Work Text:
Let's get some things out of the way first:
Bruce has never believed in bio-essentialism. He's a modern omega, and a very wealthy one at that. People push him to settle down all the time, to shut up, get married and place his mate at the head of the Wayne Foundation. Bruce ignores them.
He enjoys his one night stands, and the tabloids eat it up.
Brucie Wayne Seen Bumbling Out of Brooklyn Ball? Potential Pregnancy?
Bruce takes his birth control religiously. Pregnancy was out of the question.
"Don't you want children?" A common question, and honestly, six months ago, Bruce would have said no and honestly meant it. He had no interest in raising a child. What would Bruce even do as a parent?
Brucie, the fake persona that Gotham's high society adores is nothing like Bruce. Vapid, egotistical and a bumbling fool. Brucie is touchy in all the ways Bruce isn't. Brucie toys around with the idea of settling down and finding an alpha. Brucie laughs when people ask him how many children he wants.
"Oh my, puppies…well, maybe one or two would do."
"But Brucie, darling, are you sure you could handle that many?"
"Darling, that's what nannies are for!"
Rinse, repeat. It's a play with two acts. Brucie plays his part brilliantly, and leaves the stage in a rush so Batman can enter center stage, the dark and brooding night.
Batman is neither omega, alpha, or beta. Batman is the night itself. He is vengeance, justice, retribution. He is…freeing.
Batman spends his time fighting like a dog through the streets of Gotham night after night. He has no time to worry about a pup or mate waiting for him at home. How could he worry about anything else when Gotham needs him so dearly? When Bruce feels alive stopping criminals in their tracks? When saving just one person could be enough to change the trajectory of their life?
No, Bruce thinks as he dons the cowl, he's meant to be alone. It's better for him this way.
The image of the docile, maternal omega figure with four pups and a fifth on the way is not Bruce. It will never be Bruce. It can't be.
And yet, somehow, it happens all the same.
Not in the way Gotham's elite omegas explained it to him, and not in the way the tabloids wanted.
But it happens.
Slowly, slowly, slowly.
Tonight was rough. Seeing Harv like that was always rough, but the ex-lawyer seemed to be more unstable than usual. Bruce had barely managed to subdue him, and there was a lot of collateral damage that he would have to run by Lucius to fund construction for. But that was a later problem, because all Bruce wanted to do was take a shower and hop into bed.
He goes through his routine. De-contamination shower that removes any residue from patrol along with his scent patches and spray, the suit stowed away for Alfred to clean, and a patrol report logged. He shivers in the cold air of the cave, typing as fast as he can. The exhaustion of the day has finally caught up with him and all Bruce wants to do is go to sleep.
Around two or three am, Bruce finally throws himself into his bed, having dragged himself up from the cave. The soft, silky, Egyptian cotton sheets envelop him and he melts into the duvet. The omega felt like one big bruise, his limbs stiff and throbbing painfully with each motion. In the past, if he was that bone-tired, he would have slept in the cave, but— a loud cry comes from the hallway, and Bruce springs up, alert.
See, Bruce has taken to sleeping with his door open, ever since he…ever since he decided to foster Dick.
Bruce doesn't hesitate. He throws himself out of his bed, pain be damned. Some internal force makes him rush into the room, his legs uncoordinated and aching. He flings the door open, eyes frantically scanning for any threats and scenting the air for signs of distress. "Dick?" He calls.
Said pup is in his bed, hyperventilating, his eyes wild. The room smells like distressed pup, and the acridity of it has Bruce's nose wrinkling. Dick's muttering something fervently, holding himself and rocking back and forth, but it's too low for Bruce to hear. The sheets are messy, the poor thing must have knocked his duvet off completely in his distress.
Without thinking twice, Bruce crosses the room and climbs in Dick's bed. The boy still hasn't registered his presence yet, but Bruce doesn't pay it any mind and starts rubbing Dick's back, pressing the pup close to his chest. The whines and hiccups coming from Dick is nothing short of heartbreaking, and Bruce's heart clenches as he scrambles to think of anything to alleviate Dick's pain.
He needs to be scented. Bruce has no idea where that came from. He's never scented anyone before, save for Alfred, and those were infrequent occurrences. Yet the urge comes to him in stronger and stronger waves.
Scent him.
Scent him.
Scent your pup.
Clumsily, Bruce cradles Dick's head and turns him so they're facing chest to chest. He guides the pup to his scent gland and instructs him to breathe in. Bruce is nervous—Dick's been staying with them for six months, and while it's not the first time the boy has had a nightmare, it's the first time Bruce has ever felt the urge to scent him after one.
