His skin crawled beneath the persistent condescension. 

Atkinson raised his eyebrows and turned to Bruce. “I’ve never met an omega so curious before!”

“Been like that since he was little,” Bruce agreed fondly.

Dick was very rapidly tiring of this conversation, but his most important questions had not been answered. Already, though, he was convinced that something was wrong with Atkinson. The way he spoke made Dick’s skin crawl and stomach turn. He itched to be out of his seat, to be making some sort of tangible progress. He wondered for a brief moment why he came here. He should have just gone in as Nightwing, full steam ahead from the get-go.

“Anyways,” said Atkinson—which annoyed Dick, because his earlier question was going ignored— “are you on birth control?”

Dick’s posture stiffened, his jaw a tense line. “Yes.”

“And you’re aware that during a heat, birth control measures cannot be reliably depended on?”

Dick sat, still as a statue but colder. His chest buzzed with the energy he held inside—the growing anger he could not afford to let free. Compartmentalization was getting harder.

“Yes.”

“Is there a chance, then, that you could be pregnant?”

The office fell suddenly into a silence, yawning as wide as a chasm. The buzzing in Dick’s chest increased until it was a swarm of bees at home in his lungs.

“No,” Dick gritted out.

The sympathetic smile was back and Dick would have paid money to be able to punch it off the pharmacist’s horrible, hated face. Bruce, behind Dick, had frozen solid, the airhead smile permanently adhered to an expression that hid what anyone who truly knew Bruce would call dread. 

“Are you sure,” pressed Atkinson, stare strikingly intent. 

“Yes!” Dick burst out. “Goddamnit, I’m sure!”

In the wake of Dick’s outburst, silence descended once more. Bruce’s smile had twisted ever so slightly into what the kids had christened his constipation face. He didn’t know whether or not they’d stopped pretending, and if so, when.

Dick didn’t know either. Everything had become so pressingly, undeniably real.

He couldn’t let this excruciating, unbearable conversation go to waste.

“Mr. Wayne.” Atkinson’s voice had gone as soft as his smile, and equally unreadable. “I think Dick and I should talk alone.”

The smile twisted further—Bruce disagreed. Dick nudged him softly, and stared up at him with those big, pleading omega eyes. 

“Fine,” said Bruce. His lips thinned, and his expression reformed. He nodded trustingly at Atkinson, but glanced meaningfully at Dick—Dick nodded minutely back. He’d find a way to alert Bruce if things went poorly.

When the door clicked softly shut behind Bruce, Atkinson’s scent seemed to instantly thicken—with Bruce gone, he was the most dominant person in the room, and he clearly knew it. Dick forced himself not to shrink away.

“I can prescribe you something to help induce heats,” offered Atkinson, voice soft in jarring juxtaposition to his threatening scent.

This was what Dick had been waiting for. His heart picked up speed, thumping hard against his ribs, sending adrenaline through his veins. Meeting eyes with Atkinson, Dick nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” said Atkinson, standing. “You stay here,” he bid, horribly gentle. “You need to sit.”

Dick was numb, locking his emotions strictly away in a little locked safe. He could open it later when he felt safe--or it’d just come bursting open anyways. Either way, Dick had to remind himself that this was not the time or place. The door clicked shut, and Dick was alone. 

It was a minute later that the door opened once more. From his pocket, Atkinson produced a small orange bottle, rattling with very small pills.

“I’d like to prescribe you something to help with your heats,” Atkinson said, handing Dick the bottle. He took it in one hand and stared. Unlabeled except for one hand-written word: Heartbeat . “It will create a heat that lasts around eight hours. If you need it to be longer, you take another one when the first eight hours are up. No longer than five days, or you risk overdose. Understand?”

Dick turned the little bottle over in his palm, heart pounding. “Can… are you even allowed to prescribe me stuff? You’re not my doctor.”

Atkinson frowned a little. “Technically, no. This is actually a trial drug that my team is developing--it’s in the trial stages. That means we’ve absolutely proven it’s safe when used for its intended purpose, in the intended amount. It’s just not approved for the market yet.”

