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Jason smells it before he sees it.
He’s out looking for food, ducking from the cover of one alley into the next, emboldened by the lack of other people out and about with the recent Arkham breakout.
Nobody is dumb enough to be loitering about with the combination of Ivy and Scarecrow on the loose. At least nobody but Jason and the really, really bad guys. So Jason needs to play this as safe as he can.
Which is not very safe, but he hasn’t eaten in almost three days and the the fainting bouts are becoming more persistent.
So he’s out in Crime Alley and digging through trash when he smells it, faint and almost drowned out by the stench of rotten bread and other things he’d rather not name.
Honey sweetness, layered with the softness of lilacs in bloom with the almost imperceptible afterthought of… milk. A pup. A pup in heat .
An omega pup in heat .
Jason’s brain screeches to a halt, the empty box of pizza slipping right through his fingers as the logic part of him screeches to run as fast and far in the opposite direction as possible— where there’s an omega, smelling like that, in Crime Alley, there will be alphas out and swarming the streets in search for the smell in seconds.
His instincts fight back at this first impulse viciously, because that’s a pup. A pup in heat, alone, and in danger. Leaving would almost certainly end with the kid-
Jason swallows around the bile in his throat and creeps forward, towards the far back of the alley where shadows stretch across concrete and garbage containers like a blanket of the darkest ink Jason has ever seen.
The smell becomes stronger the further he goes, slowly mixing with underlying but quickly rising stink of terror and sour distress.
The whimpers start when Jason is only five feet from the first container. Muffled cries and keens, a helpless pack-help-scared that only becomes more heartbreaking at the pup’s obvious lack of a pack to call out to.
Jason casts a look back at the mouth of the alley, nervousness twisting his gut. But there’s nobody there, they’re still alone.
There’s no saying for how long though. Both Jason and the pup need to get off the streets yesterday.
Jason squats, trying and failing to discern anything amidst the absolute black behind the garbage containers.
“Hey-“ Jason coughs, throat scratchy from many days of disuse and sparse amounts of water, “Hey, are you ok?”
Stupid question. Of course they’re not. But Jason is not exactly the best at comforting people. Or pups.
The pup in question keens in fright, renewed terror wafting out of their hiding spot so strongly that Jason almost gags.
“Y-yes. Go- go away!”
Yeah, no. If it were anything other than a pup, Jason would. But he can’t just leave a puppy in heat defenseless on the streets of Crime Alley.
He could. But then he might as well lay down and wait for starvation.
Jason backs away a few steps in what he hopes demonstrates his respect for the pup’s boundaries, careful to keep his posture calm and relaxed in case the puppy’s watching him.
It’s what would get Jason to at least consider listening to a stranger, so he hopes it’s good enough for the kid.
Of course that’s the wrong decision, because as soon as he puts even a foot of distance between himself and the dumpsters, the pup starts wailing .
“No! No, don’t leave! I’m sorry!”
Something clatters in the darkness and Jason winces, lifting his hands placatingly. “I’m right here. I swear. But- but we need to get off the streets, ok?”
Another whimper, “It hurts .”
Jason grimaces in sympathy. Heats are never a pleasant experience, “I know, but it’s not safe here. Let me help.”
A sniffle. “I don’t need help.” The pup sounds miserable and resigned, like help is a euphemism for something much more sinister. Not that Jason blames him. A stranger approaching an omega in heat and offering help? Yeah, fuck no.
Somewhere a few alleys over there’s a crash and distant cursing, and Jason’s chest goes cold, fear seizing his heart and making it go double its usual speed.
There’s no more time. They need to leave. Now .
Against his better judgement Jason reaches up to peel at the edge of his scent blocker, chuffing quietly but insistently as a mix of omega-protect-pup-come-here-scared wafts out into the air.
Dead silence follows. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the shadows shift and Jason yelps as a body comes sailing out of the inky darkness, barreling straight into him and knocking him flat on his ass.
