Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7287868.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_-_All_Media_Types, Young_Justice_(Cartoon)
  Relationship:
      Dick_Grayson/Bruce_Wayne
  Character:
      Dick_Grayson, Bruce_Wayne, Damian_Wayne, Roy_Harper, Talia_al_Ghul
  Additional Tags:
      Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Rough_Sex, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Assumed
      child_death, Mpreg, Grief/Mourning, Porn_with_Feelings, Past_Underage,
      and_now_it's_a_fucked_up_mess, dick_is_damian's_real_mom, Angst, Age
      Difference, Babies, Alternate_Universe, Happy_Ending
  Series:
      Part 1 of Mamabird_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-24 Words: 9376
****** what happened across the sea ******
by Laroyena
Summary
     “And if I do, what’s going to happen? I was sixteen, Roy, and Bruce’s
     my guardian. It’ll ruin him.”
     (Batman Omegaverse AU: Dick is Damian's mother) After Batman and
     Robin's brutal split, Dick disappears for two years across the
     Atlantic. Years after his reluctant return, Talia drops Damian Wayne
     off in Gotham and all hell breaks loose.
Notes
     So this was supposed to be crack at first, with the thought "What if
     Dick was ACTUALLY Damian's mom" and then trying to figure out how
     that would work with the al Ghul plot-line. And then somehow it
     turned into porn, and then into really twisted drama, and I can't
     write fluff for my life. This fic was also inspired by several other
     fics on this site (baby_wonder is one of my all-time favorites.)
     The characters in this fic are different than the soulmate au;
     different universe, different people/relationships. I wasn't 100%
     happy with how Dick came out here, but for the sake of my sanity I
     had to stop working on this.
     Also, Bruce is a gigantic asshole in this fic. He knows it, Dick
     knows it, Everybody knows it. But he does really love Dick. Honest.
     EDIT: if anyone wants to read about Brudick's relationship before the
     events of the fic... here: we_won't_be_apart_for_long
See the end of the work for more notes
“You’re pregnant,” Babs said incredulously.
“Yep.”
She opened her mouth. She closed it. After a heavy moment, she leaned closer to
the web-cam and narrowed her eyes. “It’s Bruce’s, isn’t it?”
“Babs no,” Dick said, scrambling up in his seat. He could hear a revenge plan
hatching a mile away. “He didn’t—I wanted it, okay? He doesn’t know.”
“Jesus Christ, Dick,” Babs rubbed the bridge of her nose under her glasses.
“He’s an adult, and you—no, we’ll talk about that later. What are you going to
do?”
“That’s why I called,” Dick leaned forward onto elbows, looking nervous but
determined. “What do I need to do to get to Italy?”
--
“What the hell,” Roy hissed when he finally made it to the address Dick had
sent him. An address across the Atlantic Ocean. He would’ve told the younger
boy to fuck off if Dick hadn’t been AWOL for close to six months.
Sure, he and Bats had their dramatic, messy split-up and so Roy had allowed
Dick time to lick his wounds. But this was ridiculous. Also, Lian fussed and
cried the entire flight to Rome, so Dick better be having a crisis worth flying
here for.
When Dick answered the door, Roy took it all back. He’d rather Dick be having a
stupid not-important crisis than this.
“You’re pregnant?” he gaped at Dick’s swollen stomach. He looked about ready to
pop: eight, nine months easy. Lian, who had finally exhausted herself in her
carrier, woke up at the smell of an omega. She reached a tiny hand and pressed
it to Dick’s stomach.
“Hello to you too, Roy,” Dick sighed, looking exhausted. He let Lian rub his
stomach a few more times before stepping back.
“You should have called me earlier, you as—I mean, you butthole,” Roy muttered,
taking in the mess that was Dick’s tiny living room and kitchen. Dick’s room
had always been a bit messy, but not like this. This looked like he took his
room and half the trash and threw it all up onto the furniture. “What have you
even been doing here besides incubating?”
“Well I told the JLA I was hacking into the European sector of the League of
Shadows,” Dick said, gesturing at a laptop that was hidden under a pile of
clothes. It looked dangerously unstable, and Roy rushed to straighten it. Dick
continued, “But Babs is the one doing most of the work. I just look through
feeds and offer tactical advice.”
“Of course Babs is in on this,” Roy sighed. If anyone could sneak a heavily
pregnant Dick Grayson away from one of the most paranoid, surveillance-happy
heroes in the world, it was Babs. No wonder Batman was going insane. “Okay, you
called me all the way here to play alpha, didn’t you? Hospital or midwife?
Though this place is a mess, we need to clean it up first. You got a nursery
set up?”
“Um,” Dick said. He sat down on a pile of clothes on the couch and curled up,
both hands around his swollen stomach.
That’s when Roy realized he had his work cut out for him.
--
Lian had a very bad habit of poking Damian’s pudgy cheeks. Bad because Damian
was the fussiest, loudest baby Roy had ever had the displeasure to care for,
and every time Lian poked him she set him off again.
“Lian, sweetheart,” he sighed, pulling his daughter back from where Damian had
finally, finallyfallen asleep in his crib. “Don’t bother Dami when he’s
sleeping.”
She popped a spit-bubble at him. He sighed and kissed her soft dark hair,
breathing in her baby smell. All kids smelled good, even Damian, but Lian
obviously smelled the best to him. Parental bonds for the win.
Same thing went for Damian and Dick, even more so than with him and Lian. In
fact, if the little terror had his way, Dick would be holding him all the time.
He and Dick alternated playing baby-watcher, switching off so they could pass
out on the significantly cleaner couch. One rare night when they were both
lying exhausted on the couch, Roy turned and looked at his best friend.
“When are you going to tell Bats?”
“Tell him what,” Dick didn’t even open his eyes. “Last time I checked he fired
me and I left the country and he picked up another Robin. Or something like
that.”
“Tell him about Damian, you ass.”
“That mouth,” Dick muttered. “What happened to keeping things PG?”
“Lian and Dami are both asleep. And don’t side-step me, Dick. Dami’s a carbon
copy of Bruce; there’s no way you can pass him off as anyone else’s.”
Dick stopped breathing for a moment. Then he opened determined blue eyes and
rolled over so he was facing Roy. “And if I do, what’s going to happen? I was
sixteen, Roy, and Bruce’s my guardian. It’ll ruin him.”
