Chapter Text
The heavy door smashed into the wall, but Bruce didn’t rose his eyes from the stack of papers in front of him. Not when angry footsteps neared, not when a slim tanned hand appeared in his field of vision.
“How can you do this?” rasped the intruder, voice shaking but climbing up in volume. “How can you do that, Bruce?!”
Bruce rose his eyes, looking at the young omega in front of him.
“It’s for the best.”
Dick looked hurt, Dick looked agitated. He retreated his hand and straightened, the thin smell of heat still lingering around him. New smell. A little sweetness of moss-berry to his usual ice. Bruce’s alpha couldn’t help but notice a sourness in it too. Dick was distressed.
“Why?” he asked, looking Bruce into the eye. Bruce sighed, moving his papers around the table.
“You presented as an omega.” It was the only explanation he could give his son and soon to be prince-consort of Star Kingdom. Dick didn’t seem to be satisfied with it though.
“Why?” he asked again, a little desperate, a little hopeful. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.
“You are omega, Dick. What else is there to explain?”
His son looked stricken, smell souring fast.
“So,” he croaked through tightness of his throat. “So you decided to marry me off? Without my consent?”
Bruce once again raised an eyebrow at him.
“I know that you and Roy are friends. Queen Family is our allies and your marriage will reinforce this fact…”
“So I’m just a tool in you political games?” Dick interrupted him, and when Bruce looked, really looked, his expression was strangely closed off.
“No.” Because Dick wasn’t a tool.
“Then why?” Young omega pressed the mater. “Why Bruce? I don’t want to marry anyone; I want to stay in Gotham!”
Dick threw up his hands, and Bruce growled.
“Then what?” He asked his son in return. “You stay in Gotham and?”
“And continue your rule!” Dick shouted. “You trained me! You raised me to become a king! And now you are sending me away! As some prince-consort to an alpha I never loved!”
“You can’t build a strong alliance on just ‘love’.” Bruce snapped, making Dick shut his mouth with audible click. “And you presented as an omega, Dick. I raised you the way I did, because I thought you would be an alpha or a beta…” Bruce let the bitterness color his voice. “Not an omega.”
“So,” Dick whispered. “My designation nullifies everything you taught me to be? My every desire and dream will crash and burn just because of my secondary gender?”
Bruce tasted acrid in his mouth.
“Yes.”
“So,” Dick continued in strange quiet tone. “It doesn’t matter what I want or who I love? My life, my existence reduced just to being some alpha’s plaything? A pretty wife to fuck and show off?”
Bruce looked at his son.
“Omegas aren’t ‘fucktoys’” he snapped, because no one in Gotham is allowed to say that about anyone. “You will be a prince-consort to the whole kingdom of Star. The next king’s wife.”
Dick laughed a bit hysterical.
“Compared to being a whole king to Gotham? How is that fair, Bruce? As consort, I will have no power and no autonomy. As consort, I will be bound by tons and tons of rules and stupid regulations. I will be, as you said yourself, a ‘fucktoy’. A pretty body to carry children. Nothing more.” Dick looked at Bruce tiredly. “How can you do that to me?”
Bruce snapped.
“An omega could never be a king, Dick. Do not get illusions about yourself. And it is your destiny to bear children to your husband.” He glared at his son, who looked stricken. “You will marry Star’s king’s son or I will arrange another marriage for you. There is no other fate.”
For a moment Dick looked as if he was ready to retort. To fight. But soon something in his expression switched and he closed his mouth. Without another word he turned around and left. Bruce let out a relieved sigh. His hand was laying atop of marriage agreement, signed by two kings and one alpha son. Maybe he was really rushing things, Dick had only now presented as omega, at the age of sixteen, really late. But it was better to ensure his bright future now, before men like Ras or Luthor could even entertain the idea of proposing.
Dick will come around.
As he always does.
Bruce stood on the balcony, leaning on the railing and looking over his city. The capital of Gotham, Timoria* was beautiful on this rare sunny day. The sun was gently illuminating various plaques and banners over the streets, the wind was swaying colorful flags and people swarm every corner of huge city. Once again spring came and brought with it annual festival. And this year, just like every other, Bruce was mourning the boy, whom he drove away himself. With harsh words and even harsher decisions.
“Your majesty,” the door to the balcony shut close and Bruce sighed.
“Tim,” he greeted his third son. “How many times should I remind you not to call me that?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow, as Tim came nearer and the boy gave him a tentative smile in return.
“I know, B, sorry.”
Bruce sighed once again, but extended his hand, scenting Tim gently. The boy went as always rigid but then slowly relaxed melting into the touch, his omega scent rose happily, portraying ‘safe,loved,happy’ to the entire world. Bruce’s chest tightened with grief. He could have had both of his omega sons happy and safe here with him, only if he wasn’t a complete jerk all those years ago. He could have had his whole family.
