Chapter Text
Dick has had a smooth night.
He started patrol around the usual time, took down the usual mugger or two, and comforted the usual mugging victims before walking them home. Even now, as he finishes the recon needed for a job that's slightly bigger than the usual petty criminals, he can't help but feel at ease. Around fifty armed men are working security for an arms deal happening inside an abandoned factory tonight, and he's going to stop it—as usual. Yet as he swings to a building parallel to the deal site, climbing from fire escape to fire escape to get to where a group of three men stand watch, Dick feels as if something will go wrong. Not with his mission—no, this will be a breeze—just in general. He can't quite put a finger on it, but years spent training to fight crime and years spent actually fighting it are bound to make one somewhat paranoid once added up. Take Batman as an example. He can practically feel Bruce's anxieties pumping through his pack bond.
Jumping off the last fire escape with a modest amount of worry churning in his stomach, Dick crouches on a lower rooftop and listens to the conversation below him for any extra information. His own alpha-driven confidence and the fact that he was trained by the best were both more than enough to fuel him for this particular job, but there's always a chance the men keeping guard could tip him off about other arms deals that might be happening under his nose. Dick quickly learns that the guards, three alphas who appear to be bored out of their minds, are discussing anything but weapons.
"Would you tap that?" Says one, a cigarette in his hand and a bat in the other. He takes a quick drag before blowing the smoke into another man's face, no regard for him whatsoever.
The second doesn't bat an eye. The topic of their conversation takes priority over the tobacco invading their space. "What, are ya' kidding?" He exclaims, waving his gun dangerously close to his third friend for emphasis, "Do I look stupid? 'Course I would!"
These men don't seem to care that much about second-hand smoke or proper gun safety. The third one whistles lowly, "What I would give for just one night." He looks wistfully out into the distance. Dick, confused about who they could possibly be referring to, looks with him.
Across the old factory, where Nightwing plans to ambush a major weapons trade, is a bright new billboard. It must've been put up the night prior, because Dick would've definitely noticed the shining image of Bruce Wayne during his recon. His mother, appearing in an advertisement for Wayne Enterprises' latest makeup brand, wears slightly smudged lipstick and mascara that lines indecent eyes. A light blush paints his face, and highlighter shines atop the highest points of his cheekbones, making him seem as if he were tipsy. Bruce holds up a tube of the lip color used on him, and the company name is written in gold cursive against a pale pink background. It's a good ad, Dick would say, because it's very convincing. (If you buy from us, you'll look just as stunning as our CEO!)
That doesn't mean he likes it.
Dick will admit it, his mother is beautiful. Devastatingly so, since it seems as if the entirety of Gotham wants him in one way or another. His current problem, however, is that Dick isn't in Gotham—he's in Bludhaven, the city he decided to live in to get away from his family's influence. He suppresses a groan and holds himself back from jumping in too quickly. His mother always taught him to be patient.
"Keep dreaming," Guard One scoffs, "All the money in the world couldn't buy him."
"Oh, I'll dream alright," Two laughs, "He's got, what, ten pups? Not like I care, he's too fine an omega to pass up."
They all nod in agreement, and Dick wants to break his escrima sticks in half (fourths?). Patience, he reminds himself, that's what Bruce would tell him if he were here.
"Hey, if he ever wants another kid, I'm right here. I'll play stepdaddy for a taste of that—"
Bruce isn't here. Neither is Batman, nor the rest of his family. This is Bludhaven, Nightwing's city, and he'll take care of business however he wants. As a civilian, there's only so much he can do whenever he hears people talking about how badly they wish to bed his mother—at least, only so much he can do legally. Currently, he's not a civilian, and a vigilante sure as hell doesn't operate within the law. His so-called patience drains quite quickly when it comes to people desecrating his mother's name with their words.
He takes down the one who was running his mouth first, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence lest his anger rise to something unmanageable, before quickly finishing the other two, using their surprise to his advantage. The scent of alpha lust dissipates once all of them are down for the count—not before quickly turning into fear, which Dick takes extreme pride in. He may have punched a little harder than he knew was necessary and possibly kicked their unconscious bodies a few extra times after the fight was done, but he does things his own way in Bludhaven.