Roy had half a mind to say Good, but knew better than to think it’d change
Dick’s mind. The younger boy had always been stubborn and loyal and loving to a
fault. It was times like this that he regretted not courting the omega
himself... until he remembered that he liked his balls where they were, thanks.
Not even Ollie could've protected him from Batman's wrath.
“You know Bats is kind of going crazy not being able to spy on you. You really
think Babs can hold him off much longer?”
Dick pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “No—I don’t know. I just
thought—it’d be easier if I was eighteen, you know, when everyone finds out.
They can’t take him away from me then.”
“I doubt anyone can take anything away from you,” Roy said, and as if on cue
the hell-baby woke up and started screeching from his crib. This had the
unfortunate side effect of waking Lian too, and then they hadtwo crying babies
and not nearly enough hands to deal with them both.
Roy didn’t bring the Batman up again.
--
At six months old, Damian was still pudgy, still fussy, and still ridiculously
spoiled. He refused to sit in the airplane seat besides Dick—any attempt to
take him off his mother’s lap resulted in screeching, punching, crying, the
whole nine yards.
Lian was never this bad-tempered, Dick sighed to himself after Damian had
finally cried himself to sleep. He missed Roy already. The Red Arrow had to
return to the states to ward off suspicion—and to also bring news of Dick
before the Batman strapped himself into a private jet and flew over to Europe
himself.
“He’s adorable,” the hotel receptionist gushed when he finally arrived in
London. “What’s his name?”
“David,” Dick lied, snatching up his keys and leaving before Damian woke up and
proved exactly how not adorable he could be.
It took no time at all for Dick to set up the laptop on the bed, sit on the
floor, and drag a blanket into his lap. He placed Damian snugly onto the
blanket and stroked the baby’s fluffy black hair: this was one of the positions
that guaranteed Damian’s silence. Hell, when the baby was content, it was
almost creepy how quiet he could be.
It was only when Dick tried to put Damian down that he’d break out into
tantrums.
This way, however, Damian just curled up against Dick’s stomach and dozed.
Within three seconds of Dick turning on his laptop, Babs’s personal video-chat
line began alerting him of an incoming call.
“Hello Bruce,” Dick said calmly. The web-cam only showed his face and
shoulders, and Dick was confident that he was almost back to his pre-baby look.
That was, not constantly tired and swollen.
“Dick, this is ridiculous,” Bruce said, straight to the point. He wasn’t
wearing his cowl, thank god, but he was obviously in the Batcave and so tense
he practically thrummed on screen. Once upon a time Dick would have soothed his
shoulders with a sweep of his hand.
Now, Bruce had someone else for that.
“I’ve done good work tracking Talia so far,” Dick said. “She’s definitely
planning to bring her plans to Gotham. If I can stop her before she crosses the
ocean, I will.”
“Gotham is no longer your concern.”
“Oh shut up,” Dick stroked Damian’s hair and resisted the urge to bury his nose
into his sweet baby scent. “I might not be Robin anymore, but Gotham was my
home for years. You don’t own the city, and you’re not the only one who can
protect it.”
Bruce’s mouth was a sharp line. He disapproved. Whatever.
“How’s the little wing,” Dick said, to remind himself the other reason why he
hadn’t gone home. Sure, keeping Damian to himself was one thing, but seeing
someone else flying about in his colors was another. Thank god Jason was an
alpha. Nothing would have stopped Dick from storming into Wayne Manor and
strangling Bruce if he picked up another omega child off the street.
If he used them up and threw them away like he did with Dick.
No, that wasn’t fair.
“Jason is fine,” Bruce said flatly, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
“Dick…”
“What.”
“Talia al Ghul is intelligent, deadly, and resourceful,” Bruce finally said.
“And you’re working on your own. This is not the smartest combination.”
“Single-missions makes it much easier to stay under the radar,” Dick said. “Now
if there’s nothing else you’d like to say to me, then good night.”
Bruce opened his mouth. He closed it.
“Good night,” he finally said, and then ended the call. Dick couldn’t help but
feel disappointed. After years of handling Bruce’s shit, he should know better
than to get his hopes up. He still did.
He’d wanted Bruce to say, with his own words: Dick, come home.
If he had, Dick might have actually gone back. But he hadn’t. Bruce hadn’t said
anything of the sort since Dick had fled Gotham a year ago.
Damian began fussing when Dick stopped stroking his hair. Dick picked him up
and kissed the baby’s chubby cheeks, to Damian’s obvious delight. Damian
slapped tiny hands onto Dick’s head and babbled, like he could cheer his Mommy
up through sheer will alone.
--
Dick had fucked up.
He had been gathering intel at one of the League of Shadow’s public fronts when
Talia’s goons got the drop on him. He woke up hog-tied to a wall with the woman
herself sitting in front of him.
“Richard,” Talia purred, and Dick glared at her. “You’ve been sticking your
nose in our business, haven’t you?”
“Not without reason,” Dick said. His utility belt was gone, as was all of his
hidden gadgets. Thankfully he’d sent out a call while they’d been wrestling him
to the ground, but who knows how long it’d take for someone to get here.
“True. My beloved still refuses to see the light as usual,” Talia sighed,
standing up. She walked close by him, so close he could smell her spicy omega
scent. “It occurred to me while you were unconscious that this was the perfect
punishment. I could kill you, Richard, and Bruce would never forgive himself.”
She traced a dagger down Dick’s throat. He shivered when the light, stinging
cut began to bleed.
“But no,” she said. She put down the knife.
“There’s someone else I can take away that would hurt him more.”
--
Thank god Roy had gotten his distress call, because he eventually heard a
commotion upstairs. Roy emerged, covered in ninja blood and other fluids, and
cut Dick loose.
“She’s going to kill Damian,” Dick gasped, and Roy’s eyes widened. Fear
clutched at Dick's chest. He could barely think, much less fight. Their escape
route out of the fortress was impeded by swarms of League assassins, forcing
them to climb high and grapple-gun their way down to safety.
Dick’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He’d left Damian with the babysitter
he’d been using for more than three months; she was clean, he’d gotten Babs to
check her out; there was no way Talia—no way she could have—
When they made it to the babysitter’s home, the entire apartment was on fire.
--
Dick had to see it with his own two eyes. He had to.