Dick slid it into his own pocket. Whenever he moved, it rattled. His heart thumped against his ribs in anticipation. Jason was not going to believe Dick had gotten his hands on the drug so easily. Of its own agency, his lip twitched, and he was grinning.

“What makes it different from any other inducer you could've given me?” Dick asks, keeping his palm securely pressed to his pocket.

“The very thing that makes this drug revolutionary,” promises the doctor. “It’s not like the old inducers, where you have seperate ones for heat and rut. This--it’ll induce anyone . So you don’t need to specifically schedule your heat to match with your alpha’s rut, if he took an inducer as well. You’ll be perfectly in sync.”

Dick’s heart leapt, hands threatening to shake with the giddy excitement that rushed through him. They had him. He was busted. Dick’s microphones had been on the entire time--all he had to do was turn in this recording to the police, and in accordance with the cases of couples being mated against their will while under this drug’s influence, George Atkinson would be arrested for sure.

Everything lined up perfectly: a drug that had the same effect on alphas as omegas. Jason and Dick had started their cycles at the exact same time. They’d both tried to bite each other, even though alphas are the only ones with fangs. The entire ordeal had lasted only one night.

Jason was gonna lose his shit when Dick told him.

“Thank you,” Dick said, standing, making eye contact with Atkinson. “This is-- perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” said Atkinson, giving Dick the soft eyes and smile again. His skin prickled. “As I’ve always said--children are God’s gift. You deserve the joy of new life.”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek. Pressed his palm to his pocket to make sure the bottle was still there. Remembered the single word on the bottle: heartbeat. Wondered what it could mean.

Atkinson stuck his hand out for Dick to shake, and Dick took it firmly. “Thanks again.”

Bruce stood outside the office. When the door behind them was firmly shut, Dick took a surreptitious glance around, and gave Bruce a big, satisfying high-five.

*

Dick didn’t bother with anything so frivolous as knocking on the door--he burst in like he owned the damn place. Jason was sat on the couch with a book in his lap, the TV on, music playing, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. The clock from the other room had been restationed on the wall above the TV. 

If Dick didn’t know any better, he’d guess that Jason had been distracting himself, trying to wait for Dick.

The moment the door swung open, Jason fumbled for the remote to turn the TV off. He yelled, “Alexa, shut the fuck up!” to get the music to stop, which, amazingly, worked. His book fell to the floor as he flew to his feet.

Only then did Jason regain his chill, and he made his very best effort to play it cool.

“So,” he said, pressing his lips into an expression of absolute stoicism. “How’d it go?”

“Think fast,” said Dick. He threw the bottle of pills to Jason.

Jason snapped them out of the air without even moving his feet, and held them up to the lamplight to examine. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said, studying the little bottle with rapt attention. “This what we were drugged with?”

The entire exchange, in conjunction with the mission’s undeniable success, had Dick’s heart feeling light as a feather. All of the negativity he’d been trying to bury beneath the sea had floated away with a wave, and in that moment, Dick was convinced he’d never have to see it again. He felt like a little sailboat, floating above the entire ocean, held up on top of all the darkness below in the luminance of the sun. Light and warm and lifted by his own newfound buoyancy.

He looked at Jason, pencil still sticking out of his hair and uniform half-on like he’d spent his whole day just hoping Dick would call in his help. He saw Jason as he’d never seen him before--never, except for maybe once.

Damn, it was getting hot in the apartment. Dick wondered if the oven was on--if Jason was cooking anything. A glance to the kitchen disproved that theory.

His heart went cold when he checked the thermostat. Seventy degrees. There was no fucking way Dick should be this warm.

“Heartbeat,” muttered Jason, turning the bottle around in his palm. “That’s not suspicious.”

Dick could not find the words to reply. Staring at the thermostat on the wall because he could not bear to look back at Jason, everything clicked into place, and there was a moment of horror where Dick felt sure he could not breathe.

