Chapter Text
He was attacked.
Taking on Gotham City and all its glaring crimes and filth, Tim should not have been surprised to find himself being engaged in a life-and-death situation with someone aiming for his blood.
But this is wrong.
"Don't touch him, he bites", Tim said, still clad in his Robin suit.
Beside him, Red Hood, grunted while raising both his arms in answer. The abrupt movement forced the sleeves of his leather jacket to slide down as gravity dictated. Anyone could see the teeth marks aligned perfectly against the exposed skin of his forearms.
Despite the helmet, Tim could imagine Jason's icy glare for his unwanted warning that came all too late, but it quickly changed target as Red Hood glanced at their attacker as he sense something wrong with the kid, “What the fuck..."
"Language," Nightwing was still able to croak the admonition even if the oldest was having trouble breathing. Lacerations had cut through his kevlar uniform from all fronts.
The small remark made them all pause and stared for one solid minute at their captive. A jarring reminder that they wereーtechnically in the presence of a kid. The child assassin was curled into a ball, knees on the chest, wrists both secured from behind, and roped into mid-air like a piñata. But what caught their attention was his scent. The pheromone was minuscule but definitely unmistakably omega…a feral omega, newly-presenting despite how young the assassin looked.
Heck, Tim knew pups older than their assailant by almost half a decade more!
He shared a knowing look with Red Hood and Nightwing. He was not the only one who noticed the tell-tale scent of sea breeze and jasmine, only soured with closed up defensive acridity a cornered omega often exudes. They are all alphas sharing the same pack-bond, and Tim was not surprised to automatically sense that they all regard their captive with more kindness and consideration, if not neutral empathy, most of their attackers do not deserve.
After all, they have been trained and equipped to go above their instincts, and with how all of them have ties with the League, they are aware that to be an omega child assassin in the League of Shadows can only spell doom. It was a miracle the kid did not have his glands neutered— unless the kid was to be raised for specific reasons.
But that can’t be, Tim thought, recalling the ambush. The kid is too skilled for that fate.
Robin circled around slowly, meticulously, while massaging his jaw which was starting to bruise from being punched by a pair of brass knuckles. Yes, it was in kiddie-size, but it still hurts—bad.
“The gear and mask is a screaming advertisement for the League of Assassins, but I've never seen someone so young." The captive stopped squirming when Robin made his assessment, like a rat caught on a mouse trap.
“The garb suggests the League's right of passage, traditional, old,” Dick supplemented. “Thirteen-year-olds, approximately, given their marks to pass their Year of the Blood. "
"But this one's a kindergar’ner," Jason said with disdain, while poking the bundle and letting it spin for a full quarter before the assassin resumed his struggles and grumbled indignantly against the constraints. When the captive was at his full sight, Jason started to take out a pheromone spray from his utility pockets.
The kid eyed the spray with recognizable contempt showing that his wits were starting to return, “Ah, so you know this one, little feral. Makes it easier, but the Bat would have me quartered if I don’t follow protocol.” And Jason began explaining the omega’s right of expression (including neutral pheromones) and how the masking spray was temporary until a more trained adult (preferably not an alpha) can assist on his tertiary gender assignment.
Red Hood, after applying the first aid with a familiarity he often used to any omega victims under his terf, had nonchalantly let his palm sized the would-be murderer, emphasizing how diminutive their captive was. “Definitely not a thirteen-year old,” he added under his breath.
Not unless he's malnourished . A thought Tim quickly ruled out.
They might throw unimaginable injustices toward the League of Assassins but poorly investing in their minions was not one of them. They might blind, castrate or main their servants, but starve them? It would not look good on their reputation. To be fair, having sticks and bones assassins would be counterproductive if their targets are likened to otherworldly beings, which is 92% of the Justice League.
"Are Robins so easy targets now that they sentーJesus flying fuckerー" Red Hood cursed as the assassin came rushing to his face with the bounded wires unfurling around the boy's body. Their captive had escaped with a five-inch needle almost jabbing Hood's temple.
“Took him two point twenty-five minutes. That's impressive." Tim remarked with the screams of Red Hood and Nightwing as his background, remembering the b-list cuffs they harnessed at the child.
"Quit yapping, Robin!" Hood yelled, and again towards Nightwing, "Give me tranq! Now!" as he fend off another of the assassin's attacks.
"We've just discharged a full-grown dose to his bloodstream! It'll poison him!" Dick replied as he swiftly unarmed the child from behind, but the child twisted away from his grasp before he could grapple him.
"Newsflash Wingdings, the kid's pro'lly immune to the nasty stuff!"
"Got youーWait is that a frickin’ baby tooth? Dammit, what did the League do to you?" Nightwing exclaimed, as he pulled the boy assassin in a tight grip on the ground.