The pup clings to Jason, crying and shaking with his arms flung around Jason’s neck, snot and tears soaking right through his ratty hoodie as the boy— because it’s a little boy, now that Jason can actually somewhat see him— presses his face and nose into the junction between throat and shoulder where Jason had loosened the blocker patch.
This close the thick heat scent is almost overwhelming, but as Jason suspected there’s no pack scent underneath that would mark the pup as just being a lost kid. There’s nothing there, even though the pup is so very young and smaller even than Jason. Not even the faint lavender of a temporary caretaker.
The pup is utterly alone. Has been for quite a while.
Protect and keep-safe rise like a command in his hindbrain, snarling at the world at large that if no one’s claimed the pup as their’s yet, it’s Jason’s now. He found it, he’s taking care of it. He gets to keep it.
He swipes is wrist over the top of the puppy’s head, layering his own scent over the stench of fear and distress, giving an unpracticed rumble meant to soothe pups.
The kid stills, blinking up at him from teary blue eyes not unlike Jason’s own.
The omega part of him purrs in delight. Pack , it whispers. Pup .
Another crash, closer this time, and the pup in his arms whimpers in fright and buries his head back in Jason’s neck.
Jason pulls him closer, standing as swiftly as the pup’s weight allows before tip-toeing back to the mouth of the alley, ascertaining that nobody else is there by throwing a look left and right.
Jason croons softly into the pup’s dark hair, hugging the slight form ever closer to his body.
And then he begins his mad dash through Crime Alley.
Against all odds they make it back to Jason’s hideout unaccosted.
Although hideout might be a strong word for the run down, abandoned flat at the bottom of a crumbling motel building.
Jason has been hiding here for a couple of weeks now, patching the holes in the walls as best he’s able, insulating them against the onset of winter with whatever scraps he can find.
His makeshift nest— comprised of some of his mother’s clothes, torn blankets and scarves— is tucked against the furthest, darkest corner and concealed by stacked boxes.
He carries the pup— Tim, the kid had said. Tim— over, depositing him in the middle of his makeshift haven and gathers the sparse blankets around him.
Jason is rewarded with the most hesitant, heartwarming puppy purr he’s ever heard in his life as Tim burrows into the blankets, rearranging them hastily before making grabby hands at Jason.
Jason attempts another rumble that sounds more like a mix between a growl and a purr, moving around the hideout to close all entrances before acquiescing to the pup’s insistent mewls.
As soon as Jason is close enough, the pup snatches the hem of Jason’s hoodie and tugs, sending the both of them sprawling into the makeshift nest in a pile of bony limbs.
Tim yips happily, honey-scent even thicker than before, and Jason responds with a comforting chuff, reaching up to completely pull off the scent blocking patches, allowing his scent to mingle with that of Tim’s and covering it with protective-stay-away-pack-fight.
Another happy whine painfully close to a sob and Jason curls around the shivering pup protectively, starting a soothing purr of his own.
Nobody will ever take this pup from Jason. Not even over his dead body.
Jason falls asleep to the flaring spark of a new pack bond in his mind.
Batman growls, pulling the zip ties on the unconscious man’s wrist punishingly tight.
Another alpha hit by both Ivy’s pollen and Scarecrow’s toxin. An unholy concoction currently making several of Gotham’s upstanding citizens into rioting beasts.
Thankfully the amount of omegas on the streets had been sparse to begin with after the initial emergency broadcast of the Arkham breakout.
Still, capturing two rogues that definitely don’t get along with each other while simultaneously trying to minimize the damage done to innocent bystanders is… difficult.
Batman aims upwards, grapple line disengaging and the hook catches to the roof.
It’s days like these that Robin’s absence stings like a reopened wound.
The people of Gotham know Batman is no threat to civilians, are thankful for his help, but he knows the armor and cowl also intimidate them. They look up and see a hulking shadow that could easily tear them to pieces; it’s instinct to be scared.