His skin was tacky with sweat, cheeks flushed red as cherries. The blush, he knew, spread all down his chest, his chest that was heaving, trying desperately to find air that refused to come. Between his legs, he began to feel sticky and unbearably urgent, like ants were crawling along his skin and the only way to get rid of them would be to scratch the desperate itch. Bees stung inside his stomach and lungs. His legs, all of a sudden, were weak.

In the sudden, ominous silence, Jason approached, and fuck fuck fuck did he smell like someone Dick could just fall into. He ached to collapse into those arms--to press his face into that shoulder. To bite. 

He held himself still with self control that strained tighter every minute. 

“Dick,” said Jason, quiet and urgent. “What’s wrong.”

“It’s happening again,” Dick whispered, ragged and hoarse. 

Jason went still, and the heat-thick air was diffused with shocked distress. 

“It’s--”

“He got me again, I don’t know how, I didn’t even touch any of the damn pills.” Dick stumbled away from Jason, away from the wall, down the hallway, towards the bedroom. His heart felt like it was trying to burst from his ribcage--the bees stung harder, not only in his chest but beneath his feet, urging him forward with new desperation. 

In the bedroom, Dick slammed the door behind him, and with fumbling fingers, managed to lock it shut. For a moment, he collapsed against it, heaving for air. This didn’t feel like a normal heat. This was all of the symptoms, compressed into eight hellish hours. No preheat. No warning. 

It hit like a goddamn bus and Dick was left bleeding, struggling to pull himself from the road.

When he thought his legs might work again, he forced open his eyes, and staggered the rest of the way across the room to the bed. Everything felt fuzzy--his nose, his eyes, his emotions. Terror pounded in his heart, closing up his throat.

In bed, he dragged the covers up to his shivering form and curled them tightly around him. He pressed his knees up to his chest, right against his pounding heart, and curled his head in, praying to God to block out the waves that crashed against him.

There was a pounding on the door, and a whimper ripped itself from Dick’s throat. His alpha was right there. Right behind that door, and all Dick had to do was let him in.

Some other part of his mind, the very last threads of rationale, begged him not to give in. There was a reason that Jason had to stay outside.

His resolve slipped with every passing moment, but he had to stay strong.

Time passed like thick soup--like fog, and he couldn’t see in front of himself or behind. A blizzard, but nothing about it was cold.

On and off, Jason knocked, and each time, it was harder for Dick to keep him out. He kept forgetting why he had to. Why he couldn’t be with his alpha when it was all his entire body begged for. 

When Dick didn’t respond to Jason’s calls, he would retreat, and return again when fifteen hellish minutes had passed. Dick’s shivering did not abate, and it came not in waves like a normal heat, but in one torrential storm.

It was unclear how much time had gone by when Jason knocked again, and this time his resolve was even stronger. “Dick,” he called hoarsely. His voice was worn out from all his previous pleading. “I’m gonna come in. I’m not gonna touch you. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“No,” Dick whimpered. It was the only word he knew anymore. Alpha, please, Jason, no. 

God. What did he even want anymore? What was his body begging him for, and why did he keep denying it?

“Dick, please,” Jason said. The strength in his voice was waning, just like the capacity of Dick’s resolve. “Our bond. It hurts to be away.”

God could Dick feel it too, burning him inside and out.

He whimpered again, but this time there were no words. 

“I promise not to touch you,” Jason repeated as the door clicked open. Jason stood in the frame with a lockpick and a bottle of water.

Dick could not stop whining like a little hurt puppy. He wriggled closer to Jason. The very sight of him broke down the last of his walls--everything that had held him together was washed away in the tide, and Dick was left alone, weak, unguarded.

God it fucking hurt to be this vulnerable and Dick was gonna hate himself later. The only thing that made it better was Jason. The only thing… the only thing at all was Jason. 

Jason sat down on the bed, a careful foot away from Dick. Instantly, Dick was squirming through the thick air and bunched covers to his side, pressing into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Jason’s breath huffed out like it had been punched from his lungs, and for a moment, he was frozen. “I won’t touch you,” he promised again, whispering like Dick was just a little kid. A lost little omega, vulnerable in an alpha’s world. 

