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It starts when he is alone.
Batman and Red Hood were across Gotham, at the harbor sitting in strained silence. Nightwing was undercover, smiling in the faces of his enemies. Red Robin had radioed he would be going dark for the next few hours along with Spoiler, finally closing in on the case had been working on for months. Black Bat was overseas. Signal was still in the cave, going over dry, brain-numbing evidence before he intended to head out. Penny-One was not working tonight.
Robin hadn’t wanted to deal with the thick tension in the air between Batman and Red Hood and had left when thinly veiled words started to gain quiet volume. A few minutes ago, Batman had checked in on him and so had Oracle. Robin, with crawling skin and a damp brow, had all but growled at them that he had everything under control. It was with great reluctance that he promised to only observe and not act.
Crouching low on the edge of the building with perfect balance and his hood up, he blended in with the shadows. He was also in a perfect position to see all the ongoings right below him.
No deals had been made yet.
The two groups, both newly formed gangs not even a year old, were busy posturing and arguing at the moment. At this rate, negotiations will never take place and instead, a fight threatens to break out as the minutes wore on.
“Amateurs,” Robin grumbles under his breath and narrows his eyes. A drop of sweat glides down his face. His skin feels feverish, his head aches terribly, and he has been having strange and persistent stomach pains for the past two hours. It is ignorable and will not hinder him.
Below, patience runs thin, voices rise as the two gangs eat up the gap between them.
The mixed scents of Alpha and Beta along with the constant that was all Gotham did nothing to help his sudden nausea and dizziness. The scents seemed stronger than normal. He isn’t able to ignore them like usual. They clog up his nose, screaming up at him.
Robin wanted to punch something.
Energy buzzed like a bee trying to escape its hive inside him.
He wanted to act.
To release it all on the idiots below him.
Someone pulls out a gun.
Everything smells sour and rotten.
Robin tips forward. The first gunshot rings in the air. Yells. The two groups converge into one. Another gunshot rings out. He could smell the rage, the fear, the pride. The two gangs were spearheaded by Alphas. One man was large with thick muscle, the other was tall with many tattoos and piercings. They met at the center, growling and snarling at each other, reduced as they clashed violently, their second half's taking over.
It stinks.
Sharply. It cuts into his being.
Robin couldn’t ignore it.
Alpha. Alpha. Beta. Alpha. Beta. Beta. Beta. Beta.
His eyes dart to each person as he states it in his mind.
He knew how to tell, even with his dulled, immature and un-presented self. He had been taught how. He wasn’t like the other children, who stares and made assumptions, not knowing for sure until they were practically sniffing a neck. Not unless they were pack.
Pack.
Robin sits as still as a gargoyle.
Below, an all-out fight has broken out. A small little war.
The smart ones. The ones who weren’t blind followers. The ones who hadn’t been fully integrated into the gang packs and therefore, not as loyal, flee the scene. Too many stays. Outcasts. Desperate to be a part of something. Especially in Gotham. Where packs were heavily sought after. More so than outside of it.
Robin didn’t get it.
Being a part of a pack wasn’t necessary to survive.
Certainly, it made life easier. Made it better. Support, love, and care. Many people in this world wanted to be needed. To be wanted. To be of use. But he knew, from experience, that it brought more trouble than it was worth.
Sometimes, Robin wished he had never been born into a pact. That way, he would never know what it feels like to be a part of one. To be ripped away, with bonds broken and dying.
Al Ghul.
Wayne.
He had lost both the ties to his mother and his father.
In both instances, he also had felt the dead, decaying ends flare back to life, burning him anew with childish hope.
This time it will be different, Robin had thought.
This time he will do better.
He had failed them. And at the same time, they had failed him.
Once, he wouldn’t have known this. Once, he would have taken all of the blame.
He was damaged goods; he would have thought. Tossed away when his mother couldn’t find any use for him and looked at like a criminal from his own father once he had revealed what he was truly capable of.
Pack-less, Robin had been desperate to find his place again. He had hoped for it to be by Batman’s side. But then his father had died. And when he returned, his Batman had left and become Nightwing once more. Leaving him in the hands of a man who had been difficult to understand and please. Eventually, Batman and Robin found a new rhythm, slowly, everything different and irritating smoothed out, became the new normal.
Time has a way of changing perspectives, softening harsh words, and drawing out different habits.
Numbly, Robin contemplates the ongoing mess below him. He was half tempted to drop down and throw himself into the fray. To see to it personally that everyone was disarmed and zipped-tied up for the GPD, promise be damned.
It was a slow night, after all.
