Chapter Text

Jason thought— no, he knew it wasn’t always like this. 

Back in his first life, when he still had stars in his eyes, despite everything, he thought he could really do something as Robin. Robin was a known figure in Crime Alley when his partner still lurked in the shadows. He was bright, beautiful, and hopeful. But not for nothing, he never backed down from a fight. Jason liked that. Felt the same hopeful feeling thumping in his chest when he saw those colors flying across the rooftops. And then — nothing. Robin was gone. 

The rumor was that he was dead, and almost every Rogue claimed to have his head, although the proof was hard to get hold of. 

When Jason got hauled into the Batmobile, kicking and screaming, he thought that was it. He was going to die, too. Even when Batman pulled off his cowl and revealed the face of Gotham’s most beloved son, Jason still thought he was going to get it. Kids from Crime Alley didn’t get adopted by Gotham’s most benevolent plutocrat for no apparent reason. 

He was going to be like those awful French geese, kept in a cage and force-fed grain and milk until it’s time for them to get killed and their livers harvested. Needless to say, the first time Jason tried foie-gras, he vomited all over the fine Oriental carpet at the Gotham Supper Club and caused Bruce no end of embarrassment.     

Jason had been living for six months in Bruce and Alfred’s care before he learned that Dick Grayson was still alive and well, living the glamorous life of a superhero in New York City with his team of other glamorous superheroes and his beautiful alien girlfriend. Might as well be another world, but not dead. Robin just grew up and left Jason to pick up the scraps. And Jason could do that, easy. Every Crime Alley kid knew how to make do, slip into someone’s shoes. Second, third, even fourthhand — it didn’t matter. 

Jason still picked at the problem, and soon enough the answers seemed to present themselves, especially when he met Dick himself. Dick was sharp and beautiful, and even unpresented and raw as Jason was, he knew that Dick and Bruce couldn’t be together now, not with Bruce’s alpha scent lingering on every nook and cranny of the manor. Every alpha needed his own space. Dick needed his own city. 

So Robin was Jason’s for the taking. And Jason loved it. Loved being Robin. Was willing to put up with Bruce’s mercurial attitudes just for a chance to show him — show everyone — that he was worth something. He could do it too. Sometimes, it almost seemed like it worked, and after a really good night out, Batman would reach over and clasp Robin’s shoulder, tell him good job, son, and Jason could live on that for days. 

He was fifteen and feeling ugly and especially unlovable when the thought occurred: did Batman and Robin ever fuck, really? Going out there with the lowest of the lowest in what was essentially panties, a tunic, and a cape — well, the lewd comments never stopped coming. Jason was harshest on those whose eyes lingered the longest on his legs, his crotch. 

Batman didn’t approve. He fucking wouldn’t, would he? One night, after a really bad encounter, his ears still sizzling from the words, Robin slammed into the Batmobile’s passenger seat and hissed. The seat was already too narrow for his frame — who did it mean for, a twelve-year-old? A ten-year-old? 

Jason felt too old and too young at once. He panicked.

Batman followed behind him, his disapproval and disappointment as heavy as a thundercloud. If Robin were smart, he’d be quiet for the rest of the ride, discretion being the better part of valor. He wasn’t, though. He was brash and loud, and he spat out with as much piss and venom as his teenage, rage-filled body could muster, “Well, are they right? Are you gonna fuck me or not? Or are you waiting for something?” 

Batman didn’t say anything. The atmosphere around them turned hot and then cold. Heavy and choking. Jason had failed the test, failed all the tests that could’ve followed this one. 

“Not,” Bruce said at last as they pulled into the cave.

 The next day, Jason was benched for the foreseeable future. He told himself he didn’t need to go, that if Batman wanted to protect the pervs and freaks of the city more than he did his own partner, then fine, Jason wouldn’t say a word about it. 

He stewed in his room over the injustice and snapped at Alfred when the butler asked him about supper. He felt immediately remorseful. Alfred couldn’t be held responsible for what a shithead his employer's son was.

“I think I’m going to take a ride around the block before supper, Alfie,” Jason said. Alfred looked at him askance. He knew exactly what Jason was up to, but Jason gave him a look of wounded innocence. Robin may be benched and forbidden from action, but civilian Jason Todd couldn’t be forbidden from taking a spin around his own neighborhood.

“You may, Master Jason,” Alfred said with a sigh. “Please be safe and be home before dark.”

Jason promised he would. 

Naturally, he lied. 