Dick keened into Jason’s skin, and Jason stroked down his back with a featherlight touch. He felt like a lamb in a petting zoo. Standing on trembly legs, depending on the people to feed him and keep him safe and protect him. Jason stroked his back as carefully as a reverent little kid--like he was afraid to really touch.

“I have water,” Jason whispered, uncapping the bottle and holding it to Dick’s lips.

Dick turned his head away. He couldn’t drink. His stomach ached. 

“Dickie,” pled Jason, helpless. “Please.”

Words were impossible for Dick to find in the muggy swamp of his mind. He pressed his eyes shut and pressed closer into Jason, like he wanted to dissolve into his skin. 

“Okay,” said Jason. He set the bottle down on the nightstand. 

It occurred to Dick that maybe Jason was just as lost as he was. He didn’t know what to do about it. 

Time was funny for a while after that--it passed in a blip that Dick would surely later forget, and at the same time, dragged on for what was surely a hundred times longer than the dreaded eight hours. Jason stayed with him through most of it. Once, he left the bed to pace along the floor behind it. He hissed furiously into his cellphone, and came back when Dick cried for him. 

After that, he pulled out a thermometer, and held it to Dick’s forehead. “Pretty bird,” he whispered, stroking Dick’s damp hair away from his face. “You have a fever. This isn’t a healthy heat.”

Dick protested, struggling from Jason’s hold. Pretty bird grated at the fraying threads of his nerves.

Jason tried again with the water bottle, and when he grabbed it off the nightstand, he dislodged the little necklace that lay tangled there. A pretty bird on the end of a chain.

But… Dick wasn’t like that, he thought. He couldn’t be.

Albatrosses mated for life. But they still flew all across the ocean. They could devote their lives to one another and… and leave each year… and maybe they could still be free. 

A beautiful bird on the end of a chain. But the chain was long and precious. Maybe… 

Dick lost his train of thought. Reality swirled before him like tie-dye.

Strong arms slid beneath Dick’s back and knees, and Jason was hoisting him up into his steady grasp. Through the soupy-thick fog of the sweltering heat, he heard soft, rapid mumbling.

“Just gotta cool you down,” came Jason’s muffled voice. Dick heard him as if through murky water. “Come on. Come on. You can help me out here.” Dick squirmed, painfully confused, feeling like he was gonna burn right up from the inside out.

“Gotta help me out, honey,” came the voice again, tinged with a desperation very similar to what Dick was experiencing, too.

Dick stopped moving. He let those strong arms sweep him up, heard that deep alpha voice coo, “Good.” And god did that voice make him shiver. That good. 

He was set delicately down on a hard, tile surface, and heard the sound of rushing water. Jason kept one hand on his arm, steadying him. The place where their skin touched felt like fire. Smoking out the bees caged in Dick’s ribs.

Dick experienced the acute realization that the only one who could make any of this feel better was Jason.

After a minute, the rushing water sound turned off, dwindling to a slow, steady drip. Jason said, “You gotta get in the bath now. Can you… I won’t touch you, promise.”

Dick’s heart panged with rejection. All he wanted was for Jason to touch him. His alpha. Why wasn’t he good enough?

Jason must have smelled the spike of distress in Dick’s scent, because he stiffened, and bit his lip a little. “I feel you,” he promised in an earnest whisper, “I know it might be… really fuckin’ weird, after last time, but I promise you’re safe with me, ‘kay? This’ll make you feel better.”

And god, that was all Dick wanted.

With numb, shaky fingers, he began to peel off his shirt. His fingers fumbled on the buttons, and Jason rushed to help but sprung away as soon as Dick was able to manage on his own. He let the shirt pool on the floor.

When he was fully naked, Jason helped him into the bathtub, which was distressingly lukewarm. Usually Dick liked his baths to be either one way or the other: ice cold or lava hot.

