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Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
No.
Out of the fire, into the frying pan. Out of a fight with three of the Rogues Gallery’s finest (plus assorted henchmen), into what appears to be Edward Nygma’s apartment.
With his every limb aching, and with one of his scent blockers askew on his neck.
He’s in heat.
And he’s praying no one but Riddler’s noticed.
(It’s too late to pray that Riddler hasn’t.)
“I knew there was something,” Edward says, walking slowly around Bruce. Bruce stands stock-still as the alpha inspects him. “Your scent- it changed, during our little scuffle. Ever so slightly. Not fully alpha anymore. Not fully Batman anymore.”
don’t-move-stay-still-stay-still-don’t-don’t-please-please-
“Bruce Wayne. Omega. I was at the gala last week- wasn’t invited, if you want to get technical- but his scent’s quite a distinctive one.”
Bruce’s heart is pounding so hard he fears it’ll be heard through the Batsuit's armor.
“Batman. Alpha. Now there’s a familiar scent. Which of the Arkham regulars don’t know that one?”
scared-scared-no-no-please-don’t
“And which of the Arkham regulars could ever have dreamed it was artificial?”
“Why’d you bring me here?” Bruce croaks. The voice modulator in his cowl distorts the sound, the words, the tone. “Out of the fight- that smoke bomb- why did you bring me here?”
He knows why, he knows but he can’t. He can’t. Please, it hurts, everything hurts, he can’t.
“You can take the mask off.” The green gaze bores into him. “It’s probably not very comfortable for you right now, and I think we're in agreement as to who’s under it.”
He’s still Batman. He’s still Batman! “I’m-“
“On your knees!”
Kevlar hits the floorboards with a resounding thud.
don’t-don’t-no-no-no-please-fear-fear-fear-
He’s dizzy, his head hurts, everything hurts and he can’t breathe, his head goes back in surrender and no-no-please-don’t-don’t-touch-please
“Y-yes,” Bruce croaks. “Alpha.”
He can only hope, now, hope and stay as still as he can and hope it will be quick-
“Beta, technically,” Riddler says conversationally.
He squats down to Bruce’s level, and his scent changes. It’s- softer now, somehow, the undertone a bit like Alfred’s. Pumpkin, maybe, that’s his- Riddler’s- and the heady musk of a fire.
It’s soothing and filling up the cluttered room and it’s comforting and it doesn’t have any right to be. He’s not Alfred, he’s not here to comfort Bruce, not here to soothe him or help him or- or do anything but-
“Convenient, having all three scents at one’s disposal. Usually use the alpha, obviously, but omega to pull the wool over a mask or two.” Edward pauses thoughtfully. “It’s been a while since I wore my natural scent, you know that?”
He’s not made a move yet, but Bruce can feel him so close too close get away please please get away
“Take your cowl off.”
...Al- no, beta doesn’t want the cowl on. Bruce’s hands tremble violently as he raises them to his head.
Edward’s own hand shoots out to intercept them, and Bruce freezes.
“On second thought, do what you want. Let’s not scare you needlessly, hmm?”
His- Bruce’s- omega scent is faint in the air, a shadow of what it could be without the blockers on. Bruce wants to fix the wayward one so badly but he can’t move.
He shuts his eyes, because he doesn’t want to see, doesn't want to watch, and pulls the cowl off.
It’s not like he has a choice, really.
scared-scared-no-no-please-don’t
Maybe Edward doesn’t want the blockers on, either. Bruce doesn’t know the rules. But the alpha- no, beta- doesn’t seem angry or upset or- or- or hungry, but then if he can control his scent like that
then-
A strangled whimper tears its way out of his throat when Edward reaches for his uncovered head.
And then- begins to stroke his hair-?
“Batman. Bats. Bruce. Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne! Oh, Mr. Waa-aayne!” He playfully raises his voice to mimic the reporters Bruce is so familiar with. “Not going to hurt you.”
He can’t run, he can’t hide, he can bribe Riddler, maybe, maybe, but- he just has to- just-
“Hey. Bruce. Batman. Mr. Wayne.”
“Yes,” Bruce chokes involuntarily.
“No, not like that.” Edward hums. “You know what? Let’s try this.”
His scent changes yet again.
Omega this time. Same pumpkin-y fire-y of his alpha and beta scents, but even softer, warmer. Wafting into all the crevices, thick and cloying but not quite unpleasant.
no-no-please-don’t-please-?...?
...?
He does seem to want Bruce calm, but what Bruce doesn’t understand is-
“Why?”
Edward’s cool fingers massage his scalp lightly, and it’s almost too much, Bruce needs- needs- “Why what?”
“Y-you saved me from- from them. Took me h-here.”
”Brilliant deduction from the World’s Greatest Detective. My admiration knows no bounds.”
“But you d-didn’t- you’re-“ he’s not Batman anymore, now, his artificial alpha scent completely gone, not even his cowl for protection and the blocker sticker on his neck still no more secure than it was and his omega scent quivering and his skin itching and everything hurts- “going to make me y-yours.”