With a confidence he doesn't feel, the omega continues to instruct the weeping pup. "Deep breaths, chum, deep breaths." Bruce soothes, rocking him slowly. "In," he models, sucking in, "and out," he exhales. He strokes the boy's hair softly, holding him close, tucked into his neck, cradling the boy's head.
Bruce's breaths are exaggerated, big and slow, and Dick does his best to mimic him. Eventually, the pup's little gasps and shudders slow enough for him to start breathing normally. Dick rubs his cheek into Bruce's neck, and Bruce rubs his cheek over the boy's soft hair. The room smells like milk, honey, and the faint smell of bergamot.
Dick pulls back a little, tear tracks lining his cute face, and Bruce wipes his pink cheeks.
"'M sorry for waking you," the small boy says. "I promised to be quiet at night. I know you don't sleep well."
"Nonsense," Bruce says quickly. "I was working late anyway…what woke you, chum?"
The ticking of the grandfather clock and Dick's shaky breaths fill the room for several moments before the young boy speaks.
"…I saw them again." Dick sniffles, his lip quivering. The boy's face is pale with exhaustion and tear tracks line his chubby cheeks. "Mama and Dad. They…they were…" His face crumples, heavy with unspoken grief.
Bruce feels his face fall, too. He knows intimately what it feels like to have to carry that burden. The pup begins to weep, whining softly, burrowing deeper into Bruce's chest. Bruce holds him tighter.
Nest.
Bring him to nest.
Bruce hammers down the panic in his chest. Bruce hasn't nested in like…five years. The best suppressants money can buy will do that. But Dick deserves a parent a guardian who he can nest with. Pups need to feel integrated into packs, and nesting with them provides that love, safety and comfort.
He cringes at the thought of his dusty old nest, but the urge gets louder and louder.
Pup will feel better in nest.
"Chum," Bruce starts, his voice soft. "Why don't we have a sleepover tonight, hmm?"
"A sleepover?"
"Yes." Bruce nods. "It'll be fun. We can tell each other stories, and we can see who can stay up the longest."
"…I bet I can beat you." Dick says, petulant, but smiling. Bruce nearly cries in relief—his bright, happy Dick is still in there. Dick looks at him with those wide eyes. "Are we going to your nest?"
The acknowledgement feels right, somehow. Bruce nods and Dick does a little dance. " I bet it's like super fancy! You probably have like, solid gold blankets or something," he chirps.
A laugh bubbles out of him before he can help it. "Dick, that'd be insanely heavy."
"You're a big 'mega," Dick slaps his bicep, as if to test his sturdiness. "You could handle it." Bruce snorts at that one, hefting the boy over his shoulder. If only he knew the half of it.
"Oh yeah?" He asks, smiling. He flexes his left arm, and Dick looks at it in awe. "Can you lift me up with just your arm?"
Dick's as light as a feather. He shrugs. "Probably." The pup scrambles to the ground, urging Bruce to put his arm out so he can jump up.
"Okay, lift, lift!" Bruce makes a show of raising his arm as slowly as possible, groaning and moaning.
"Chum, what have you been eating?"
"Oh, stop playing around, B! Do it properly!" He's whining, but his face is rosy with childish glee. The omega relents, lifting the boy high above the ground. Dick hangs limply, swinging back and forth in glee. Dick's laughter rings through the room, a total contrast to his hiccuping sobs earlier.
"I can do this all day, you know," Bruce smiles, lifting Dick up. He's giggling like a little maniac and it's so adorable. "But I thought you wanted to have a sleepover?" Dick's eyes go wide and he lets go, landing with a grace that could envy Selina.
"Right, right! What are we waiting for!" Dick says, rushing around the room. He stops abruptly, looking down and fiddling with his pajama shirt.
"Something wrong…?"
The pup hesitates again, fidgeting. "Well…I've never had a sleepover before. So I don't know…what to bring." Bruce is completely overcome with affection. He leans into the emotion, bringing Dick closer and patting the boy on the head.
"You should bring items that bring you comfort, since you'll be away from your room for the night." He's careful not to say home, because the boy's only been at the manor for a couple of months. Bruce hopes that one day Dick will call Wayne Manor home, but for now, he goes with the safe option. The pup walks over to the bed and picks up the Superman-themed blanket that fell on the floor.
"Like this?"
"Yes," Bruce instructs. A large, blue figure in the corner catches his eye. "Any friends you'd like to bring along…?"