*

He pulled off the tracker on the bike as soon as he crossed the Wayne Manor property line, sticking the beacon on a trunk of a nearby tree. He knew that Alfred would alert the big man as soon as the tracker registered that he was no longer active, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. He planned to be far from his current position by then. If it happened to be a slow night in Gotham, which Jason knew it wasn’t. Hell, he heard murmuring that Nightwing might grace them with their presence for a few hours if things really went bad. So, really, their hands were full. Jason was free as a bird.

He crowed as he sped through the darkening, rain-slick streets, towards the city limits. He missed the feeling of air against his naked face, to confront the world with nothing more than who he was — who he’d always been. 

God. What the fuck was he talking about? The bike he was riding, a shiny new bike with a red chrome finish, the last present under the Christmas tree last year — it could pay for four months' rent at his parents’ old place. He could pretend he hadn’t changed. No one else in the world would agree.

It was the bike that was probably his undoing, really, hidden eyes following his progress down suddenly empty streets. Jason wasn’t a fool, though. He didn’t turn in any narrow corners or side streets. He let them come to him. And they did, a shout coming through the pass. A group of kids, his age or a little bit older, appeared. His credentials were checked, but he failed. He wasn’t from around here, no, he’d grown up almost five miles north-by-northwest — might as well be a foreign country as far as they were concerned. They wanted the bike. He declined to give it. It wasn’t his choice. 

He fucking fought tooth and nail for it. And at a certain point, he was winning. Two against one, easy. Four against one, whatever, eight — sixteen — and with older men now, with more dangerous weapons than just bats or knives. Well, he didn’t need Bruce in his ear to say he needed to beat a hasty retreat. Jason punched the first guy who had approached him and felt the vicious satisfaction of his nose crushed against his fist, and then swung upwards to the nearest fire escape. They tried to follow him, but none of them was as quick or as limber as he was.

But they were on the ground with the bike, and he was up there, cut off. A Pyrrhic sort of victory.  His heart beating in his chest, Jason turned and ran across the rooftops as night fully descended on the city.

He knew he was being followed a few rooftops in, but he kept going. He was so stubborn, his mom had always said his head was as hard as a hickory nut, and then laughed when he didn’t know what it was. Fuck, but there was a certain dark thrill to it. Jason ducked and weaved through the city, taking the underground route as much as he could because he assumed his pursuer was in the air. It felt like he was, anyway — Jason felt like a little mouse scrabbling for cover. He was halfway through the Diamond District before he realized that he was only assuming that it was Batman who was following him. But if it was, wouldn’t Bruce have grabbed and tagged him by now, not to mention bitched him out for ruining Alfred’s carefully prepared meal — which, to be fair, Jason did feel guilty about.

Jason knew what to do: he’d get into the Wayne Enterprises Building and make it up to the penthouse. If it were Bats chasing him, they’d laugh about it. If not — well, there were plenty of Rogues in Gotham. 

Jason picked up the pace even as the dark seemed to gather around him and intensify. He passed streets that should have been crowded with people this time of night, bars and restaurants still open, and the late shows in the nearby theater district were ending — there should be so many more people here. But instead, the streets were empty and cold. Jason felt as though he was the only living boy in Gotham City at that moment.

The relief he felt when he reached the employee entrance of Wayne Enterprise couldn’t be quantified. The key fob Bruce had given him, meant to grant him access to the building after hours, didn’t seem to be working. He passed it across the lock screen. It wavered for a moment before a robotic voice said, “Access Denied.”

“Access denied?” Jason griped. “Don’t tell me he fired me already.” He tried to access again, to the same result. He felt his panic and stress building up under his skin, so when he heard his name called, Jason jumped what seemed like a mile and struck out blindly at whatever was behind him. 

“Jason! What are you doing here? Whoa — hold on —” Jason whirled around to see Bruce grasping his arm and looking at him concernedly. He was wearing an ordinary business suit, a lighter grey one on account of the early spring weather, with a crisp white shirt underneath. His tie was missing, and so were the first few buttons of his shirt. If Jason looked closely, he thought he could see some faint red marks across his neck. 

“It won’t — it wouldn’t let me in,” Jason said, his face flushed with embarrassment. Bruce let him go and got out his own key fob.

“It’s a different configuration after hours,” he explained. “You have to give your fingerprints first and then the key fob. Here.” Bruce demonstrated, and the door opened. He didn’t go through and let the door slide closed again. Jason shuffled toward the screen and did what he was instructed to do. As expected, the door opened, and they walked through.