With the western exit secured, he moves further in. The rest was, as expected, easy. Dick took out his leftover frustration on the remaining fifty men inside and successfully stopped an arms deal from happening in his city tonight. Throughout it all, the fight, the cleanup, writing the report, and finally clocking himself out for the night, Dick couldn't help but hold a gripe about one thing.
It's followed him to Bludhaven.
His mother's beauty, that is. It's something he's always had a qualm with, ever since he was young, and he knows his siblings share the sentiment. Their secondary genders don't matter; in them rests a need to protect their pack omega from anything at all—that includes perverse, prying eyes that love to dwell on Bruce for too long.
Dick supposes that a job once had is a job never done when it comes to his family.
A notable moment Dick remembers was when he was fifteen and freshly Robin. Looking back, it might've been the first time he realized anyone could be attracted to his mom like that. It was a truly distressing way to wake up to the world's realities, especially since the perpetrators were his new coworkers: the members of the Justice League.
They were in the surveillance room with Green Lantern, Green Arrow, and Aquaman, where Batman was introducing a new system they would need to utilize during monitoring shifts. Dick was only there because Robin follows where Batman goes, not only as a product of him being a fledgling amongst his peers—not yet equipped with his future self-assurance—but also because Dick wasn't dumb enough to go against Batman's strict orders to stay with him for their short trip to the Watchtower. He listened to his mother (for the most part), which left him also listening to a horribly boring mini-meeting about a machine that's not cool enough for him to ever care about. Not to mention that they had been there for hours. Maybe not the others, but he and his mom had been at the Watchtower since morning, and it was well past his siblings' bedtimes by the time Batman had called them over to explain his newest addition.
Dick had been surviving only on the lunch his mother had packed for him by the time the meeting started. Just thinking about it made him cringe with embarrassment. Bruce didn't see a problem with it, but being a teenage alpha and eating the sack lunch your mommy had packed you was beyond mortifying. It wasn't even a sack! Bruce had used Jason's Wonder Woman lunchbox instead, so Dick sure as hell wasn't going to pull that out in the one place Wonder Woman herself could catch him eating out of it. Lunch that day was spent in a small corner of an empty room, which he hoped served no purpose to anyone.
If Dick was too embarrassed to eat his lunch in front of the Justice League, he was equally embarrassed to ask Bruce to go home. He did want to go home—he would've taken a week's worth of babysitting duty rather than stay at the Watchtower a minute longer—but tugging at his mother's cape and whining about being tired would not be very heroic of him, which wasn't ideal considering he was fifteen and surrounded by superheroes who have known him since he was a kid. Besides, there wasn't even a cape to tug on. Bruce had also been tired by the end of the day, and the night's later patrol would only drain him further. He wanted to go home and kiss his youngest children goodnight, then tuck his eldest in, but he had just this one last thing to do—that's what he had told Dick before the meeting, as if he knew what his pup had been thinking. Consequently, Batman's iconic cape had been detached from the cowl and laid to rest over a chair in the corner. Dick heard his sigh of relief echo clearly throughout the room, knowing they both wished the day were over already.
With the heavy weight being shed, his back, a side of Batman rarely seen, had been on show to the whole room as he faced the monitoring station. After that day, Dick learned that he needed to make mental notes whenever things like that happened. However, the Dick who hasn't yet learned his role as his pack's eldest alpha paid this no attention.
If Dick's first mistake was not stopping his mother from taking the cape off, his second would be his absentmindedness. Could anyone really blame him for it, though? The meeting didn't involve him one bit, despite Batman claiming it did. Monitor duty never fell into his scope of responsibilities, so the only reason he was even there to begin with was because Baby Robins stick by their mother's side like glue. He wants to give some grace to his younger self, a boy who had just witnessed his biological father fall to his death on the night he was supposed to meet him, but if anyone's allowed to mock Dick for his early-days cowardice, it would be himself.