But the lukewarm water helped cool him down a little, helped clear the fog in his overheated head, and clarity returned little by little.

It was after a few minutes that something horrible occurred to Dick, and the unbearable heat was replaced by a blade of freezing cold.

How on earth could Jason so clear-headedly resist the smell of in-heat omega? Dick was naked, for christs’ sake! Well-intentioned as Jason undeniably was, he had to be at least a little affected. That was what the omega scent was designed for. To entice alphas.

Yet Jason, who hovered with his arms crossed and his lip bit in worry, kneeling beside the bathtub like a sentry, looked like no such thought had ever even crossed his mind.

“Jay,” Dick whispered, feeling lost and sick and unbearably confused.

“It’s okay,” murmured Jason, reaching out one hand for Dick to hold. “I got you.”

He looked just as scared as Dick felt. But his hand didn’t shake.

It was some indecipherable amount of time later that Jason helped Dick from the tub. With Jason’s assistance, he hobbled back to his nest, feeling marginally better now that he was in soft sweatpants and his skin was significantly less sticky.

He curled up in his nest, head pressed into a pillow that felt wonderfully cool and soft. Jason stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot, looking lost for what to do.

Dick was too exhausted to even think about what he was doing as he peeled back the cover and cooed. The noise was one that came instinctually to every omega. Was understood instantly by every pack member. It was a call. A welcome. 

Jason tensed, holding his breath for a heartbeat. Dick made the noise again--insistent. Driven by deep-rooted instincts he couldn’t bury down as hard as he constantly tried.

Finally, Jason softened, huffing out a little breath. His shoulders slumped as he, too, was finally permitted to obey his nature. He crawled into the nest behind Dick and drew him close to his chest.

Calm flooded through Dick like a wave. Contentment, peace, fulfillment. His alpha was close.

Maybe, Dick realized with a pang of distant regret, this was what he’d been missing out on for so incredibly long. 

Chapter Text

Eight hours later, practically to the minute, and Dick’s mind began to sharpen. He peeled open his eyes to see what he could make of his surroundings--he didn’t move a muscle in the meantime. 

His lower half was covered by a warm, heavy duvet, adhered to his skin by sticky sweat. He felt warm all over--not hot, but warm. 

Dick was on the left side of a massive bed in a room with open curtains. He couldn’t see a clock to determine the time, but the moonlight that streamed in through the curtains, painting the room in silvery light, suggested that it was very late. 

The walls of the room were bare, a clean milky white color, but the top of the nightstand next to Dick was cluttered with belongings: books, mugs, pens, a flashlight. An old, well-loved copy of Jane Eyre. A tightly bound leather notebook with a pen clasped to the binding. 

A delicate necklace: a pretty bird on the end of a thin, glimmering chain. 

And Dick was able to breathe again. He let out a long breath, and with it, felt his muscles untense. He turned just slightly, and felt something move behind him: Jason, arms still wound around Dick, like he was afraid to let him go.

As soon as Dick shifted, Jason was moving, too, blue-green eyes instantly tracking Dick’s movements. 

Dick yawned, feeling like he could go right back to sleep, and everything would be okay.

“Are you okay?” asked Jason, propping himself up to sit against the headboard. Lazily, Dick moved with him, content to let Jason maneuver him. “What do you remember?”

“Talking to the Atkinson dude,” Dick mumbled, rubbing his eyes. All around, he felt a little gross. Sticky, tired, and dehydrated. But it was a million times better than last night. His muscles were loose with a comfortable contentment he’d never before experienced around an alpha. “He gave me some pills that I didn’t even take out of the bottle, but I was drugged anyway, and… you took care of me.”

Jason’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he nodded. “Basically,” he agreed.

Dick shifted against Jason, biting his lip. Memories of the heat itself were fleeting and dim, like fish darting through the deep ocean. Dick was unable to grasp them in their entirety--but he remembered one thing with crystal clarity. 

“You didn’t want me,” he said. 