But something holds him back.
Robin's eyes linger on the Alpha’s tearing into one another, fist flying, guns unsteadily aimed as bullets pinged off brick walls. Tentatively, he sniffs at the air again. His whole face pinches up as his stomach clenches up, a flare of pain pooling deep.
It stinks. Horribly. The mixed scents, the emotions riding along with them, create a muddy mess.
His fist clench at his side, he rocks back silently on his heel. He raises his gauntlets, his fingers are hovering over the button of the GPD when he hears a siren, sees the flashes of blue and red light up the ally.
It really was a slow night.
He doesn’t wait to see the fight break up or offer up his assistance. He stands up and turns. Without giving any one of his allies a warning, he goes dark. He puts his communicator in his mask on mute.
Then Robin runs, jumping from one rooftop to the next before he free falls and grapples a few hair-raising seconds late. Gotham passes him in a blur.
By the time he makes it to his safe house, tucked inside a half-exposed three-floor building with cracked windows, he is starkly aware of what has been ailing him for the past few days. Because suddenly, it slams down on him all at once.
He was presenting.
Surprise does not jolt through him.
He had been expecting his secondary sex to come upon him sooner. Much sooner.
Since the moment he had read through the books on the subjects in the manor and did further research on his laptop. Back when he had first arrived at the manor. When he had been labeled a pup. Dick had been the one to say it, his tone drenched in disbelief as he stared at father before his gaze had fallen to him. It had been his first time hearing such a word.
The league had never referred to its young in such a term. Especially one of his stations.
He had been an heir. Not a pup.
It had been his first clue that Gotham was different than the league. Hell, the world in its entirety was different than what he could have ever expected it to be. What Robin had once thought was perfectly normal pack dynamics turned out to be wrong. Everything, at every turn, it had seemed, back then.
But the fundamentals were the same. The bare bone structure, underneath all the unspoken rules he had to figure out tediously over time.
Between the ages of twelve and sixteen, a person was to present into their secondary sex, the books had read and the internet had confirmed it. Back then, he had eagerly awaited his presentation. After all, when he presented as an Alpha, he would no longer be held back by the rules of being a pup. He would finally cement his place in the Wayne pack and escape the anxious drifting and limbo that came from being a pup and a new pack member.
He never turned eleven. He died. And came back. It wasn’t as if he had gone into a coma. Time had ticked on. He returned exactly as he had left, but he never felt the same afterward. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. It blurred and simply became numbers the longer he went un-presented.
And now, he finally was.
He was still in the early stages. He knew exactly what to expect and had been pre-prepared in his eagerness since he was twelve.
Automatically, he steps out of his boots, his hooded cape falls to the floor, his utility belt next as he peels off his mask. Every article of clothing feels like a small fire where it hugs his skin and staying in it a second longer is not an option.
Robin becomes Damian in a matter of minutes.
His bare feet slap against the wood of the small apartment he has taken for himself and he heads straight to the bathroom even as the pain begins to crawl outward, spreading to his arms and legs.
He ignores it soberly and fiddles with the nob of the shower. It takes two tries, as always, before icy water hits the top of his head and his bare shoulders. It helps, but not by much. He washes off with heavy limbs, linger as his eyes grow distant and detached.
Damian hears a beep. Then the buzz of his smartphone. It goes off once a minute.
It seems his departure has been noted.
He gets out of the shower, towels off, and puts on a large, thin shirt, and forgoes his underwear. Heat dances outward, he feels like a volcano seconds before an eruption.
It’s annoying, at best.
From the stories from his packmates, Damian had thought presenting would be more dramatic and frantic. He simply feels like he had been going out at night as Robin for weeks straight while harboring a persistent fever. Compared to the countless past injuries, this was hardly anything at all.
It will get worse, his mind reminded him.
Damian snorts to himself and bends down over his discarded Robin uniform. He begins to put everything on silent and deactivate all his tracers. The building itself was already blotted out and off the grid. All his safe houses were. Except for the ones he had revealed to his pack.
When you present, you will wish to seek out the company of your pack but not be in the direct vicinity of them. It is advised that a parent or guardian look after the one presenting, occasionally checking up on them and looking after them like one would a sick child.
Many sources basically said the same thing.
Damian had no such desires.
His instinct told him to retreat. To find somewhere dark and abandoned to ride it out so he wouldn’t be vulnerable in front of anyone.
He heads for the small kitchen, looks through the pantry and fridge to see that it is well stocked. He grabs a bottle of water and a tablet before settling down on the couch to watch some anime he had been meaning to catch up on. Now was a perfect time. He didn’t like doing it in the manor. Damian doesn’t bother to analyze why.