Nothing could stop the sob in his throat, however, when the medical examiner
reluctantly showed him the charred remains of an infant. Not even Roy, who’d
paled in horror and looked about to vomit, could console him.
Dick wanted Bruce so badly he tasted it through his tears. He wanted Bruce’s
comforting alpha scent: stronger than Roy’s, sharper, because Bruce was Dick’s
alpha in every way that mattered. He wanted it wrapped around him, grounding
him, but he couldn’t.
“You have to go home,” Roy begged when Dick curled up with a blanket in the
motel bathtub and refused to come out. “You need your pack. Your family.”
“No,” Dick said. “No, no, no.”
He couldn’t look at Bruce. Not when seeing him reminded him of Damian: of how
he’d failed his alpha by losing their son and that Bruce would never know.
Talia had assumed the death would devastate the Bat. It wouldn’t. Because Bruce
was never going to find out—Dick would do everything in his power to make sure
of that.
--
When he finally mustered up the energy to look, he found that Talia had gone
deep underground. Not even Babs’s information network could catch a sniff her
out.
Dick’s throat hurt. Not enough water. He unscrewed a water bottle from his pack
and hissed when he saw its empty contents. This was the second month he’d spent
trying to hunt the other omega down, and he wasn’t taking care of himself.
Roy had unhappily returned home—Dick had hid away the day of his flight back so
Roy couldn’t physically drag him onto the plane—because he couldn’t be away
from Lian for too long. Lian. God, he’d been so envious he’d been sick.
Roy was a good father. He kept his daughter safe, didn’t get her murdered by a
bunch of zombie assassins. It had been hell calling Bruce before he got
suspicious. Told him his mission had been compromised and he’d be laying low
for a while.
He could barely look at Bruce the whole time, unable to see his face and not
think of—
“Dick, that’s enough,” a voice called out behind him. Dick froze.
“Clark,” he turned around and said. Superman tipped his head. “I told Bruce I
was fine.”
“Yes, and I told him this feud between the two of you has gone on long enough,”
Clark extended a large hand and Dick hesitantly took it. The alpha’s friendly
scent took the edge off his raw wounds, which Dick both appreciated and hated.
“He doesn’t know I’m here, but that doesn’t matter. Dick, whatever fight you
and Bruce had, you’re still one of us. And we take care of our own.”
Dick knew that, the moment he gave any assent, Clark would whisk him off in a
heartbeat. Bring him home to his friends where their friendly scents could help
him rebuild, just like Clark’s scent was helping him now.
But he would also carry him away from the last, minuscule chance he’d get wind
of Talia al Ghul’s location; away from the best and worst two years of his
life; away from his rightful punishment.
He deserved to be miserable, because his son was dead.
“Whatever you think you did,” Clark interrupted, as if he was reading his mind.
Thank god that wasn’t an actual Kryptonian power, “I don’t care. We just want
to see you safe. Please, Dick. Come with me.”
Slowly, guiltily Dick squeezed Clark’s hand. He closed his eyes when Clark
wrapped him into his arms and set off, feeling so exhausted he could sleep
forever.
--
“Are you sure, Dick?”
“Yeah, Babs,” Dick clutched the tiny, battered photo in his hand. A keepsake.
The only one. “Wipe everything.”
Babs looked at him through the web-cam. “You know I can’t get any of this info
back once I do that, Dick. Not even his birth-certificate.”
“I don’t care,” Dick’s throat clogged up. “Burn it.”
Just like Damian had burned. He tucked the photo in his wallet and put his head
in his hands.
--
Slowly, ever so slowly, Dick recovered. Clark and Lois and Diana were all
godsends, giving him a place to live, goals to have, and all the time he
needed.
It took a while to get in contact with his old Teen Titans team. They welcomed
him back with a combination of relieved cries and miffed frowns. Wally in
particular was upset that he'd called Roy and not him.
Because Wally was a beta. He was one of Dick’s best friends, but wouldn’t have
understood why Dick had to stay away.
“Have you gone to visit Bats yet?” the speedster had asked after they’d a
successful mission. It was the first one that debuted Nightwing—Dick’s new
persona, inspired by one of Clark’s many tales read aloud to him while he
sulked in the closet.
“Nope,” Dick said. “He hasn’t contacted me either.”
Not that he didn’t wait for Bruce’s call every day. But it seemed like once
he’d confirmed that Dick had returned to America, Dick was no longer his
problem. He didn’t even Skype call him anymore.
It hurt, but Dick knew it was for the best. The wound was still too raw. Seeing
Bruce’s face on-screen had been bad enough. In person, he wasn’t sure he was
strong enough not to tell Bruce of what he’d done.
--
Jason died.
Bruce fell into a dark place, so dark that Dick’s omega instincts wouldn’t let
him stay away. Even if it was the first time they’d met face-to-face since Dick
had left so many years ago; even if just catching a whiff of Bruce’s scent
almost sent him to his knees. God, he’d missed that scent, even fucked up with
distress and guilt. It was comfort and safety and sex, and Dick wasn’t
prepared.
“Get out!” Bruce had roared at him in the Batcave, like Dick’s own scent had
personally offended him. “You made it clear this wasn’t your home anymore!”
“Don’t you ever get tired of your own bullshit, Bruce?” Dick had bellowed back,
Bruce’s distress overriding any stupid omega instinct he had to cower. “You
fired me!”
“You left.”
“You fired me!”
“Get out,” Bruce growled, voice lower and scratchier, as he slowly loped
towards Dick. Dick inhaled sharply, sensing the change in scent immediately.
“Before I do something I’ll regret.”
Dick couldn’t help but shoot off his mouth: “You’ve already done it.”
Bruce’s eyes flashed dangerously, and then he was crowding Dick against the
closest surface. He was heavy and strong, and his grip on Dick’s wrist was
iron-tight. Even so, Dick could probably escape if he wanted to. Bruce was
clearly compromised by grief, and while alphas tended to become more aggressive
like that, they also became more susceptible to an omega’s suggestion.
But he didn’t particularly want to escape. So Dick just tipped his head back
and bared his neck. Let Bruce run his sharp alpha teeth against his jugular and
sniff greedily at Dick’s sweet omega scent, because Dick had missed this so
much he could cry. He missed feeling Bruce’s strong weight and presence on top
of him—inside him—and his nimble fingers made quick work of the Bruce’s shirt
and pants.