Jason stiffened. “Come on, where the fuck did you get that idea? I stayed with you the whole damn time.”

Dick shook his head. “Not like that, dumbass. Like, you didn’t want to… to fuck me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” said Jason, voice hard with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

“It is,” Dick said, “but it doesn’t make sense. I was in heat. I was naked! And you weren’t even… affected! That’s not some… you can’t just say you resisted by the power of your iron-clad wills. It’s just biology. I don’t…”

“You dumbass,” said Jason with a mystifying tone of affection. He smiled down on Dick, all familiar and warm, and Dick met his eyes and felt himself melting. “I’m ace.”

Dick’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Jason, mind gone blank. “Woah,” was all he managed to stupidly say.

Jason flicked him on the nose. “Not woah,” he corrected. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“I know,” said Dick. He squirmed around so that he was facing Jason more directly, snuggled up to him chest to chest. “But I just never knew.” 

He took a moment to digest the revelation. His mind travelled back to moments where he should have known, should have been able to figure it out, and then all of a sudden, a new realization turned his blood cold. 

“The other night,” Dick said in a very small voice, “when you were drugged, too. That must have been horrible for you.”

Jason shrugged, looking like he was trying for all the world not to care. “For you, too,” he corrected. “We were both equally drugged, you know. We don’t need to have a fuckin’ misery contest.”

Dick stared at him, still unable to tamp down his despair, until Jason’s expression softened again. “And just so you know,” he added, looking awkward. “I don’t… like, hate sex. I’m not sex-repulsed. I’m just usually… not interested. You know?”

Dick sucked in a deep breath, and nodded, reluctantly relieved. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’m still… I’m still sorry, for how all of this turned out.”

Jason was silent for a moment. Then he turned to stare out the window, face glittering with rays of silver moonlight, and he said, “Me too.”

*

In the morning, when it finally arrived with rays of golden sun through the open curtains, Jason cooked breakfast and Dick made coffee. He wanted to help cook, but his legs still felt a little shaky, and Jason was the better chef anyway. He insisted that Dick sit down and sip his coffee while Jason handled anything requiring effort or fine motor skills. 

In the meantime, Jason told Dick what had happened while he was in heat. 

“As soon as I knew you were drugged again,” Jason explained, stirring the eggs with a pink spatula, “I called Bruce. He was there too, after all, so I wanted to see if he was affected as well. Turns out, he was not.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “That’s weird,” he commented. 

“Yeah,” agreed Jason. “But we knew he could be, if he went back to investigate. So we sent in the beta brigade.”

Dick grinned. Tim and Steph. “So what did they find out?”

“That the pills he gave you do work, but that he prefers to use a pollen with the same effect.”

Dick gasped. A pollen. That made perfect sense--how had they dismissed that option?

“But… the gala. How were more people not affected?”

Jason scowled. “It’s stupidly smart,” he admitted, looking like the very confession offended him. “It works differently than Ivy’s pollens. You don’t have to inhale it, or anything. You just have to touch it.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “We shook his hand,” he realized.

“Bingo,” said Jason.

“But… then, how is he not in rut all the time? If it was on his hand, and everything.”

“That’s the real kicker,” said Jason, grimly triumphant. “Bastard isn’t even an alpha! Just a beta with some fake pheromones and a talent for jackassery.”

While Dick processed that, Jason continued. “So, yeah. He just has to have the pollen on his hand, and then any alpha or omega he shakes hands with will be drugged. That’s why you and I were, at the gala. Did he shake your hand yesterday when you met with him?”

“Yeah,” said Dick, “but… so did Bruce. I don’t…” 

But the more he analyzed yesterday’s events, the more they all made sense. “He asked to speak with me alone,” he realized out loud, “and before he shook my hand, he disappeared off somewhere alone. That’s plenty of time to get the pollen ready.”

Jason nodded. “That makes sense.”

“So then… Why was he doing this? What was his plan?”