Batman was droning on and on about stuff that Dick couldn't care less about. If it had been earlier in the day, Dick would've paid some attention and might've even involved himself in the demonstration, but it was late. Keeping his eyes open was a chore in and of itself, and he couldn't go a minute without swaying on his feet. Dick had found solace in the grounding feeling of toying with a batarang he had in his utility belt. He spun it using both bare hands, having taken off his gloves around the same time Batman had removed his cloak, then twirled it with one. At some point, he used the sharp tips to make pinprick sensations on his fingertips—not enough to draw blood, just enough to give him the slightest amount of uncomfortable sensation to keep him awake. If only he had been more careful, because one ill-timed and too-long blink had the batarang slicing across the skin of his finger. On pure reflex, he hisses and lets go, the blade flying out of his hands and onto the floor.
Bruce was the first to act, immediately beside him at the sight of blood and the sound of a pup being hurt. It wasn't much blood, just a thin and short line pooling at the tip of his finger, but leave it to his mom to overreact, like always. Bruce crooned out, telling the pup to come to Mama for safety, and Dick couldn't stop his hindbrain from following the sound. He leaned into his mother's chest and let Bruce take control of the situation.
"You okay, honey?" he whispered, knowing how it would make Dick feel if the others in the room heard the name, despite how nice it felt to hear it himself. Bruce pulled out a small antiseptic wipe and a smaller band-aid from his own utility belt. Dick instinctively presented the wound to his mom. He scrunched his face once the alcohol touched his cut. Bruce cooed once more.
"It's nothing. My hand slipped," he responded just as quietly. Bruce's comforting, encompassing scent, combined with an omega's call for their pup to come hither, left Dick incapable of thinking about anything past his mother's shoulder—like the fellow Justice League heroes who were watching Batman baby his fifteen-year-old, alpha-presented pup. Dick couldn't fight Bruce's natural pain alleviation with his need to look cool and grown-up in front of his peers, so he let his mom coddle him and hoped they wouldn't think much of it.
As Bruce finishes placing the band-aid across Dick's finger, he resisted the urge to give it a final kiss, like he would've done if they were at home. Dick saw the reluctance in his mother's face, and all he could hope for was that his face correctly portrayed how much he didn't need the Justice League to see his ouchies kissed better. He thanked his lucky stars when Bruce simply turned around instead.
"No need to get up," Bruce said to Oliver, who had risen to pick up the fallen batarang, "I'll get it. Just stay seated."
"Everything good, kid?" Hal asked.
He nodded, too tired for even words.
"Just be more careful next time…" Hal trailed off, mumbling the last of his words. His eyes strayed from Dick, no longer looking at who he was talking to. In fact, all three of them had suddenly lost interest in Robin's injury and were staring straight ahead, with a slight downward glance. Dick followed their gaze and found a slap of reality to the face.
At the front of the room was Batman, missing his cape, and bending down to pick up what Dick had dropped.
If his first mistake was letting Bruce discard the cape, and his second was being distracted, then his third would be hurting himself and subsequently dropping the batarang. Had he not done any of those things in that particular order, then he wouldn't have had to see his colleagues, men he has known since childhood, alphas he has respected ever since he himself presented as one, staring at his mother's ass, right in front of him.
His scent spiked with what he was sure smelled like immature alpha anger. Something laughable in the faces of alphas who have had time to mature into the role—who hold high ranks in whatever packs they have—but Dick didn't care. How dare they even attempt to ogle his mom in front of him? Had they been doing this throughout the whole meeting, and he just hadn't noticed?
What kind of alpha does that make him?
In a pack where a beta and an omega take care of three pups, Dick had to learn where he stood amongst the others since he'd presented. He'd always been territorial over his family, and he wasn't one to shy away from a fight when it came to defending them, but learning to be a good alpha was hard when he was the first to be one. Bruce is pack omega, he has been since Dick was born. He took care of Dick and Jason and Tim and Cass, but there's no one to take care of him. Now, Dick had a responsibility, an obligation to know when all the innate protective urges running through his blood needed to be put to use. He wasn't a pup anymore—no matter how much Bruce insisted he would always be in his eyes.
He stepped in front of his mother, using the expanse of his own bright yellow cape to shield Bruce's dignity from view. He looked back over his shoulder to glare daggers at them, and he hoped he didn't look like a petulant, irascible pup in their eyes. The three of them had the decency to at least look away and seem somewhat atoning, almost sheepish at being caught. He's sure Arthur had an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Bruce noticed the sudden change in his pup's scent and rose from the ground.