It was vulgar, letting Bruce bend him in half against the console and shove his
cock inside of him. It hurt without the prep, even with his omega body, and
hurt even more when Bruce set a brutal pace. Their bodies slapped together,
Dick whining softly from the back of his throat as his alpha basically
brutalized him. Fucked him until his insides felt like they were on fire, until
Dick’s fingers were clawing at his bicep and drawing blood.
“Bruce,” he choked out when he felt the man’s teeth against his throat again.
“Bruce, no.”
And because he was the Batman, because Dick was still his responsibility, Bruce
resisted what any alpha would have done and didn’t bite. He did, however,
spread Dick’s legs apart with his large hands as his thrusts became harder,
stronger. Dick grunted at the painful pressure against his entrance and let out
a hiss when Bruce’s knot finally popped inside.
Tied together now, Bruce’s alpha instincts slowed down. He rocked gently into
him, letting Dick finally have time to register the thick heat cradled between
his hips. Let Dick register the tears running down Bruce’s face, which
was—shocking.
“Shh,” he said, putting both hands around Bruce’s handsome face. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Bruce growled low and pained, and then sank his face into Dick’s
shoulder. Dick stroked Bruce’s hair softly, trying extremely hard not to think
of similar soft black hair under his fingertips. That was before. This was now.
Dick let out a surprised noise when Bruce finally came with a hard grunt. His
insides were being painted in fire, which was fine. He could take it. He
continued stroking Bruce’s hair through it, until he’d emptied himself out and
slowly sank them both to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Dick whispered into his alpha’s ear. “I’m so sorry, Bruce.”
It was a miracle that Alfred didn’t come and check on them. Not with them tied
against the computers for more than forty-minutes, Bruce pretending to be as
alive as stone statue and Dick petting his hair the entire time.
Dick understood, after all.
He’d lost a son before too.
--
Nightwing chose Bludhaven as his home turf, because Gotham was right next-door
and he still wasn’t confident leaving Bruce on his own.
They were better. Not as good as they’d been before their last fight, but Bruce
needed him. It was probably fucked up for him to redirect his stupid omega-
mother instincts to his son’s father, rather than his son, but Nightwing didn’t
care.
It made him feel better, it made Bruce feel better, and when Bruce wasn’t a
miserable angry fuck then Gotham as a whole felt better.
Things were even reaching a tentative normal until he opened the door one day
and found a young boy on his doorstep. “Hi! Are you Dick Grayson?”
“Yes?” Dick asked warily. He’d just come back from the precinct; he hadn’t even
taken off the rest of his police uniform.
The boy stuck out his hand. “Tim Drake. I think you should come back to
Gotham.”
“Excuse me?” Dick blinked, but wasn’t nearly as shocked as he’d feel when the
boy followed up with:
“Because Batman needs a Robin.”
--
Tim Drake was an omega. That was probably why Dick felt so protective over him,
because Tim reminded him of a younger version of himself. It was also why he
made sure Tim could handle himself before foisting him off on Bruce. Dick
wasn’t naïve.
It turned his stomach, but he would never forgive himself if Bruce laid a hand
on the other boy.
He wouldn’t, Dick knew. But extra training never hurt anyone.
Thankfully, after keeping a hawk’s eye on Tim and Bruce’s tentative partnership
for months, their scents settled into a definite father-son bond. And Bruce
acted far more appropriate with Tim, too, like a family alpha should.
Appropriately protective when Tim brought home his friends, one of which was
Clark’s alpha clone who stuck entirely too close to Tim’s side for Bruce’s
comfort.
Dick felt guilty for even thinking that Bruce would do something. Guilty, and
also… glad. It made him feel better that Bruce hadn't bedded Dick just because
he was a vulnerable omega, but because he genuinely seemed attracted to him.
To celebrate, he went off his suppressants the next month and let Bruce share
his heat, because one thing they were surprisingly good at was fucking each
other. It was the first thing that came back in their new relationship, which
really wasn't the healthiest. He didn't care. It was good. Had always been
good. So much so that Dick had once forgotten his daily birth control pill
after a trying day as Robin, and had been unprepared to have post-fight heat
sex with Bruce on the floor of the Batcave.
The memory hurt. It reminded him of the aftermath, of months sitting alone in a
room in Italy, and of the soft body that used to curl sleepily in his arms.
He wasn’t ready to relive any of that. Maybe not ever.
He took a morning-after pill just to be safe, and then went to shake Bruce
awake for the upcoming JLA meeting.
--
While Bruce and R’as duked it out several times over the decade, it wasn’t
until the tail end of that that Dick finally heard of Talia again.
He’d almost dropped his phone when Bruce informed him of his dinner plans.
Talia al Ghul wanted to meet the Batman, apparently, and Bruce wasn’t stupid
enough not to bring back-up. Dick had agreed.
Talia.
The image of a burnt corpse flashed across his mind’s eye against his will.
Feeling sicker than he had in years, Dick fled to the bathroom and vomited.
If there was anyone Dick had ever itched to break the Bat’s no-killing rule
for, it was Talia al Ghul. It was his right as a mother to get revenge. But
Dick had kept the whole incident away from Bruce for so long—years—he wasn’t
about to mess up now.
Strapping on his gauntlets and escrima sticks, he glued the Nightwing mask onto
his face and leapt out the window.
--
“She didn’t do anything, Dick,” Bruce said over the phone, calling Dick before
he could make it to the harbor. He sounded bewildered, which was concerning for
the most stoic member of the Justice League. “She wanted to talk. And… also to
leave someone for me to take care of.”
“What,” Dick said. “Who the hell would she care about enough to leave with
you?”
Bruce hesitated. “Talia and I… our son.”
Dick felt his heart seize in his throat. Talia had a son? Talia had a son with
Bruce? He felt physically sick, but swallowed it down to croak: “You guys have
a kid?”
“I swear I didn’t know, Dick,” Bruce said apologetically. “She’s trained him up
as an assassin. He’s… volatile. If I had known, I would have taken Damian away
from her long ago.”
And Dick really did drop his phone this time.
--
Talia al Ghul was a sick bastard. That’s all Dick could think of when Bruce
asked him to look for this “Damian,” who’d apparently escaped the Batmobile and
was on the loose.
Damian.
Anger coursed through his chest.