“While Tim and Steph dealt with the actual take-down, the old man did some research on the old Batcomputer. As all good villains in Gotham do, he has a tragic backstory that totally absolves him of all wrongdoing. Just kidding! He’s still a jerk. Just a really fuckin depressed one.”

Dick tilted his head. “Well?”

“His wife couldn’t conceive because she wasn’t having heats. She had a condition. But he really wanted a kid, and for some reason adoption wasn’t gonna cut it, because he is, as I said, a complete fucking dumbass asshole. So he happens to be a doctor anyways, and he creates this drug that’ll induce anyone--but intended especially for those who have an altered cycle for other reasons. She got pregnant, everything was happy-joy-joy, until she died due to complications in the pregnancy.”

“That is very sad,” Dick agreed, mostly impassive. He still didn’t know what to think. He was still working on forming an opinion. 

“Yeah, for her,” Jason said. “It was his fault. She shouldn’t have gotten pregnant. She was sick, hence why she wasn’t having heats to begin with. But he felt like he’d been robbed. He was obsessed with the idea that anyone who could have a kid, should. It’s their societal duty--the usual bullshit designed to control omegas. Hence why he drugged us--so we’d make a baby.”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek, feeling sick, like something slimy was oozing down the insides of his chest. He turned away from Jason and said to the wall, “I can’t.”

Dick still couldn’t make himself look at Jason--he didn’t see his expression as Jason asked, “Can’t what?”

“You know.” The words hurt as Dick forced them out. “Have a baby.”

Finally, Dick gathered up the courage to face Jason. His expression was one of shock, pretty eyes wide, but he quickly rearranged it, and before Dick knew it, Jason was grinning triumphantly. “Well, joke’s on him, then!”

To his own shock, Dick was unable to hold in a giggle. “He really knows how to pick ‘em.”

“The asexual alpha and the omega who can’t have kids. Genius plan, we really gotta hand it to him.”

“I bet he’s in prison right now,” Dick said through slowly increasing humor, laughter bubbling out, “wondering where he went wrong. ‘How could this possibly happen?’”

And then Jason was laughing, too, and Dick felt inexplicably drawn to him. It wasn’t like the frantic fervor of his heat--it was closeness. Friendship. The feeling of finally being comfortable. He stood and leaned into Jason’s chest, breathed in his familiar scene, and kept on laughing.

Jason held him close. The laughter was contagious, and soon he was joining in, and the entire situation seemed entirely hysterical. 

It was a minute before the smoke detectors informed Jason that he’d burned the eggs to little charred ashes, and they broke apart so Jason could wave the smoke away with a magazine and Dick could scrape the eggs into the sink. Dick poured them each a bowl of sugary cereal, and they sat on the couch, put their feet on the coffee table, and enjoyed. Dick still found himself unable to control the intermittent burst of humor, and Jason smiled at him fondly.

“I mean, no baby,” Dick said, when his cereal bowl was empty. “But this is still irreversible. We’re still mated for life.”

Jason swallowed his own mouthful of cereal, which he was eating with surprising gusto, considering his preference for actual healthy meals. “That’s not so bad though,” he said, shrugging. “I mean… we’re…”

“Friends,” Dick said, glancing up at Jason with soft eyes.

“Yeah,” said Jason. He grinned at Dick, and the smile was full of all the warmth and love that, for years, Dick had worried he’d never see from Jason again. “In theory,” he continued, “sounds fuckin’ awful to be mated like this. But in practice, it’s…”

“We make it work,” Dick agreed. “You’re the only alpha I could ever… ever imagine this with.”

Jason’s chest puffed up with pride that Dick found absolutely endearing. He opened the cereal box and poured them both another bowl, and Jason stared at it with apprehension but dug in anyways.

Overcome by a sudden wave of fondness, Dick leaned up, and kissed Jason on the cheek. His chest was full with these soft, unfamiliar feelings.

Jason’s face went entirely red, and he stood, gathering up the bowls and cereal box and silverware. “I gotta clean up,” he muttered, stomping off into the kitchen.

Dick watched him go, and his heart fluttered.