"Let me see that," Robin snatched the tooth and examined it between his thumb and forefinger.
"You go for tooth fairies now, Robin?" Red Hood jibed.
But before the barbed remark finished, Robin was already on his feet, "Check his molars!"
"On it," Nightwing automatically moved, noting the urgency of Robin's words. Dick crouched low, but when the kid offered nothing else than to bite his finger off, Red Hood had enough and smacked the omega unconscious. “Red Hood! Be gentle!”
Jason threw his hands up in exasperation, and grunted unintelligibly in frustration in what Tim translated to ‘What the fuck you want from me?’ knowing full well, they have exhausted all non-violent means of containing the little lump of bloodthirsty spawn of mass destruction on their feet.
Dick only signed in defeat and returned to his inspection of the unconscious child. The moment he started checking the assassin’s mouth, he asked Tim, "Uh, for the record, why exactly am I doing a dental check?"
“There's poison on his teeth, beneath the crownsーenough to kill a horse," the implication was not lost to them.
Tim was itching to update his files on what in hell the League of Assassins do to children these days…and he would love nothing more than to raid their underground headquarters to start putting an end to them pronto. But there were more pressing matters on their hands.
Because the moment Dick, as per protocol, took off the boy’s mask, and was welcomed with an all-too-familiar face none of his brothers would mistake for anyone else—all hell breaks loose.
“Can’t be—is that who I think…? Oh my God..!”
“Whoah, no, nO, no, No, NO, this is unreal, fuck no, I’m out. Just no.”
“...nah, bio-engineered, a clone perhaps…oh could be a multi-dimensional traveler…but there was no ripple in time-space…”
But their shock cannot keep up with the overwhelming realization that infront of them was a boy who looks like their Alpha— one of their own.
The scent of protectiveness over their pack leaked, almost overpowering their collar suppressants despite their vindication of how they didn’t know that they were facing a boy who could possibly be— theirs .
The pup is hurt.
“He’s hurt,” Dick almost let out a growl as he pulled the limp body to a protective embrace, and traced the bruises and battered limbs of the child.
An oppressive pheromone was released from their eldest, rendering an unmistakable command for his brothers to submit. Jason did not balk at the command, teeth clenched in defiance, and was holding on to the wrist of the boy, unaware that the same territorial anger was equally being transmitted to their pack-bond.
Tim was not left unaffected, as his own pheromones made way to try to stand guard towards the boy, with his stance carrying the same intention. The instinctual fight to keep one of their own unhurt was screaming from his consciousness. But he knew that all scratches, bruises, and dislocated shoulders were caused… by them .
The conflicting rationality was strong—protect their own; one of them was attacked by an alpha; those alpha were in front of them.
Granted, it was self-defense, but tell that to the dominant alphas eyeing and snarling at each other with the mind-clouding rapture to crush all who laid hands on the boy, be them their brother in pack or not.
The only reason he had not intruded at the two alpha’s stand-off was the fact that Tim was a newcomer to the pack, and has the self-preservation reasoning that the boy is not bonded to their pack… not yet.
The situation was too precarious, that Tim was afraid to move an inch, let alone contact any of the Batgirls, new and old—the only ones whose scents can calm this discordant thirst for suppression.
Tim’s predicament must have been heard by pitying gods, because the dangerous confrontation was broken by a tiny whimper from the omega assassin.
At once, the pressure was released from Nightwing and was replaced by a woody musk of soothing morning dew. He checked the young’s face with the back of his hand, and soon scampered to check the vitals of the boy tenderly, followed by dawning clarity of their situation.
The tension on Jason’s whole body was also instantly lifted, leaving him gasping for breath. It took, what Tim imagined, an indomitable will just to face and challenge the unrestrained wrath of their eldest pack to a standstill.
“I—I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me,” Dick palmed the back of his neck, showing the malfunctioning red lights of his gland suppressions. His other arm was still wrapped in an iron grip on the boy who was thankfully still sleeping oblivious to his surroundings.
“You…you son of a bitch!” Jason stood up aggressively, pointing accusingly towards their eldest.
Tim, shaking away the mental fatigue, thought the overdramatic outburst was uncalled for, until he heard the fear in Jason's words.
Jason? Fear? Such combinations of words never existed in his books. That’s when he noticed that the omega minor on their midst was cloaked with pheromones, not just with one alpha scent…but all three of them.
“””Fuck””” Bruce will kill us.
Tim glanced fixedly at his holofeed, with a stare of a death row prisoner awaiting the chair. For once, he was glad to be a background character at the chaos happening in front of him at the medbay within the lower levels of the Batcave.
Bruce, batsuit and cowl still menacingly in place, was towering over their patient. The boy was lying unconscious on the back up medic bunk. Outside the assassin’s garb, he looked all the more innocent—dark hair, strong nose and mouth, and all signs of abuse and history of a battlefield etched on the young boy’s skin.