Which is why Robin’s lack weighs double. His pup had been able to calm the victims with a soft smile and light jokes, huddling as far away from a terrified civilian as they needed, coaxing them out of hiding with gentle words and insurmountable patience and understanding.
People look up at Batman and see an alpha; a fierce protector with the potential to become a nightmare. Then they’d see Robin and become instantly reassured by the presence of the exuberant pup, because the combination of alpha and puppy in close proximity means pack-safe-family-protect. And suddenly Batman is just another father instead of a potential assailant.
But his pup had left, restless and irritated by Bruce’s flare of protectiveness after his last stint, stretching their pack bond over miles until Bruce had to strain to feel it, reassure himself it’s still there.
The alpha in him whines and yowls to fix this, to bring his pup— “not a pup anymore!” Dick growls, a challenge from one alpha to another— home where he belongs, but he can’t.
Robin wants— needs— his space, to sort through whatever had been broken in the wake of one too many arguments, and Bruce has to respect that.
Which he does, if grudgingly.
Batman is almost back to the batmobile when he smells it, faint and almost entirely washed away by the light drizzle that had started its descent on Gotham an hour again.
Faint but still noticeable, the scent of honey and lilacs in bloom, along with the milky notes of— a pup in heat.
Presentation heat, most likely. Here. In Crime Alley.
A pup’s presentation heat is supposed to take place squirreled away in the safety of a nest, entirely concealed by the protective scents of their pack members. Smelling it in the first place is a huge red flag.
In Crime Alley?
Batman changes direction in the middle of a jump, angling his body away from his prior destination.
This is a moment he’d dreaded with Robin. Before his pup had presented alpha, he’d leant into every designation with equal fervor; the nurturing and caring characteristics of an omega, the fierce protectiveness of an alpha, the deescalation charm of a beta.
Batman had feared that if Robin were to present omega, it would be while they’re out on patrol, sped up by one of Ivy’s fits.
The faint scent trail leads him to the parking lot of an abandoned motel with its roof crumbling and mould clinging to the walls.
Batman lifts his head, sniffing carefully.
The smell of heat and pup is stronger here, with an underlying, disguised note of someone else whose scent or designation he can’t quite pinpoint. Scent blockers, probably.
Bruce’s stomach drops.
Whoever had pursued the pup… it’s unlikely to be with good intentions.
He slips quietly through the darkness, entering the building through a crack in the walls previously concealed by thick shrubbery.
The growl starts low in his throat before he’s fully stepped into the room beyond. Batman is prepared for violence, for crying, to protect, for anything but the brick sized scent bomb of omega-pup-heat-stay-away-pack-protect that hits him upside the head.
Batman sways, disoriented by the sheer amount of pheromones in the air when another growl echoes his own from deeper inside the darkness.
It’s much higher than Bruce’s own, halting and more terrified than threatening, closer to a pup’s scared rumbling.
The short moment it takes for the cowl to adjust to the sparse light is enough for the thick scent in the room to turn sour with distress.
A high, frightened keen joins the rumbling growl of the first omega pup, and something in Bruce’s chest shatters when he sees that it’s an even smaller pup, desperately clinging to his packmate as the older curls over him, baring his pearly teeth at Batman.
A clear “back off!” of a nesting omega protecting a pup in heat. Even though he’s still just a puppy himself.
Batman raises his hands in surrender, growl fading into a soothing rumble even as his instincts shriek at him to leap forward and cover the pups with his own scent.
But that kind of action would be irrational and only serve to distress the pups further.
“Hello,” he says, trying to keep his voice quiet and his posture as relaxed and calm as possible. “Who are you?”
“Fu- piss off!” The older pup snaps, burying the younger one even deeper in the tattered nest, draping himself on top.
Bruce’s hindbrain whines, scratching at his muscles to do something as the smell of distress-pup-heat-omega-fear-leave floods his senses. A combination of smells that is absolutely out of place on puppies. They should be in a nest— a real nest— safe and protected by their pack alpha. Or at least the pack omega.