Fever, sweating, bodily aches, and pains are normal when presenting. Mostly in the groin, head, neck, and wrist area. Some might fall into a haze and be incoherent and disoriented, some might barely feel the symptoms. It just depends on the pup. It is important that a parent, guardian, or pack members remain nearby. Their scents can help soothe the distressed pup while presenting and ease the way.
An hour passes. His phone stops lighting up. He finishes his bottle of water and gets up to make himself dinner.
Damian’s hands tremble. His face is flushed, everything hurts like a wound but at the same time, feels sore like one big fat bruise. He keeps his steps light and slow. He eats slowly and doesn’t taste a single thing.
He returns to the couch and bundles himself up in a blanket despite burning from the inside out. He resumes watching anime.
Though many have theorized that one can tell what they will present as during the presentation, based on if they smell like they are going into heat or a rut, but this is not scientifically proven. A pup scent can fluctuate between an Alpha, Beta, and Omega when they are in the middle of presenting, and therefore it is unreliable. A parent, guardian, or pack will not know what a pup ends up presenting as until it concludes.
Damian doesn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he lands on his feet and hands on the floor with a racing heart. He is drenched in sweat and he is unable to hold himself up with his weak limbs and end up collapsing.
At least the floor was cool.
He curls up and closes his eyes, shivering.
Presenting happen in three stages; early, mid, and end. The early stage is the longest and can last up to a week. This can include symptoms such as a headache, sharpened sense of smell, sensitivity to pack moods, heightened emotions, mild fever, hormone imbalance, and aching scent glands. The mid-stage can happen in a matter of hours or last the whole day. This is where the scent fluctuation occurs as the pups' body decides which secondary gender it will choose. The end-stage is the shortest, lasting at most up to an hour. The fever comes down, the body settles, and the pup has now matured.
He wakes up again to sharp, unrelenting pain and blood in his mouth. His eyes cracked open, itchy, and crusted with dried tears. He unclenches his jaw and raises one weighed-down arm to blindly grab for the ledge of his couch.
Damian pulls himself up and somehow makes it to his feet. He hobbles to the small room tucked in the far corner of the apartment and falls onto the bed without a sound. He curls up again, but sleep does not come. He stares at the dirtied window, realizing that the sun was beginning to rise and light up the smog.
He can hear his own alleviated heartbeat in his ears, the pillow under his head was quickly becoming soaked and for the first time that morning, he suddenly ached for company that wasn’t his own.
Not the pack.
He wanted Titus, Alfred the cat, Goliath, Bat cow, or Ace.
Damian wanted to curl around his pets, too cuddle them, and just be near them more than anything and wished he had the time to sneak back into the manor before he presented. If only he had known it would be today.
His vision becomes hazy with tears. He lets them fall as he watches the dark sky lighten through the small, dirty window.
“You’re an omega,” Damian's lips had curled, shock drilled through his skull as the scent wafted over to him.
Drake hadn't even looked his way. His focus had been solely on the bat computer, but his shoulder had tensed up and risen to his ears. His hair had been wet; he was in his civilian clothes.
Damian hadn’t been able to sleep. He had wanted to train. To keep his mind off certain topics. Like the recent death of his father.
Clearly, Tim had the same idea.
“Pretty slow to figure that one out for a puppy assassin,” Drake had grumbled lowly, glaring at the towering screen.
Damian had taken offense to that statement, and snarled out, “Had father known? Does Grayson? Is that why you wear scent blockers all the time, even in the manor? To deceive them and hide your low status!?” He has accused, marching forward to spin the chair around.
Drake had met his glare head-on, “Screw off, demon brat. I don’t owe you anything, much less an explanation,” He snapped with a look of great irritation.
They had ended up on the floor, kicking and yelling insults. When Alfred had found them, he had not been impressed.
Damian hadn’t let it go. He couldn’t. Omegas aren’t meant to fight. They aren’t meant to lead their own team. They were born to be mated off. They were born to raise the next generation. They didn’t have the means or the time to be doing things they shouldn’t. It was what Talia had told him. When he was heir and still given permission to ask questions when the weight of a sword was still unfamiliar and clunky in his small hands.
So, he had brought it up again and again, needling, uncomprehending.
Because he had recalled his cousin. Mara had been older than him. They had often been paired together to train. Until she had presented as an omega. Damian had never seen her again afterward. The last he had heard; she had been mated to an ally of the league, to cement a future work relationship.