Tim opened his eyes, grey, not Dick’s vibrant blue, and leaned away, composing himself once again.
“I have news,” he said, tone – all business but eyes straying nervously over the city. Bad or at least complicated ones then.
“What happened?” Bruce growled, not daring to hope or to dread.
Tim spared him a quick glance before looking to the side once more.
“No,” he whispered, his scent of cherry turning heavy. “Not that news.”
Bruce’s heart broke into pieces once more. It did again and again every time for more than ten years.
“I see,” he breathed out and Tim winced.
“Sorry, B.”
Bruce shook his head.
“That’s fine. I know there is no hope there.” He looked over the colorful city. No hope that once lost son would miraculously return to him.
Bruce knew perfectly well that the streets don’t take good to young omegas or omegas in general and he worked damn hard to change that but… but for Dick it would be too late either way. He lost his son to his own stupidity and nothing can change that. Still once a year at the beginning of spring and on the first day of festival, on Dick’s birthday, he let himself believe. Believe in magic, or gods or miracle, anything that could bring his son back. And year after the year the disappointment hurt anew.
He shook his head and turned to Tim.
“So, what’s the news?”
“The Birds are here.”
Bruce snapped his gaze to Tim.
“What?”
“The Birds. They are here. In Gotham. In Timoria.” Tim glanced over the railing, thoughtful. “It were Jason’s sources that provided this information.”
Bruce breathed deep in and then slowly out. Birds weren’t bad news exactly but surely they were complicated.
“Are there any movements yet?” He asked his son, and Tim shook his head.
“Surprisingly no. The omega situation was quite good in Gotham past few years and I couldn’t see any reasons for birds to interfere…” They shared a quick glance and Tim mumbled, “Maybe it is not the Birds that have business in Gotham…”
Bruce inclined to agree. He made everything in his power for omegas to live just as good as any alpha or beta, so Birds – a famous pro-omega movement, - has no business in Gotham. Nor in Timoria. And that could only mean that they moved into his country on the will of another party. A party well known for several scandalous assassinations and robberies.
“Deathstroke,” Bruce mumbled musing over the complications the presence of the famous mercenary would bring into his city and his kingdom. He could already envision the rise in deaths and other crimes.
Tim nodded grimly.
“It’s the only explanation.”
Bruce sighed. Deathstroke the Terminator has been known for longer than twenty years, but only recently, about five-seven years ago, had he joined the Birds, becoming their sort of protector. Wherever one moved, other followed shortly. So, as there was no omega issues in Gotham, the only other logical conclusion was that Birds came because of Deathstroke’s contract.
“Search the market,” Bruce commanded grimly, “it should be some high-profile target to hire Deathstroke.”
Tim nodded.
“What are we going to do with Birds?” He asked glancing at Bruce’s grim figure. King of Gotham frowned, thinking.
“We don’t know where their base is…”
“Um actually,” Tim interrupted and fiddled with his robes a bit, pulling out some sort of letter. “I got invited for a meet-up with their representative.”
Bruce’s eyebrows shot up the same as his heartrate.
“What?” He growled, a hint of alpha protectiveness in the sound. Tim hunched in on himself and extended the paper. Bruce snatched it instantly. “How?” How something like this could have got past him, guards and numberless security measures?
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know myself. The letter arrived with other correspondence this morning. I paid it no mind as everything gets sorted by chief of the staff and we both know Alfred.”
Bruce asked, “Did he?”
Tim shook his head.
“No. I asked him, but he said there was no such letter when he checked. Someone should have added it later.”
Bruce hummed looking the letter over. There was no insignia other than a small bird at the bottom and the handwriting was irritatingly standard.
He opened the letter.
Prince Timothy, greeted him. because of your upcoming marriage and considering the omega situation in the world, we, the Birds – first omega-resistance, - invite you on the third of Martius to Nightingale’s Song at ten. Your safety will be ensured and provided. Please don’t bring too many guards for your protection. Hopping to see you soon, Birdwatcher.
Bruce folded the letter.
“So,” Tim held his hands behind his back looking curious. “What do you think?”
Bruce kept silent.
“They sound genuine you know?” Tim rambled. “Their reputation is spotless in that way. I think I should go. Maybe we could get information out of this ‘Birdwatcher’.”
Bruce hummed. They could use this opportunity to their advantage, sure. Tim is right, Birds’ reputation is spotless – no omega was ever harmed by their hands. But Bruce had already lost one of his sons. He could never lose another. Never.
Bruce looked over the colorful streets of his city and handed Tim the invitation back.
“Take Jason and as many guards as you think necessary.”
Tim brightened.
“I will.” He smiled. “Thanks, B.”
Bruce hummed, looking over the city. Whoever this birdwatcher was, if he harmed Tim, he will never leave Gotham alive. Bruce swears it over Dick's empty grave.