Damian was the name of his son, not hers. How could she take that name away
from him? Or did she do it on purpose, as a way to show Dick that she was the
better omega for Bruce, not him.
That herDamian was the true son, not the one she’d—she’d—
He heard a panicked cry and vaulted towards the sound. Pure instinct helped him
block the incoming sword-blow, saving the life of some gangster lowlife. The
tiny assassin that had been about to gut him bared his teeth at Dick.
“Don’t interfere!” he said in a crisp tone, face barely recognizable under his
hood.
Bingo. This must be Talia’s Damian. Seeing that he was a psycho assassin who’d
just been about to gut a bulky man who’d shat his pants, that seemed like a
reasonable assumption.
He was good. Fast, skilled, coming at Dick with strikes that he could barely
twist away from and only because he was flexible as fuck. Finally, Dick gained
the upper hand and slammed the brat to the ground. He was in the middle of
tying him up when the hood finally fell from his face—and Dick froze.
This scent.
He recognized this scent, because he dreamed about it half the time he closed
his eyes to sleep.
Happy days pressing his nose to his baby’s soft black hair; of blowing
raspberries onto his tummy and laughing when he was kicked for his efforts; of
cuddling with him during cold nights. The horrible moment when he’d dumped all
their belongings into a dumpster nearby, because he couldn’t sit around that
high chair or crib without trying to breathe in his fading scent.
Looking at the boy’s snarling face cinched it. He was the spitting image of
Bruce, with darker skin and piercing blue eyes that might be mistaken as
Bruce’s, maybe, if one didn’t know that Dick’s eyes sparkled the same way.
This wasn’t Talia’s Damian at all.
This was his.
--
Dick said nothing the entire ride back to the Batcave. Damian—his Damian, his
lost baby, he was alive—just sulked in the back, occasionally arguing with
Bruce about driving the car or not being a child.
And occasionally—very occasionally—he turned and stared at Dick when he thought
Dick wasn’t looking, like he was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He’d done the same
thing when Dick had tied him up. The little brat could’ve easily escaped in
those few seconds Dick had been immobilized by shock, but he hadn’t.
He’d taken the chance to stare at Dick instead.
Dick's mind whirred in overdrive. Talia had been clever in leaving a corpse of
another child for Dick to find. He wouldn’t have stopped looking if he had any
inkling Damian was alive. But he hadn’t even bothered to search, because
Damian’s entire existence had to be kept secret so Bruce couldn’t find out, and
Dick had been so stupid.
Now his child was all grown up, twisted by whatever crazy League of Shadows
training Talia had forced on him.
No, that wasn’t right. Damian wasn’t twisted. Damian was alive. He was alive,
he was sitting right there.
“I need to run a DNA analysis,” Bruce told Damian in the Batcave. “Just in
case.”
“Honestly, Father,” Damian turned his nose up at him. “Anyone who looked at us
both would know I’m your son.”
Dick hissed when Alfred finished bandaging up his wounds and then limped
upstairs, not caring a damn if it looked like he was running away. Bruce could
chalk it up as Dick’s anger at his infidelity. Talia, of all people? Thank god
Tim was off in space with Kon; it would have been chaos trying to explain
everything to the younger omega without making Bruce look like a complete
asshat.
No, Grayson, focus.Whatever his grievances were with the alpha, Dick had no
idea what was going to happen when Bruce ran that DNA.
When Bruce found out he'd lied to him, kept his son away from him, and had lost
him.
Because it seemed Talia had intentionally left Damian here to wreck havoc on
their life—or she had no other choice and she wanted to wreck havoc on their
life. If she’d passed Damian’s as hers until R’as al Ghul found out he wasn’t,
R’as would definitely kill the boy. He knew too much.
Dick’s heart seized at the thought. No. The League wasn’t going to touch Damian
again.
--
Damian had a choice.
He could either slip out and hunt down Deathstroke himself—what was Mother
thinking leaving him here, when he was obviously more of use fighting by her
side—or he could stay put and watch Father’s young omega some more.
He’d been trained in the Assassin’s secrets all his life. Tutors in every
subject, multiple martial arts styles, enough languages to be a walking talking
Rosetta Stone. He hadn’t met either of his parents, however, until he was
eight-years old and Talia al Ghul decided to take him under her tutelage at
last.
She had tan skin similar to his own, but that was as far as the resemblance
went. From what she and Grandfather said, however, he looked mostly like his
father.
(He did. Seeing Father’s face under his cowl had been a shock—it was like
looking at himself in thirty years’ time.)
But they’d always been… distant. Mother had lavished attention on him, yes, but
only for his skill. His intelligence. He never had the urge to sink into her
embrace, for example, because embracing Talia al Ghul would be like trying to
hug a poisonous cactus.
He wrote it off as League training. Damian didn’t want to snuggle up to his
mother because Damian wasn’t a child. He was an assassin.
Except the moment he stepped out from the curtain, he’d felt an immediate wave
of protection safety strength wash over him when he caught Father’s scent.
Father had looked similarly stricken. It tugged at something in Damian’s core,
and despite not having met before he had the insane urge to curl up against
Father’s leg.
It was the strongest feeling he’d ever gotten from a scent in his entire
life—until later that day, when he’d been dealing due punishment on the
streets.
The vigilante that came to stop him was a handsome young omega whose acrobatics
caught him off-guard. He’d defeated Damian—which was embarrassing—and was tying
him up when Damian caught a whiff of his scent. A hurricane of good warm
comfort lit up his animal brain like a light show, so much so he couldn’t move.
A familiar scent, like someone was stroking his hair and holding him like
something precious, though Damian was sure no one had ever done such things in
his life.
It rattled him badly. His reaction to Father made sense because he was Damian’s
father.
Why the hell would he have such a visceral reaction to a stranger?
--
Bruce stared at the DNA results.
He looked down at the sample he’d taken from Damian’s swab. This had to be a
mistake. It wasn’t possible.
But what if it wasn’t a mistake.
Damian was ten. He was conceived around eleven years ago. Bruce had assumed it
was the time Talia had spiked his drink and left him naked and with a headache
in the morning—it seemed like something she would do. He hadn’t told Dick
because it would upset the boy, and because he’d been embarrassed.
And Dick. Oh, Dick.