On the other end of the bunk was a determined clear-eyed Dick, fist clenched, and not backing down from Batman.
“—Why not?! He is your son. The tests all check out. He needs a pack. He needs a family, Bruce!” Give it to Dick to question and attack the authority of their leader while exuding fierce loyalty and familial bond.
Bruce cannot even get angry at the blatant disrespect, not when he has long given Dick the right to veto his directives, not as their Alpha, but as Batman.
“He is also the son of Talia al Ghul. His allegiance to the League is unknown. A factor I cannot overlook when I need to protect our pack, and all of Gotham.” He is a threat, Bruce’s unmasked intention can be felt through their bond.
“Hah. You didn’t have the same moral dilemma when you took me in, old man. Almost posted a restraining order to keep you away from me those first years. So what’s another threat to your precious Gotham?” Jason interrupted derisively while leaning against the exit door of the medbay. He clearly doesn’t want to be here, but he remains rooted in his place until their situation gets sorted out.
“Those first years, we were chasing you for multiple charges of criminal activities, Red Hood,” Tim clarified, not even raising his eyes away from his holofeed.
True, it was not helpful, but the erroneous claim against the Bat needed to be rectified.
“Pah, semantics,’ Jason replied. Tim shrugged, busying himself with securing the medical records of the boy in real time. “You have the bats, birds, cats, and the whole zoo to keep us in check, don’tcha?” Jason turned to Bruce.
Bruce cocked an eyebrow. Jason was not even aware of how seamlessly he acknowledged the boy to be part of them already.
Tim saw a quick glimpse of proud pleasure in Bruce’s demeanor, but it was quickly suppressed. If Tim, one of the newest additions to their pack already has his instincts wanting to claim the boy as one of them , then he cannot imagine it multiplied in Bruce's case. But they all knew they cannot operate on instincts.
One look at Batman the very moment the old man laid eyes on the child in Nightwing’s custody, and it took insurmountable control not to flee from their alpha who has every right to lash out at his sons—something Bruce had vowed to never happen again, as long as he lives.
But the man remained professional, which made it more hair-raisingly terrifying. Tim could almost detect the instance the Bat took over and mechanically went into rounds of reports and medical check up.
As much as Bruce was the pillar of their pack, he knew the innumerable dark moments of how close Bruce had to tearing the said pillar himself, one self-sacrificing act at a time.
And this child…this child was never a mistake. He was truly their Alpha’s, but a small part of Tim’s mind had a tight hold on practicing caution.
Ra’s goal to mark Batman and any member of the Batfamily as a member of the League of Shadows has transcended boundaries of even life and death itself. What makes this any different? Another Batman from Bruce’s own flesh, raised by the League could potentially bring Bruce to his knees—heart and soul.
A faint smell of bitter guilt tainted Bruce’s scent. It was too quick and almost undetectable. If it wasn’t for how meticulous Tim’s nose was at dissecting the Bat, it would have been left unnoticed. Tim’s brows furrowed. Even a whiff of pheromone to leak from Bruce meant his emotions must be really unstable.
“I’ll do what I must when the time comes,” Bruce answered diplomatically.
Dick easily lightened up, knowing Bruce was more than convinced to take the boy in. Jason, on the other hand, tensed in apprehension, taking a more pessimistic view on Bruce’s decision-making skills when it comes to family. Tim was just tired, already thinking on how to defuse this bomb Talia had unwittingly dropped, or rather nuke-dropped, over their heads.
“For the time being, the boy stays in the reserved medbay. Not even Alfred should know about him until…he is cleared , understood?”
Again, the hair-raising dread was awashed to all of them. Cleared, meaning cleared off from their pheromones. The incident was too harrowingly mortifying, the urge to murder everyone who knows and then himself was gaining grounds. Heck, Bruce, merely alluded to the ‘incident’ and it was enough to render all three of them to flinch like misbehaving schoolboys.
Before they could answer, a new voice chimed in.
“The boy has a name,” the assassin said, rising from his prone position and resting on his elbows. Eyes of emerald green, the same as his alpha Mother. The fact that Talia was able to have a child with two alpha-genomes was another al Ghul miracle, Tim has no time to uncover at the moment.
But he can’t help but notice that their patient’s voice was solid and coherent even if he should have been pumped with sedatives and detoxifying serum in his bloodstream; Clearly showing that the child has been eavesdropping and fully conscious for the past minutes.
“My name is Damian. Damian al Ghul. Nice meeting you, Father,” the boy—Damian, started to pull the tubes from his skin, “I would have preferred meeting you in better circumstances.”
His hands were halted by Batman.
The little boy squared off unblinkingly towards Bruce, and failed to squirm his wrist out of his father’s hold.