“You’re supposed to be at the manor,” Bruce said sternly as they walked across the empty lobby, towards the elevator bank. 

“And you’re supposed to be on p—” Jason began to say, but stopped at the flash of warning in Bruce’s eye. 

“Hello, Joey,” Bruce said pleasantly to the night security guard, who had just gotten off the elevator. Joey smiled and greeted them. Bruce explained that they had been in the city for a function and decided the drive back to the manor would be too far. Joey bid them a sleepy farewell as they boarded the glass elevator up to the penthouse. 

Bruce was on the phone with Alfred, informing him of Jason’s whereabouts, so he wouldn’t have to be worried any further. 

“No, I don’t think it’ll be worth the trouble to do that,” Bruce said, looking Jason up and down critically, while Jason looked anywhere but him. The glass windows of the elevator looked out to the open lobby and windows to the other floors of Wayne Enterprises. Even at night, the view glittered and gleamed. 

He wondered idly how many times a crazed supervillain had tried to crash through the glass ceiling to reach the lobby below.

Bruce was still on the phone, saying, “I’ll bring him down early in the morning to get ready for school. That’s right. He can have tonight’s supper tomorrow night, reheated, as punishment.”

Once the call was over, the elevator dinged cheerfully. The penthouse was just a few steps away. 

“Eating leftovers isn’t exactly the punishment for me as they might be to you, boss,” Jason told him. 

Bruce gave him a wry smile. 

“Jay, what am I supposed to do with you?” Bruce’s question was supposed to be hopeless and fond, but tonight it fell flat. The question was real. The doubt behind it was too. 

Jason shivered. He’d only thrown a light jacket to go for his ride, but now he was soaked through with rain and his own perspiration. He didn’t want to gape at Bruce, unable to get out the words to defend himself, to justify his continued presence in his life. He didn’t think there really was one. He was horrible. He would never be good enough.

“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll rustle up some dinner for us?” Bruce asked him, deciding to cut him some slack for once. But Jason shook his head. 

“I’m not hungry. I ate while I was out,” he lied. Alfred wouldn’t have believed him, would have seen the signs that he was hungry. Bruce just sighed and told him to shower and go to bed then. 

Jason set his jaw and was determined to do just that. 

Jason’s room in the penthouse was formerly a guest bedroom, and it still kept that nondescript, high-end hotel room feeling to this moment — however luxurious everything happened to be. As Jason got ready for his shower, he thought that, really, that wasn’t too far from what Dick’s room was like, either. The only thing personal about that was a small collection of detective novels on the bookshelf by the bed. 

The shower should’ve been a welcome relief, but Jason kept thinking about the marks on Bruce’s neck, and who could’ve put them there. They were too long and narrow to be the work of Catwoman, so who —?  He leaned against the slate tile and took the hand-held shower head to task. His mind was filled with Bruce, with what he could do and what he shouldn’t. Eventually, the hot water turned lukewarm. It was time to get out. 

There were towels and other linens in the linen closet, and a set of pajamas and underwear in the built-in closet. But as Jason tried them on, he realized that Alfred must have picked this wardrobe last summer, before his massive growth spurt. The underwear and pants could sort of fit, if he forced it, but the shirt was a no-go. He would have to borrow one of Bruce’s shirts. 

“Hey, B, can I borrow one of your t-shirts? All of mine are too small now,” Jason was saying as he rambled into the main bedroom of the penthouse, Bruce’s room. The door was unlocked and slightly ajar. He assumed that meant Bruce was still awake. 

And Bruce was, in fact, very much still awake. He was standing naked in front of the big mirror that dominated one wall of the room. The faint red marks Jason had spotted on his neck actually were crisscrossed all across Bruce’s shoulders and chest. 

“Whoa, what the fuck happened to you?” Jason wheeled backwards and hit the side of a glass door of a shelf. 

“Calm down, Jason,” Bruce said, turning smartly around and picking up a towel so he was no longer standing naked. “Shirts are in the wardrobe, third drawer from the front.”

Jason scurried to the wardrobe before Bruce could change his mind and throw him out. He grabbed whatever shirt was on top of the neat pile of shirts in the first drawer he opened and pulled it on. Then he counted to ten. By the time he emerged from the wardrobe, Bruce was already in bed, seeming dressed in pajamas, his eyes trained on a tablet. 

Alfred would scold him for reading in the dark like that, but Jason wasn’t going to. 

“Goodnight,” Bruce said, his eyes not leaving the tablet screen. He couldn’t make it more obvious that Jason was supposed to leave the room immediately. But Jason stayed. Because he couldn’t leave it well enough alone. Because he had to make trouble. Because if he left it there, the questions would drive him crazy his whole life through.