Ten years ago, Dick had run off to Europe and disappeared for two years. They
had been fighting. He’d ripped away Dick’s Robin title and ordered him out of
the house. He’d expected Dick to bunk at Clark’s or Barry’s for a few months,
and was more than upset to find out that Dick had flown to Italy instead.
He’d wanted Dick to come home so badly his alpha teeth ached.
(His animal brain was always angry that he’d never bitten Dick's neck, never
had the bond that would make him his halfway across the world. They only had a
half-formed mating bond that was doomed to be incomplete, because Bruce
couldn’t ever not fuck up long enough to get Dick to trust him again.)
Bruce ran the test again. There was no room for error. He had to be absolutely
sure about this if he was going to confront his omega, because if this was
true—if Dick had run because he’d—because Bruce had—
He put his hand to his mouth.
Why hadn't Dick come to him. He should have come to him instead of fleeing to
Italy or London or wherever the hell he'd been, where he'd clearly suffered.
His omega halfway across the world in pain, and Bruce had been too wrapped up
in their last fight to notice. Too busy training Jason and not paying attention
to how tired Dick seemed in their reluctant video chats. Too hurt to even call
when Clark told him he'd brought Dick home—because Dick would have come home if
he wanted to, right?
Goddammit. Bruce's rage boiled inward. He'd always been a shitty alpha, but
not this shitty. He never thought. No.
Take responsibility. Whatever else had occurred between them, Bruce should have
noticed.
--
Damian strolled around the massive manor and assessed all the weak spots in its
security. There were surprisingly few. Mother had been right when she’d praised
the Batman’s diligence.
He paused when he caught that comforting, sweet scent again. Before he realized
what he was doing, he followed it. He found Dick Grayson perched on a chair at
the kitchen counter, sipping coffee. The omega was freshly showered and was
discussing something with the family butler.
Without the suit and mask and the grime of Gotham city, Grayson smelled
heavenly. Damian’s fingers twitched.
“Master Damian,” Alfred Pennyworth acknowledged him. Grayson, on the other
hand, was looking at Damian like a deer caught in headlights. They stared at
each other awkwardly for so long the butler turned to the older charge. “Master
Dick?”
“Uh—sorry, Alfred. Damian, do you want something to—”
Dick cut off when Damian stormed right up to him. This scent. This scent. Why
did it make him feel this way? He needed to know. Damian wasn’t good at denying
himself things, especially if it didn’t hurt his standing with the head alpha.
Father wasn’t here. Ergo, he could do what he wanted to Grayson.
Like clamber into his lap like he was five, not ten, and bury his face into
Grayson’s freshly showered neck. Grayson went rigid with shock, his entire
posture screaming awkwardness. Damian didn’t care. He breathed in that amazing
scent and let the waves of comfort and calm and home wash over him. He didn’t
want to tear himself away, ever, and for some reason that brought tears to his
eyes.
(And Damian Wayne didn’t cry.)
And then before he could draw away for the sake of his dignity, Grayson’s arms
were suddenly around him, crushing him against his chest like he never wanted
to let Damian go.
“Damian,” the man gasped wetly. He pressed his nose into Damian’s hair and
snuffled like he was—like he was crying, from the way his shoulders shook under
Damian’s chin. “Dami, god, oh my god.”
“Master Dick,” the butler sounded alarmed, but his voice was far away. Very,
very far away, because all Damian could hear was Grayson whispering: “I’m so
sorry, Damian. I’m so sorry.”
Footsteps behind him. Even through Grayson’s overpowering scent, he could tell
that it was Father.
“Dick,” he sounded shaken, which Damian hadn’t even thought was possible.
“Dick, we need to talk.”
--
After Father and Grayson finished screaming and crying and shouting at each
other, Grayson wandered into Damian’s room and sat down on his bed.
He took out his wallet with shaking hands and pulled out an old, often-handled
photograph.
A very, very young Grayson smiled at the camera, blue eyes twinkling with
mirth. In his arms was a grumpy looking baby, dressed in a red-and-black onesie
and holding a bat plushie. It was definitely Damian. He’d never seen baby
photos of himself before, but there was no denying the expression or the facial
features. It was him miniaturized, being held by his—his mother and scowling
like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.
“You were angry because Lian and Roy were leaving,” Grayson said. “They were
packing their stuff away and the change was riling you up. You cried the entire
taxi ride to the Leaning Tower, which made Lian cry, and we had to give the
driver a big tip for putting up with us the whole way there.”
Damian’s words caught in his chest. Despite the revelations that had occurred
today—Father roaring at Dick over Damian’s DNA results, which showed that
Damian wasn’t Talia al Ghul’s child at all—some part of him hadn’t believed it.
Thought it was a mistake, or another plot to get at his mother.
But even Father couldn’t have orchestrated something like this picture, which
was obviously old and battered from being looked at so many times. He couldn’t
have faked Grayson’s scent or the omega’s reaction, because from what he could
tell Father couldn’t control Grayson at all.
So many questions sat on his tongue. How could he inherit the League of Shadows
without being an al Ghul? His mother had to have known. Did Grandfather know?
Did Grandfather find out? And most importantly…
“You left me,” Damian said.
Grayson flinched back like Damian had struck him.
“No,” the omega said in a voice that was half sorrow and half rage. “No, Dami.
I was—I was looking into the League of Shadows in London when Talia caught me.
She—she took you from me.”
“And you let her?”
“She left a body,” Grayson sounded choked up. This was obviously an old,
painful memory and Damian wasn’t equipped to handle this. “She burnt the house
down and left a burnt body—an infant…”
Damian swallowed. That did sound like something Mother would do, if a bit
grotesque.
Mother. Should he keep calling Talia his mother?
“I see. Did you need anything else, Grayson?” Damian asked, voice coming out
cold to hide his confusion. Strangely enough, Grayson seemed to know what he
really meant. Prolonged exposure to Father, perhaps. He sighed and lay down on
Damian’s bed.
Damian’s cheeks colored. He wasn’t a baby anymore, not like the one Grayson had
known. He didn’t appreciate Grayson mother-henning him like this, and he didn’t
need to be suffocated with his presence.
Which didn’t explain why Damian rushed to obey when Grayson patted the space
beside him. He crawled beside the man—a stranger, who in his memory he only
metl today— and curled up against him. Rested his head on his chest and felt
Grayson breathing in and out.