Dick didn't explain, fearing that the second his mouth opened, expletives would leave his mouth. He didn't even move from his place in front of his mom—even though, standing at full height, Bruce dwarfed him in size. He sent one last dirty look towards the crowd and threw his cape down in ire. Bruce hesitated to ask what was wrong and ultimately decided against it, figuring he'd get a better answer once his pup calmed down.
"Let's finish up this meeting quickly, then."
Once they returned to the Batcave, Dick had planned to stomp his way to the showers and try to forget about the entire thing as he tossed and turned in bed tonight. It's a little hard to block out the memory of lustful gazes pointed towards his mother, though, and just thinking about it made his blood boil once more. Yet, even as his teeth grit in rage at the thought of his mother being degraded like that in his face, Dick felt his anger directed at himself more than anything. They've spent years leering over his mother without him noticing because he was too young to, but he's not anymore. He's older now—an alpha. He may be relatively new to being one, but he wasn't new to feeling protective of his mother. Ever since he was a pup, he knew he had to look after Bruce. Batman protects Gotham, Bruce Wayne protects his children, and Dick will take on the duty of protecting him.
Defending his mom from the Justice League is no different than defending his mom's name on the playground as a kid. It's just harder. That doesn't mean impossible.
Caught up in a moment of self-reflection over his maturity, Dick failed to notice his mom's scent slowly souring until he was hit in the face with an overwhelmingly potent smell of misery. He turned around to find Bruce's face, void of a cowl, wearing a troubling set of the saddest eyes imaginable.
"Why are you so upset, pup? Did I say—Did I do something wrong today?" He nervously wrung his hands together, as if he was afraid that wasn't the right course of action.
Dick is frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do, staring like a deer in headlights. He was mad at himself, and Bruce thought it was at him. Anger dissipates pretty quickly when faced with his mom worrying sick over him, thinking he caused it. Bad alpha! How could he do this to his own mother? First, he let those alphas check him out like that, and then he made Mama sad. Dick might earn an award for being the worst pack alpha. He needed to fix things.
"What? No!" He finally found enough words for a denial, "Mom, I'm not angry at you, I promise. I'm mad at everything except you right now."
Bruce softened, his taut shoulders relaxing, before he opened his arms. Dick accepts the hug—anything to calm mama down. Good alphas fix their mistakes. Good alphas keep pack omega happy. Good alphas wouldn't let this happen in the first place. Bruce let out a sigh of relief and placed a kiss on top of Dick's head, replacing his lips with a hand that occasionally ran its fingers through a mess of black hair. He hears the gentlest purr from where he nestled himself in Bruce's chest, and it does wonders in disposing of any remaining ill will he had towards the world. It's difficult to stay upset when in an omega's embrace, not when the hug is so warm, and the scent is so sweet. Dick felt himself nearly falling asleep standing up.
"Hal sent me a video. I assumed that's why you were so antsy earlier," Bruce says. Dick's body tensed up at the mention, and Bruce pulled back in question. "From the Watchtower," he explains, "I scolded him for not using the surveillance equipment correctly, but I still saved the file."
"What video?" he managed to ask. Bruce went to pull it up on the Bat-computer, leaving Dick in an internal battle with himself—an angel and a devil on his shoulder that suspiciously look like Jason and Tim. As much as Dick hated the thought of people checking out his mother, Bruce's awareness of it somehow seems worse. On the one hand, he feels Bruce has the right to know. On the other hand, he would rather his mom stay blissfully ignorant than be exposed to the cruel truth about his coworkers. Maybe he didn't want Bruce to find out about his own failure to protect him.
The video, however, was of him. Just him, sitting in his lonesome in an empty room, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of a Wonder Woman lunchbox with a juice box on the floor next to him, looking positively pathetic. Bruce cooed over the video, most likely thinking back to a time when he would send Dick to school with his own Superman lunch box. Dick accepted the mockery in exchange for keeping his mother oblivious, but it doesn't mean he liked it.
His first act of becoming a true alpha will be finding Hal Jordan, just as soon as he can figure out the codes to the League's contingency plans in the Bat-computer.