He has to be Batman, has to be, because Bruce Wayne can’t- can’t. Can’t. Please.
don’t-don’t-please-please-
“Not interested.” More pets, a gentle rub to the back of his neck. “Riddler doesn’t want a prize he hasn’t earned, and Edward frankly doesn’t do that sort of thing at all.”
A painful keen of confusion.
Edward huffs.
“For heaven’s sake, Bats. Mr. Wayne. I don’t want to make you mine. Not like this, anyway, and certainly not now, because there’s no challenge in it. Letting one of the others take you, though- now that would really put a damper on things. It’d ruin everything!”
He keeps scruffing submission into Bruce’s neck, warm-safe-protected scent hanging heavy in the air.
“So here you are, and here I am. You can’t play the game on your own. Let’s get you through this, shall we?”
Bruce feels his bones melting into putty and can’t decide if it’s because he’s feeling safe or if it’s just a natural reaction to the scruffing.
He’s still scared, but only a little. And that scares him.
“You want to nest, don’t you?” Edward’s hand doesn’t leave Bruce’s disheveled locks. “That should help. I’ve got something of one back here.”
A soft trill of perplexity slips past Bruce’s lips.
“I have a friend who pops over now and then, so it's mostly for him, and I like to sleep in it sometimes when I get insomnia. I know it’s not yours, and unfamiliar, but I think it’ll do in a pinch.”
O-oh.
Oh.
“But you’re going to have to get up. I can’t carry you.”
Bruce’s legs are shaking as he tries to rise. He pushes his chin up, one more time, just in case.
“Still not.” Edward gently pushes it back down.
The nest, when they finally reach it, is very cozy-looking. There are a lot of blankets woven in, several articles of clothing, and a few plush animals. Bruce’s eyes are drawn toward the little black kitty in one corner.
“From Selina,” Edward explains, noting the flick of the blue eyes. “Smells like her perfume, you’ll like that. You should have seen the card she sent it with. Vulgar.”
Bruce waits, nervously taking in the sights of Edward’s room, the neatly-made bed and the noteboard covered in neon green string, and the nest, fitting so perfectly into the corner. He’s going to wait for a direct invitation and hope Ri- Edward doesn’t get impatient.
“Go ahead,” Edward invites. He’s still broadcasting his comforting omega scent. “I’ll be right back. I have some extra supplies in the closet.”
He steps out of the room, leaving the thick musk of warm-soft-protected-safe. Bruce pads carefully over to the nest, hesitates, and then climbs into the depression in the middle, still keeping his movements as small as possible. He curls up, tighttighttight, and tucks his head down.
It smells like Edward. A lot like Edward. And something- maybe someone- else that he can’t name. An annoyingly familiar someone.
“Want the cat?”
Edward's back. It seems he can walk very quietly when he wants to. He drops an armload of things onto his bed, then leans over and tucks the soft black plush into Bruce’s arms. Bruce lowers his nose into it, shutting his eyes and letting out a soft purr, and the beta chuckles before Bruce has time to panic.
“Thought you’d like it. Wish I could tell Selina. Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Something warm is pressed to Bruce’s abdomen.
“Heating pad.”
Long fingers slide into his hair and resume massaging.
The heat is relaxing into something manageable, or maybe that’s just the fear subsiding. Or sleep, clouding. It's unnerving, either way, but it's not too bad.
Edward rubs at the blockers on either side of Bruce’s neck. He smoothes the loose one back into place, picking at the other one. Bruce shivers.
“Okay, okay.” The fingers go back to Bruce’s hair, where he much prefers them.
“You might have to change your scent,” Edward says thoughtfully, after a few minutes of increasingly-scented silence. “Your Bruce one, or the Batman one. The artificial one will probably be easier. You can say you mated, or something.”
Or something. Bruce doesn’t want to think about that right now. He doesn’t want to think about anything except the cool fingers in his hair.
“I’d offer you something to eat, but I’d have to get up to get it and I don’t really have much at the moment. Just ramen and frozen waffles and Pop-Tarts, pretty much. Probably never tasted any of those, have you?”
Question. Question that isn’t penetrating Bruce’s heat-fogged brain very well.
“I can’t imagine your butler- Bruce’s butler- would allow that. Speaking of, he doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
...Alfred. Alfred is going to worry.
Bruce trills unhappily.
Edward sighs, and keeps massaging. “Never mind. You’ll deal with that later.”
Pumpkin-y fire-y.
A tiny part of Bruce’s brain knows this isn’t a very safe place to fall asleep, especially not now.
He ignores it.
“Better idea.”
There’s a sudden flash of light. Bruce’s eyes fly open to see Edward laughing at his phone screen.
“Want to caption it, Mr. Wayne? For your butler. Oh, I should have been a photographer.”
A heavy wave of warm-sleepy-safe washes over Bruce.
It’s almost enough to make him leave off wondering why Edward has Alfred’s number at all.