For the first time in his life, Damian felt... calm. Not on edge. Even when
he'd taken breaks between training, he always felt like the rug was going to be
pulled out from under him. Even this position felt familiar, which wasn't
possible. From what he could tell, Moth—Talia had taken him when he was barely
a year old. He couldn’t possibly remember anything before that.
But maybe his body did. It had recognized the scent of the omega who had given
birth to him, even before he’d known himself. Looking at it that way, it wasn’t
so farfetched to think his body would remember being comforted as a baby.
Grayson still smelled good. Sweet. Damian felt his eyes drooping closed the
more Grayson’s breaths evened out, until they both drifted off into sleep.
--
Their drama had to be put on hold when Talia’s and Deathstroke’s plots turned
Gotham into a battlefield. Dick’s one regret was not capturing Talia. He
couldn’t interrogate her, punish her, ask her how she could do something like
this to another omega. To steal a child from under his nose, just because it
was Bruce’s child and Talia couldn’t have one herself.
The last fact she’d admitted only to Bruce, not him. Bruce had been
frighteningly chilly since their argument—since he’d discovered Dick’s greatest
failure as a partner and an omega and a mother—and had directed most of that
anger towards this woman who wanted his child so badly. Enough to drug and rape
Bruce on a ship, apparently, which Dick hadn’t known.
Enough to fake the death of Bruce’s actual son, taking him far away from both
of his parents.
“Father wanted a male heir,” Talia had said, sounding far too calm. It was like
they’d discovered another one of her plots, something that could easily be
abandoned—not a ten-year-old child. “And he wanted your blood, beloved. My
sister was looking to secure her place, and I couldn’t let her. It wasn’t until
after I slept with you that I discovered I couldn’t bear children, despite
being an omega. It was simply good luck that I discovered your… ward had bore
your child. A bit of fudging about with Father's DNA tests and the plan
continued.”
“Get out of my city,” Bruce had said, voice barely more than a growl. “If you
step into Gotham again, Talia, I will make you regret it.”
Talia had just smiled at him. “With your no-kill rule? I doubt it. But I need
to go handle League business anyway, beloved. With Father dead and no male
heir, the succession falls to me.”
When Bruce played back the recording of that conversation, Dick had wanted to
smash the stupid tape into pieces.
It had been Talia’s plan all along, hadn’t it? She’d never intended for Damian
to take over the League of Shadows. He was a distraction for R’as al Ghul, a
lie Talia needed to maintain to keep on her father’s good side until his death.
And with no reason to keep Damian anymore, she’d just sent him back to his
parents—like she’d just borrowed the boy for a bit, and was doing such a good
favor by returning him ten years late.
--
Bruce waited a week before confronting Dick again.
“You didn’t tell me,” he told his ward, his not-mate, who just sat on Bruce’s
sprawling mattress and stared at the wall.
“No.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why,” Dick finally turned to glare at him. “I was sixteen,
Bruce and you were almost thirty.”
“I could’ve helped you,” Bruce insisted. “If you needed money for an
operation—”
Dick threw a pillow at him. “Don’t you dare, Bruce!” he growled. “I loved him.
Love him. He was mine and you couldn’t take him away from me overseas. Do you
get it?”
“I would never,” Bruce said, stunned, but Dick had ducked his head down and was
scrubbing at his eyes.
“I just wanted a piece of you, Bruce,” Dick said in a tired voice. “’Cause I
knew what we had wasn’t anything, but I wanted something that was yours.
Dami—Dami looked just like you as a baby, you have no idea.”
Bruce was still stuck on ‘cause I knew what we had wasn’t anything. “You never
let me bite you.”
“Because I never know if you’re serious!” Dick growled. “Or if I’m just a—a
convenient omega you can turn to when you need something done. Sex, hero-work,
business. Biting me would give you even more control. I barely have any as it
is!”
Bruce gaped openly. He felt like his heart was being crushed, because how could
he have not noticed this before? “Dick—no.” He walked up to the bed and took
Dick’s hands into his own. Dick hissed and tried to jerk away, but Bruce
tightened his grip. “No, I always wanted you. All of you.”
A distressed look crossed his own face. “So much I did abominable things to you
when you were under my care.”
“Don’t put it like that,” Dick muttered. “I wanted it too.”
“You were fifteen.”
“Sixteen!”
“Fifteen when it started,” Bruce said. It was incriminating to say it out loud.
“And I was so scared you were going to be snatched away from me. You—Dick, I’ve
always been serious about you.”
Dick didn’t say anything. Just blinked fiercely, like he was holding back
tears, and clenched Bruce’s hands harder.
“Dick?” he ventured.
“I’m sorry,” Dick’s voice was watery, wobbly. He curled in on himself. “I’m
sorry, I’m sorry. If I told you—if I’d gone home—Talia wouldn’t have taken him.
She wouldn’t have k-killed him, like I thought she had. I was so stupid. It’s
all my fault.”
“No,” Bruce said. He wrapped his arms around Dick’s shoulders and let the
younger man bury his face into his chest. “No, Dick. It was mine. I drove you
out. I abandoned you.”
“I was a brat.”
“You were a teenager. I was an adult. I should have known better, and I should
have noticed you needed my help.”
“Enough,” Dick sighed, nuzzling into Bruce’s collar. Bruce undid a few buttons
and let Dick rest his cheek against bare skin. Closer access to Bruce's scent.
“I forgive you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I forgive you,” Dick repeated. He sighed breathily against Bruce’s neck. “I
hope Damian does too.”
“He will,” Bruce said softly. “He’s yours, and you are a good man, Dick
Grayson.”
And he was pressing his luck, he knew he was, but Bruce just wasn't good with
words.He gently nudged Dick onto his back and climbed on top of him. At twenty-
seven, he was as beautiful and sweet as he was at sixteen. The same fearless
twinkle in his eyes, the same wry smile. The same ability to make Bruce break
all his rules, to drive him crazy with nothing more than the curve of lips and
an inviting look.
Dick let Bruce kiss him, which was a good sign, opening his mouth willingly at
his touch. God, his boy was still so good. Even better over time, with a scent
Bruce could bury himself in.
A beautiful boy he couldn’t let go of—a mistake that had cost them both.