Finally, Bruce looked up and examined him. 

“Good choice,” he said. Jason looked down to see that he’d haphazardly picked what seemed like a vintage band shirt from the closet. The Replacements? Jason had never heard of them. 

“Uh,” Jason said. “What happened tonight? Why were you following me?”

Bruce looked him over coolly. “What do you mean?”

Jason winced. “C’mon, B. It’s not hard to guess. You popped back up right as I got to Wayne Tower? Not exactly subtle.” 

“Jason. Come here.” 

There was something different in Bruce’s eyes tonight, something that made his stomach clench. Bruce knew that Jason had been jerking off to him for months. The showers in the Batcave weren’t built with privacy in mind, and even if they were — well, Jason could close his eyes now and see it. The parade of flesh and muscle. A little pervert’s wet dream. The perfect alpha. The very best one. Bruce knew the stuff that had happened to Jason before he took him in, stuff that they never talked about. Stuff that made Jason hit those who fucked with kids extra hard. Bruce let him get away with that. Within reason. 

Jason knew that Bruce wanted him to come around to the side, probably stand at attention by his bedside for a short telling off, and that was it. Case dismissed. They’d have to deal with their awkward sexual tension at another time.  He climbed into bed instead, crawling on his hands and knees towards Bruce. He climbed over Bruce’s tree trunk legs and stopped at his lap. There he stayed, body as loose and as casual as he could be. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. He never had. 

Mouth impossibly dry, Jason licked his lips. His voice cracked a little bit when he asked, “Well? Are you ever gonna fuck me or not?”

Bruce didn’t reply. Instead, he flipped Jason over like he was nothing, pushed him against the mattress, and just stared down at him. Jason was frantic, rubbing against him, hot and fast. He reached out and kissed Bruce, a stinging kiss that left Jason aching for more. Needing more. 

But Bruce jerked away like he’d been burned. He shifted away while Jason stayed where he was, back flat against the mattress. He felt his whole world crashing down around him. He didn’t care that he was whining. It was so unfair for Bruce to tease him like that. He rolled over and reached for Bruce, entreatingly. “B, please…”

Bruce allowed Jason to climb back into his lap, tuck himself under his chin. Bruce’s hand traced slow circles on Jason’s side. 

When Bruce leaned down — God, would they kiss again? Jason mastered his excitement and wondered if this was actually a test, one that he was currently failing by going along with it so far. Did Bruce want him to fight? To scream? Cry? Was he fucking it up by being so — fucking passive? 

The thought that he was failing a test he didn’t know he was taking was enough to push himself forward, pressed his face against the crook of Bruce’s neck. Smelled his scent, subtly alpha and good, but something about it made Jason want to scream. Bruce was so heavy, even when he was keeping his hands free of Jason — mostly. It didn’t seem to matter.

Jason’s limbs seemed to want to move on their own, twitching. He remembered reading something about the French Revolution, how the beheaded aristocrats’ bodies would still be moving and twitching, their eyes blinking, even several minutes after they were executed. 

“I know what’s wrong with you,” Bruce told him. Jason blinked. If Bruce knew what was going on in his head… 

“What is it?” Jason asked, trying to stifle a yawn. He didn’t argue that there was something wrong with him — there obviously was. How late was it? Past even his bedtime, no doubt. 

“Alfred said that your behavior has shifted in recent days. You haven’t been eating. You’ve been more violent on patrol. The only conclusion can be that you’re about to present.”

Jason pouted. He didn’t mean to. But the way Bruce was laying it out, like he was a mystery to be solved, got his back up. “So what? Are you saying you’re going to dump me as soon as I present as an alpha, as you did with Dick?” 

Then he took a deep, excited breath. He felt warmth radiating from his body, warmth that even Bruce, cold and unresponsive underneath him, must feel. “Or if I’m an omega, would you — keep me? I’d want you to. If you wanted. I’d want it too.” 

“You’re too young,” Bruce said. He shifted away and turned the light back on. It flared bright for a moment before settling into a pleasant half-light, like early dawn. “It’s not the dark ages anymore. Just coming of age as an omega doesn’t matter.”

“So you think I’m going to be an omega for sure?” Jason demanded. “Both my parents were betas.”

“Hrn,” Bruce said, and did not elaborate. 