Dick's face lights up. "Zikta!" He cartwheels over, sweeping the stuffed animal up as he passes. The pup jumps over to Bruce, all boundless energy and bright smiles. "Got everything?" The puppy looks around his room, scanning it up and down. It looks the same as it always does, childlike and vibrant. Dick's puppy scent permeates the space, milky and sweet. Sometimes Bruce walks by and he's surprised that it's a real place in the dour, serious manor.
Dick wraps the blanket around Zikta and nods. "We're ready!" Bruce picks him up, nestling him in the omega's arms. Although the pup can't sit still for anything—somehow, the boy manages to swing all the way around to Bruce's back, riding on his shoulders like a horse. He tugs at Bruce's hair.
"Onward, my trusted steed!" The boy cries. Bruce winces a little at the volume. His head is still slightly pounding from his earlier activities.
"Volume, chum."
"Sorry." Dick stage whispers. He strokes Zikta's trunk over Bruce's ear and the soft fabric tickles. "Zikta's sorry too. She gave you a get-better-kiss. Those always help."
Bruce smiles despite himself. "Feels better already."
The nesting room is at the end of the family wing, a little further than Bruce and Dick's rooms. It's—well, he knows Alfred does upkeep on all of the rooms in the family wing, but Bruce hasn't entered that room in years.
"I thought we were going to your room." Dick points out as they walk past. Observant pup, Bruce thinks.
"I have a separate room for my nest.'"
"Fancy-pants."
"I assume it wasn't like that in the circus?" Bruce asks drily.
"Mm," Dick starts. "I don't think so? Mama always nested in her trailer, but I think there was a big nest between some of the other families..." He trailed off. "Is this it?"
Bruce nods, opening the large mahogany door. It's a small room, by the standards of the manor. A little smaller than Dick's, and filled to the brim with blankets, pillows, throws, and quilts—pretty much anything soft. Everything is monochrome in either black, grey, or white.
"Woah, it's huge!" Dick says, tumbling out of his arms. He nearly runs in before he skids to a halt. Bruce is grateful—he wanted to arrange it first. "It's rude to jump in someone's nest uninvited.
"Give me a minute, chum," he chides, pushing Dick a little to the side. He positions the pup to the side, wrapping him in a soft throw to keep him warm while he waits.
The innermost portion of the nest should have the lightest colors. His pup should feel invited and welcome. Darker colors, like the black and navy pillows create the border. He lays all the blankets out carefully, covering the cold wooden floor. Finally, when everything's packed together in a neat, warm circle Bruce leans back, admiring his handiwork.
"You done yet?" Dick asks. There's a little drool on his chin—the boy was nodding off.
Bruce smiles. "Yeah. Come on." He watches as Dick shuffles in, feeling his way around the plush nest.
"Soft." He remarks, squeezing the pillows. The pup lays back, twisting and turning, spreading the scent of happy pup everywhere. Bruce doesn't purr, but its a near thing as he watches Dick make the nest his own.
"Warm." Dick hums, snuggling deeper. When the young boy is satisfied the nest smells enough like him he looks up at Bruce with a big grin. " So, about those stories…?"
—
Bruce and Dick swap stories about traveling and the circus for three hours. Bruce hasn't felt this content in a long, long time. Dick's puppy scent of milk and honey has grown so cloyingly sweet that he almost feels drunk on the excess of it. The sun is peaking out on the horizon, and he can see the pup's eyes drooping. He looks so comfortable against all the plush pillows and blankets, and he's clutching Zikta so tightly if she were alive she'd be choking. The poor thing is slurring his words, and Bruce can't help but smile at his display.
It's so terribly cute.
If Bruce could smell himself, he'd be in shock by how strong the bergamot scent was in the nesting room.
"B?"
"Yes, chum?"
"Does it get easier?" His eyes are closed, but the omega can smell the faint rot of grief on his pup. The nightmare from last night is still haunting him.
Bruce doesn't even have to ask what he's referring to.
No, Bruce thinks, it never does. You will always mourn what you've lost. The same pit in your stomach will be there at ten, at sixteen, at twenty. It will sneak up on you in your happiest moments. It will steal your peace of mind.
That's nothing to tell a child.
Bruce looks at the pup he's been entrusted. This is someone's pup. On good days, Dick is such a happy, lively child. It is easy to see how he would have continued on that path if the Graysons hadn't been brutally ripped away from him. He has to nurture that flame, no matter how ill-equipped he is.
"It takes a very long time, but it does." Dick looks at him with wide eyes.
"Really?" Bruce gives into instinct and brushes his hand over the boy's cheek.
"Really."