“She had done her duty as a member of the Al Ghul clan,” Talia had said, “Her whereabouts is no longer our concern. She has her own alpha, now. She will start anew and make her own clan with him.”
“What a way to sugarcoat the fact that she had been sold off, little sister,” Nyssa had appeared with Ra’s by her side, with a cold, frozen look on her face. Her mouth twisted in distaste, “She hadn’t even had her first hea-”
“Such meaningless talk,” Ra’s had intoned lazily, “Especially in front of the heir.”
The alpha snapped her mouth closed. Then she opened it again, “He might turn out just like Mara.” The words had been said almost like a threat. Her dark eyes had landed on Talia.
“He is Hafid al Ghu,” Ra’s had said simply, his face turning in icy bemusement. Like the very thought was so impossible one just had to laugh at it.
“What he becomes will only be decided on that day,” Nyssa had spoken softly, the words almost sagely. A look of deep knowing had come upon her, and it was then Damian recalled just how much older she was to Talia despite her outward appearance.
Still, he couldn’t let such an accusation sit, “I am heir,” He had echoed Ra’s, lifting his chin proudly, “I will be a ruler. I will be an alpha.” His eyes had darted up to his mother. Waiting. Expectantly.
Talia’s hand had briefly fallen to his shoulder before she released it, “Of course, you will be, my son. Your future has already been written.”
He had waited for this moment for so long. But now that it was here, Damian just wanted to pull out his own hair and scream at the world. At the same time, he wished to fall into a restless sleep for minutes has begun to feel like hours, and laying down was so uncomfortable. He kept wiggling about, trying to find a spot on the bed that wasn’t too warm while also trying to move as little as possible because even his fucking eyelashes ached at this point.
Even still, he doesn’t want his pack.
He didn't want Richard hovering a hand length away, cooing soothing words like an omega even though he was an alpha, willing and ready to gather him up and wipe his sweaty brow, smelling like freshly baked bread on a sunny beach. He didn’t want Pennyworth putting a cup of cool water to his lips, or carefully replacing the covers silently while checking on him every other hour. His muted scent of earl grey by a warm fire was always so unoffensive.
Father would also make an appearance, prodded by Richard or Pennyworth. Dark, burning coal would sweep over him, smoky and everywhere like a shadow, before father drew closer, and the scent would lighten into blooming roses. Like the ones, Martha Wayne had once cherished.
His father was the pack alpha. It was his duty to take stock. He wouldn’t linger. He would stay for a minute, thirty at the most, before he would leave again with a promise to call back Richard or Pennyworth.
Drake and Todd wouldn’t have even set foot in the manor, not without Richard guilt-tripping them into doing it, or bribing them with Pennyworth's food. Brown would have, out of morbid curiosity. She would have appeared out of the blue, smelling like red velvet cake with ice cream on top. She would have cooed along with Richard, a shit-eating grin on her face, prodding and poking while asking him a million questions just to be a pest. Then she would have left.
Duke would have offered to help Pennyworth and Richard, he wouldn’t have hesitated to enter Damian’s room, and he wouldn’t have needed to. Right off the bat, he had always had an unspoken invitation inside. He knew how to knock unlike others in the pact. He wouldn’t linger either. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he could tell Damian genuinely wanted to be alone. When he left, the scent of freshly peeled oranges and pine would leave with him.
Cassandra, if she somehow was able to teleport across an ocean, would appear silently. She would scent him in greeting, rubbing blackberries and snow in his skin while offering up her stash of candy with a smile. She wouldn’t say anything. She never needed to. Then, like Duke, she would leave him in peace, maybe even keep Richard away as well.
His room was his own, but even when the manor was empty, somehow, everyone's scents always lingered, clinging onto the very walls and foundation of the Wayne legacy.
A nest is a tool that many packs use together.
Most pack units have a location dedicated to nesting as a pack as a whole. Sometimes it is a whole room, sometimes it is a small couch. Nests are usually compiled with blankets, clothes, and any other items that have the scent of the pack on them as well as any slew of furniture or items. The pack nest is used to strengthen pack bonds or reaffirm them. It is a safe place where all in the pack are welcomed. It is recommended that a pack at least nest together once every week. Along with pack nests are single nests made by omegas to be used by the omega or anyone they wish to share it with.
Did you know?
Nests can be made by all pack members. Not just an omega. Though, the omega may have a stronger instinct or urge to make one than a alpha or beta. In some cases, omegas might even feel the need to completely re-arrange a whole room or even a house from top to bottom.
Damian somehow manages to fall asleep again.
He dreams.