“Nice meeting you too, Damian. You needed rest,” it was more of a command than a statement. And the two were hand-locked on a test of will with Damian not giving up on escaping and Bruce not exerting too much force as to injure the boy further.
“I needed my swords, not rest, Father,” he answered with gritted teeth, followed by futile attempts at biting the man whenever he closed their distance.
It was such an absurdly first meeting slash bonding moment that the brothers were stuck enjoying the spectacle of Bruce Wayne tucking his long-lost son for mandatory bedrest.
It was Dick who was able to snap out of his reverie and hold on to the boy’s flinging legs, “Hey there buddy, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Speak for yourself, Nightwing. I will end you,” Damian snapped. If not for the scent blockers at Damian’s neck, they knew the boy would have released spiked anxiety and hatred in the air. “And you,” he added towards Jason and Tim, menacingly.
“I do not condone death threats inside the Batcave, Damian,” Bruce steeled his hold and his voice towards his son, that it lowered to a dangerous register of an Alpha.
The boy shuddered and completely cowered towards himself, “Y-yes…Yes, Father,” but it was immediately shaken off with a steadying breath before he faced Bruce once again—a feat not even the elite alphas at Wayne Corp. can pull off. “Apologies, but I must truly kill them. I will not suffer this humiliation!”
“What are you talking about?” Bruce asked with his jaw tightening at what could only be palpable anger. Tim could almost guess the various probable causes of humiliation an omega may suffer from three alphas passing through Bruce’s mind, which were only dampened with how much Bruce trusted his sons and on Alfred's upbringing.
But the more the silence stretched, the more Tim felt like his days were truly numbered.
Robin has never been on the opposing end of Batman’s unceasing crusade for vengeance or justice, and he doesn’t want to find out, either…on both.
“I smell like weaklings, they deserved death!” the boy spat. And Tim released a breath he didn’t notice he was holding.
It was only Jason who took offense on Damian’s insult, “Oh, that’s rough, brat. Wanna go for another beating from a weakling, eh?” pulling up both his jacket sleeves from his arms.
“Jason!” Dick scolded, holding on to the brat when the attempts from the injured patient doubled out of sheer spite. It took awhile for strips of constraints made of kevlar to put the patient in an immobile position.
“What? The little feral needs the fear of God impressed upon his stubborn skull…repeatedly, as it looks like.”
“I will face you. Three on one, you cowards!” Damian shouted when he calmed down, “You presume I need taming, just because I am an omega? You will be sorely remiss for that misjudgment.”
“Where did you hear that?” Bruce asked, his voice still commanding. “That an omega needs to be tamed by an alpha?”
“From Mother,” he answered petulantly, not letting his breath become ragged from the strains, “That is why she sent me here…so I can learn…be protected under you, Father.”
Ra’s al Ghul not being happy after finding out their sire had presented as an omega was not shocking. Being part of the old world, him being a deep-rooted alpha supremacist is a given.
But that doesn’t mean it sits right with Tim or his brothers.
Tim smacked the hard end of his holofeed on Damian’s forehead, “You ambushed me, so don’t cry foul when you get outnumbered.” The pup had the recklessness to hiss at him, so he continued, “The moment you failed to take Robin down on three minutes flat, you lost. Not to mention you were gravely ill-equipped, and malnourished… down to 21% of body mass, mind you, and—You’re. A. Kid! Nothing minutely related to you being an omega.”
Miracles of miracles, the kid actually quieted down and looked like he was taking notes.
“It will not happen again,” Damian muttered indignantly, not as an apology but as a promise. He visibly relaxed at the now-slacken constraints, and was probably perfecting his ambush strategies to be applied against Tim once again. The teen can already feel how much of a pain in the ass this gremlin would be in the near future—
Maybe even tomorrow, I bet , Tim inwardly groaned.
“Now, how long must I suffer this stench?” the child wiggled, trying to rub his neck with his shoulders in disgust.
“Aww come on, we’re sorry it happened backwards, but don’t say that, Damian. You’re hurting your pack brothers here,” Dick exclaimed.
“I am a solitary sire , not a pack omega. I can barely smell myself!”
“Ah shit,” Jason blurted out and started heavily to walk out the exit door. “I ain’t staying for this. He isn’t a vegetable so I am good. Hit me up when you get his indoctrination memory wiped, a’ight? Bye and good riddance.”
No one stopped Jason, when everyone in the bunker, bar Bruce, wanted to run away from the medbay…patient included.
“Uh…Bruce, I think it is time to do The Talk? We will give you privacy,” Dick said embarrassed and quickly grabbed TIm on his scruff.
Tim let his brother manhandle him, and mouthed responsibly towards Bruce, I’ll enable parental mode.
And that was how Bruce found himself alone with his long-lost omega son who has a propensity for violence and bloodshed.