“If you had to be executed, how’d you want to go out?” Jason asked. If Bruce wasn’t going to fuck him into the mattress, he might as well make conversation, something that would make it harder for Bruce to send him away. He slid down to the spot on the bed next to Bruce, flipping over to keep his eyes on him.

“What brought this up?” Bruce asked. His voice reverberated through Jason’s head as it belonged there. The voice of God. Jason shivered, and he felt Bruce pull the blankets over his chest.

“I was just wondering,” Jason said, licking his lips again. He thought he tasted salt on his tongue and wondered if it had come from Bruce, from his neck. “Sorry, I’m so morbid, I guess.”

“I don’t mind, Jay.” 

Jason looked Bruce over quickly and saw that he was looking at him with something approaching the soft affection that had characterized their relationship to begin with. Jason felt his heart throb in his chest. He wanted to go back there, to that time. The easy way they’d been able to talk to each other. 

“You’re pretty morbid yourself, aren’t you?” Jason replied. 

Bruce gave him a sly, half-smile. “Do you want me to answer your question or not?”

“No, no, please answer,” Jason said. God, how did Bruce’s skin smell so good when Jason knew the sorts of places the Dark Knight lurked? Places that forced you to carry the memory of them wherever you went. One hot shower wasn’t enough to scrub it away, or a dozen. But Bruce defied all that. He smelled clean and innocent, good, like a memory of a winter’s day. 

“Anything but a firing squad, I suppose? What about you?”

“Poison my last meal,” Jason said. Easy. He could go out on a high note that way.

Bruce pushed a lock of hair away from Jason’s eyes. Their eyes were fixed on each other’s. Jason wanted to preen, relish the feeling, the absolute high of Bruce’s regard. He wasn’t religious or anything, but this had to be what it felt like to have God stare down at you —  remote, but not unkind. 

“You’re going into heat,” Bruce told him, and started to leave. Jason’s arm shot out and grabbed him. He wasn’t about to let Bruce go. Not now. Not yet.

“I’m not. Not yet. Please stay with me,” Jason begged. He could feel beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. Even in the soft half-dark of Bruce’s penthouse bedroom, he could see the pinpricks of light from the wall-to-wall windows that dominated most of the room. It felt like the whole world was watching. 

“I can stay for a few more minutes,” Bruce said. Jason nodded. He would take what he could get. 

“So,” Jason said, trying to ignore how red his face was getting. “You, uh, ever did this with Dick? Is this all a part of Robin’s duties?” 

“No.” The answer was crisp and immediate. Jason believed it and didn’t know if he should be glad or upset. Probably upset, some still-sane part of him chimed in. Quit smiling like he's be doing you a huge favor by not fucking you, for not being a fucking molester. 

Cold, colder the voice accused: You kissed him first. 

“Fuck,” Jason muttered, the gravity of the situation finally dawning on him. It was crushing. “Guess I’m just a lucky boy, huh?”

“Dick never wanted something like this,” Bruce said, his voice flat. “You do.” 

“Well. He’s an alpha, like you are,” Jason said. “Obviously … an alpha wouldn’t — with another one, would he?”

“No?” Bruce asked, politely inquisitive. 

“Can they?” Jason asked, blinking. “I’ve never heard of it. Like maybe once in a while, but everyone thought they were— I dunno. Going against the natural ways of things. All that shit.”

“I think that a person could be attracted to another person, regardless of their dynamic,” Bruce said, and Jason nodded. 

“Well, I want it,” Jason insisted, swallowing hard. "Don't send me away."

“You need to rest,” Bruce said. Jason felt his cool hand on Jason’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Stay with me, please, please,” Jason pleaded, as he slipped away into a dark and dreamless sleep. When he woke up again, he was back in his own room, and there was a covered tray of breakfast food on the bedside table, along with a small bowl with pills in it. 

“Good morning, dear boy,” said Alfred’s voice, which came through the intercom. Jason sat up. He felt completely wrong, his body going slowly haywire and awful. He was still wearing Bruce’s t-shirt, though, and he pulled it off and tried to catch something of his scent. But whatever there was had been completely overridden by Jason’s own fluctuating scent as well as the all-natural hoity-toity laundry detergent Alfred used for all their clothes. 

The pills helped a lot, and Jason’s first heat passed quickly. He was an omega, all right. After a day or so of discomfort, he was out again. Alfred informed him of his new, very strict suppressant regime. A few days later, Jason was back on patrol. Everything was normal, almost. 

 Looking back at it, Jason could safely say that his first heat had been a whole lot of nothing. Everything running up to it, on the other hand?

Fucked up beyond belief.