Back to the time when the walls of the league were towering, when his steps were slow and a bit clumsy. His trainer had fallen unconscious. Damian had managed to finally sneak up on the man, falling down and landing the butt of his sword on the man's temple with all his might. When the trained hadn’t woken up in a timely manner, he had toddled off, bored.
The league had been quiet. It had still been in the middle of the night. He had been forced awake, rolling away from a dagger that had been aimed at his head. Two hours later, he walked the quiet halls, searching for his mama.
He had gotten lost. Damian had just been about to turn back and retrace his steps when he heard a noise. He turned to a door at the end of the hall, his head tilting.
He heard the noise again followed by the thumps of a drum. He brightened. Maybe there was a surprise party for his victory? He sprinted forward, a smile on his face. As he grew closer, a pungent and overwhelming scent rose up. He wrinkled his nose in confusion but still had reached his small hand out, about to open the door.
Damian's eyes snap open. He stills in his bed, his ears straining.
There was a small rattle.
He bolts up, grabs the dagger under his pillow, rolls out of the bed, and raises his hands in a fighting stance, his body tense.
The rattling comes again.
His eyes dart over, to the window, only to see the wide, blood-red smile of the joker, waving about in the wind.
He snarls. Damian throws his dagger to the floor harshly, embedding it into the wood, before he stalks over to the window, wrenches it open, and yanks down the small green banner that had got caught on it. He rips into the fabric with his bare hands in his anger, cutting that wretchedly smiling face into two before throwing it down on the floor. He closes up the window, securing it before covering it with the lead-dipped curtains.
He returns to bed with his heart in his throat, now on high alert.
Sleep does not greet him again.
“...wonder what he will present as.”
Damian had paused as he caught the end of the sentence standing just outside the nesting room. It had been Richard. If he strained his senses, he was sure he would catch of waft of the ocean in the air. Richard never used scent blockers when he had been in the manor, in his own home, or just out and about in the streets during the day.
He heard a mean snort, “As if it isn’t obvious.” Drake.
A shift of fabric, “Argumentative, has a temper, impatient, bossy, always does whatever he wants, murderous,” Brown had started to list off with laughter in her voice, “The little demon brat has earned his nickname.”
“He will be an alpha for sure,” Drake stated bluntly and sounded as bitter as his coffee.
“Ugh, I’m not looking forward to the day,” Brown whined, “He will be so fucking annoying. I can just see his little nose in the air, looking all proud and pleased that he was right all along.”
“What? I had thought you two had said he would be a beta,” Richardson just sounded a bit confused.
“Yeah, to shut him up,” Drake sighed, “The little twerp hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might just be one. Seemed he didn’t get the memo that it is a coin toss.”
“Him? As a peacekeeper?” Brown did laugh this time, “No way.”
“Betas aren’t just peacekeepers,” Duke had piped up, his voice sounding low, sleepy as if he had been half awake.
“Of course not,” Brown agreed instantly.
“He won’t be a good pack alpha,” Drake said suddenly and spoke as if it was a known fact, “Not like you. Not like Bruce, Duke, or hell, even Jason.”
“Tim,” Richard said, a warning in his tone.
“Don’t look at me like that Dick, we all know it’s true. Just look at Talia-”
“He isn’t his mother,” Duke cuts in, his tone becoming sharp.
“I-I mean, yeah, obviously, but he is still her son,” Drake said, “He has gotten better. He no longer has the prevailing urge to stab me on sight and he has finally stopped with those side comments on my sec-gen, but even so...” He trails off.
The room goes silent as no one disagrees.
The morning sun creaks along old wooden floorboards, shining meekly on the stark bed. He still wore his shirt. It was now dirtied and wrinkled uncomfortably under his armpits.
The fever was gone.
Dried sweat clung to his body like a second skin that needed to be shed, and the pain he had felt just moments before has lifted away as if it had never been present in the first place.
Damian didn’t feel like he had been made anew.
Instead, he felt like his insides have been scraped out, hollowing him all the way down to his core.
Hope.
He surprised himself. He had thought he had long been convinced not to raise it up, to fill it with empty air, but Damian had. Because that feeling for when it was gone. When it had been annihilated completely?
It was too familiar.
It wasn’t like falling. It was like slamming into the ground, burning up in a fire until everything was scorched away, leaving him exposed and raw in a way he never wanted to feel again.
Damian was no longer a pup.
His own scent tickled his nose, newly revealed and a bit foreign. He raises his wrist to his face, inhaling. It was pineapple but with an after-effect of charcoal, as if it was being grilled out in the open air, under the night stars.
In the end, Damian does not present as an alpha.