But no matter how hard Batman attempts to find the scent of another pack member beneath the dour stench of terror, he comes up blank.
Street kids, then. Although from what little he’d glimpsed of the younger pup his clothes are in far better condition than the ones of his current caretaker.
Bruce’s stomach roils with dread at all possibilities of what the older pup had had to do to keep his charge even marginally fed and clothed while he himself looks minutes away from starvation.
A pained whimper drifts through the air, followed immediately by a broken off coo as the older omega turns to nose at the younger’s hair before resuming his growl at Batman.
“I’m not going to hurt you, but the pup needs help.”
The growling grows louder. “We don’t need no help!”
Batman switches tactics.
“I could smell you from several blocks down and follow you here.” More whimpers. “The streets are empty right now, but they won’t be for much longer.”
The growling becomes tinged with a despairing undertone, the sour stench of a distressed pup almost overwhelming.
The alpha in Bruce howls, hackles raised as every sense hones in on the pups, protective instincts stoked by the gaping lack of familial scents wafting off them. Puppies, his hindbrain screeches, mapping out every possible point of entry to the room and deeming it absolutely inadequate to keep the pups safe, mine! Keep-safe!
Suddenly, a head pops out from under the omega’s arm, complete with tousled black hair, a delicate nose and striking blue eyes that are eerily familiar.
The older omega immediately tries to shove the younger behind himself, but the pup is insistent, hazy eyes landing on Batman as he wiggles around to evade his pack mate’s frantic grip.
The pup’s eyes widen, but instead of a frightened keen a startled yip bursts from his mouth, terrified heat scent changing to alpha?-safe-help-need-scared-protect-us.
Bruce’s brain short circuits.
He’s halfway across the room to answer the plea for protection when he’s ripped out of the floaty daze of instincts by a piercing scream.
Batman stops dead, wrestling any and all instincts into submission to reassess the situation.
Screaming means danger, violence, but there’s no intruder seeking to harm him or his pups, so-
The older omega is still snarling at him, tears streaking down his face as he clutches the younger one to his chest.
“No,” he sobs, clutching tighter at the wriggling pup. “Don’t touch him, please. He’s just a puppy.”
Oh, Batman is the intruder who’s terrifying the pup.
“Please. I- I will do what- just, please. Not him. Please .”
His stomach sinks.
Bruce wouldn’t- Never. He’d rather kill himself. But how does he convince the pup? Especially without the reassuring presence of Robin at his side? What had made Dick trust that Bruce didn’t mean him harm?
He tugs one of his gloves down, revealing the scent gland on his wrist.
Immediately the air becomes suffused with the scent of alpha-parent-protective-stay-away-keep-safe, easily overpowering the smell heat and distress.
It’s a risk. Scents are unique and each person has their very own fragrance they can’t entirely hide without scent blockers. So if someone were to see Batman, smell him, and take notice of it with Bruce Wayne…
But he needs to get the pups off the street. Now.
Bruce chuffs, an alpha’s call to their pups. One he’d frequently had to use with Robin on patrol. It’s near impossible to resist for pack mates and even though the pups aren’t strictly his, their instincts should be demanding they obey the alpha clearly wanting to protect them.
An instinct that obviously skipped the older omega, evident by the answering snarl.
The younger whines, wriggling even harder. “Jay, Batman. Safe .”
Jay . Bruce files the name away for later, deciding for now to focus on getting the older pup to trust him enough to let Bruce take them to the-
Orphanage. The answer should be orphanage, or police. But just the thought of handing the pups over into someone else’s care drives such a strong streak of distress through his stomach that he disregards the thought immediately.
They’re going home with him. To the manor. Where they’re safe. Where Bruce can squirrel them away into the pack nest and properly protect and feed them
They’re his pups.
The alpha purrs .
“Piss. Off!” The older pup— Jay — snaps despite the terror wafting off him.
“I’m sorry.” Bruce says gently. “I can’t do that. You’re both not safe here.”