Dick moved first. Deft hands peeled Bruce’s shirt from his shoulders and ran
light fingers down his back. He unzipped the front of Bruce’s pants and curled
his fingers around the older man’s cock through his briefs, rubbing his thumb
over it possessively. Bruce growled at how good it felt, at how confident Dick
was in what Bruce liked. He liked it even better when Dick lifted his hips and
slid Bruce’s cock between his ass cheeks in invitation, his entrance already
slippery with slick.
Bruce barely had the patience to stretch Dick open with one finger, or even
two. Three would be advised, except here was Dick letting out contented sighs
and smelling good enough for Bruce to eat. He had to get inside him now.
“Oh,” Dick gasped when Bruce grabbed the back of his thighs and pressed his
cock inside. It felt incredible. Tight. No matter how many times they’ve done
this, Bruce knew he’d never get used to how good it felt to fully seat himself
inside the omega. How good it felt to begin moving.
Dick laughed when Bruce pressed kisses to his lips, chin, neck while he rocked
into his boy: steady, deep thrusts into Dick’s tight heat. Smoothed his hands
up his thighs, around the omega's wet cock, up his trembling abdominal muscles
and down again. Just getting drunk on the beautiful noises his omega made—the
happier, the better. This was Dick’s favorite kind of sex, he knew.
Dominant, loving, confident.
Dick came with a contented sigh, his insides fluttering around Bruce. Massaged
his head, his shaft, until Bruce had to hurry to press his knot into Dick’s
channel before coming as well. He came hard—like he was gushing inside his boy,
just emptying his entire self. It was obscene.
“Jesus, Bruce,” Dick wriggled at the undoubtedly full sensation. “You've really
been wound up, huh.”
He looked sated, though, and spread his legs so Bruce could lie on top of him,
not giving a damn about his weight. Drunk on pheromones and how good it felt to
be tied together, Bruce nuzzled under Dick’s jaw.
Dick didn’t flinch when Bruce pressed his alpha teeth to his scent gland and
licked his skin. He ran his teeth over it again. Then his tongue. Teeth and
tongue, over and over until Dick was trembling and gasping beneath him.
“Maybe next time,” Dick whispered—which was the closest he’d ever gotten to
saying yes.
--
“Damian’s alive? Your Damian?” Roy was stunned when Dick called him before
their weekly friend-date. “Wait, back up. Tell me everything.”
Dick had already gone through the whole spiel with Babs, who had been
thunderstruck when he’d managed to drag Damian over and wave hi. He’d been
asking after Damian’s wiped information—data that he correctly suspected that
Babs had deleted everywhere but her own impenetrable server.
After everything that had happened, Dick had been selfish. He and Damian spent
time together with just the two of them, and Dick thrilled when Damian finally
began to warm up to his new family. Old family. Whatever. The boy seemed happy
enough trailing after him in the Batcave, but Dick knew it was time. He hadn't
been the only one who'd taken care of him, after all.
So he’d let Babs know, he was now letting Roy know, and eventually when Tim
came home…
Well, he'll put that off to whenever Tim actually came home, he supposed. He
didn’t want to think about that conversation.
“I will, just—I think it’d be good for you to bring Lian, too,” Dick told Roy
over the phone. “Damian’s been stuck with all of us adults for too long, it’s
not good for him.”
“Yeah, of course. Now spill.”
Damian, however, was firmly against going after Dick had told him about lunch.
Especially when he heard that Lian was eleven.
“I don’t associate with children,” he told Dick sharply when the omega had
prodded him about it. “And I don’t see the point in meeting this… Roy.”
“First off, you are a child,” Dick said. “And secondly, the point is for him to
see you. He changed your diapers as a baby, Dami, and was just as upset when
you were… missing as I was.”
Damian sulked. He pouted. He kept calling Dick a variety of names, with
“Grayson” being the most common, though sometimes he’d slip up and refer to him
as “Mom”—usually when he was too busy to realize what was coming out of his
mouth.
“If you go, I will allow you access to the latest grapple gun blueprints,”
Bruce told him, and Damian’s eyes finally lit up with interest.
Damian and grapple gun blueprints seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, but
Dick supposed Bruce could handle that when it did. He spent his time wrangling
Damian into normal, not-ninja clothes instead.
When they finally arrived at his favorite café in Star City, Lian and Roy were
already at the table. Lian, who Dick remembered once running around in nothing
but her diaper while Roy pretended to be a dinosaur, was already such a little
lady. Dressed in jeans and a frilly shirt and her dark hair tied up in
pigtails.
Of course the first thing Roy noticed wasn’t the ten-year old child standing
beside him. It was the fresh bite-mark on his neck.
“You let him bite you!” he hissed, pointing at the mark like it had personally
offended him. Damian looked thrilled to have someone agree with him.
“That’s what I said too,” he declared, and Roy blinked down at the boy. “After
careful thought, I’ve decided that Grayson deserves far better than Father.
Either that, or they need to solve many of their issues before they can enter a
sustainable relationship.”
“You talk funny,” Lian made a face at him.
Damian paused to give her a condescending look. “Your lower level of intellect
is of no concern to me.”
“No one’s going to understand you,” Lian just said. “Big words don’t mean
anything if no one knows what you’re saying. Like what you just said. Eleven
words. That’s too many words. The same sentence could be turned into two:
‘You’re stupid.’”
“That’s three,” Damian said, looking both irritated and flabbergasted to be
having this kind of conversation with a girl around his age. “You’re is a
contracted form of ‘you are.’”
“Yeah, contracted as in turned into one word.”
The two stared each other down.
Dick put his hand to his mouth so Damian couldn’t see him smiling. Knowing his
son’s prickly pride, he’d probably sulk for the rest of the meal. Roy visibly
reined in his anger and instead looked resigned to Dick’s life choices—he’d had
years to accept his grudge against the Batman—and changed the topic away from
his bite.
“Should’ve known he’d grow up to be just like Bruce,” he muttered. “I wonder if
he remembers Lian pinching his cheeks as a baby?”
“For her sake, I hope not,” Dick said. Damian, having decided Lian was all
right after all, walked over to Dick and sat in his lap. It was awkward since
he was a bit too big, but Dick didn’t care.
He wound his arms around his son’s waist and smiled into his dark, fluffy hair.
End Notes
     I should be working not writing porn.
     Also the reason R'as couldn't just sniff out Damian's true parentage
     is because R'as is a crazy zombie person who can't smell anything. I
     don't know, I just wanted this plot to happen OTL
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