Angry blue eyes still leaking tears glare daggers at him while the younger pup pats and coos at his caretaker in an attempt to convert the sour smell of fear into something softer.
Bruce is carefully keeping his posture relaxed and open, not moving an inch while the older pup contemplates his words, alternating between fussing over the younger pup and glaring fearfully at the imposing shadow of Batman.
After what feels like an eternity but might as well have been only a minute the pup’s entire body sags in defeat.
“Please.” He whispers, nosing gently at the younger’s hair and eliciting a happy puppy purr. “Please. You can- I’ll go with you. I won’t fight but- not him. Please. He’s just a puppy.”
So are you , Bruce doesn’t say.
He wants to do this slowly, patiently. Drive it home that he would never hurt them, but they don’t have the time. Not here. Not in Crime Alley with an omega pup in heat.
“You’re both coming with me.”
Jay cries harder. “No. Please.”
Bile rises in Bruce’s throat but he pushes through, careful not let his own distress bleed into his scent, focusing solely on the aspects of calm-parent-protect before chuffing again.
The younger pup immediately tries to untangle himself to answer the summons but he’s wrenched back once more by thin arms around his middle.
“No!” Jay screams, “No! You can have me! Please, I won’t fight, but not him! Please-!”
“Ok.” Bruce says, cutting the pup’s begging off and feeling absolutely sick at the expression of bottomless despair and hope warring on his face. “You both come with me, and I will not touch him. Either of you .” He knows stressing the last part is not going to do much, but he tries anyway.
Jay seems to know he’s at an impasse if the absolute resignation in his posture is any indication. “Don’t- I won’t fight you, I swear. Just- not him.”
Bruce nods seriously. “I promise.”
A deep, shaky breath as the pup steels himself and buries his face in the younger’s hair, “Okay.”
Bruce almost collapses with relief.
Now all that’s left to do is to get them back to the batmobile and bring them to the manor where they’ll be safe.
He starts forward, stops, thinks of Robin’s admonishing lectures about dealing with victims. “Can you… walk?”
The pup glares at him through tears, mouth a tight line as he wraps the other’s limbs around him and attempts to stand. A feat that backfires when the younger pup whines in distress, trying to simultaneously clutch at the blankets and Jay.
‘ I know you majored in emotional constipation, B, but you don’t need big boy words to be a decent human being !’ Robin’s angry voice rings loud and clear in his head.
“Can I… carry you?”
Jay snarls, but it lacks the fervor from earlier. “…fine.”
The word is barely out of the pup’s mouth that Batman bundles the pair into his arms shoddy blankets and all, gathering them close to his chest and swiping his uncovered wrist over the top of their heads once. Letting everyone know that they’d have to go through Batman first to get to them.
Jay is strung taut like a bowstring in his arms, still wrapped around his little charge protectively while the younger omega relaxes immediately, burrowing deeper into the blankets and Bruce’s arms.
He blinks up at Bruce slowly, hesitant smile on his face as a tiny, questioning yip escapes his throat; a pup’s call to their pack alpha.
Bruce’s answering rumble is immediate, and the pup’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree.
He sweeps out of the rundown building at lightning speed, batmobile already roaring around the corner to come at a stand in the parking lot.
He deposits the pups on the backseat despite his instincts screaming at him not to and slips into the driver’s seat, typing in the command that will bring them back to the manor.
The batmobile rumbles to life and Bruce throws a cautious look into the rear view mirror.
Jay and the other pup are curled up on one seat with the younger in Jay’s lap, fast asleep.
Jay himself is glaring at Bruce suspiciously, baring his teeth at him when he sees Bruce watching and turns in the seat until only a stray elbow of the younger pup is visible.
He’s still terrified of Bruce and anxious for his charge’s safety, but that’s alright. They’re safe now.
Bruce has all the time in the world to show them that they will always be safe with him.
Whoever wants to hurt his pups will have to go through Batman.