Archive of Our Own

Pamela Isley was having a hell of a night. For once, the presence of an entire colony of Bats in her greenhouse was not her fault; some Rogue wannabe she couldn't care less about had thought that she would take his side and had broken in screaming about bombs and schemes and world domination. Please, she’d thought. He’d be lucky to dominate half a cell block in Arkham.

And he'd landed feet first in a tray of germinating seedlings that had taken her months to coax into growing, so she thought it was quite understandable that her temper was short. The entire spectrum of Gotham vigilantes blundering in after him did not help matters.

Unfortunately, whilst this half-cocked Rogue had little in the way of brain cells, he was annoyingly slippery. Before long, chaos broke out in the greenhouse as the two sides collided. Smoke bombs flew from both parties, batarangs and wingdings tore through her babies’ stems and the Red Hood had the gall to pull out what looked like a flamethrower. He’d put that away lickety split when a large purple flower blossomed threateningly above his head; the telltale shimmer of cuddle pollen was an excellent motivator for the man.

By the time, the air cleared enough for Pam to see the Rogue take a cheap shot at Nightwing that somehow connected, she was holding onto her composure by a very thin thread. And then Robin unsheathed his katana in response to the strike, and the thread snapped.

All across the greenhouse, vines erupted. Within seconds, every struggling body in the room except her own was wrapped up in thick greenery. The deadbeat Rogue sneezed eight times in quick succession, and conked his head on a nearby tree trunk, a move that was only partially aided by the foliage that was enveloping him. Wisely, the older Bats gave up on escape when they saw their prey pass out; they all had enough practice to know that it was futile. Except, of course, for the littlest one.

“Unhand me!” screeched Robin, still fighting against his binds. He had enough motion remaining in his wrists to be able to swing the katana dangerously close to the base of the plant that was holding him captive.

“Drop the sword,” countered Pamela.

The little brat ignored the instruction. A wayward leaf was sheared in two by his blade and Pam clenched her jaw.

“Robin,” growled Batman warningly. “Stand down.”

Teeth flashed. One of the vines recoiled slightly, and Pam hissed at the bite marks on the stem. Enough was enough. She waved a hand to her baby and the caged bird drifted closer, still spitting and struggling. It was a simple matter to place herself behind the boy, out of reach of the katana.

“Ivy,” called Nightwing, voice strained. “We’re sorry for the damage. Just let us down and we’ll get out of your hair.”

Pamela took the distraction for what it was, and ignored it, keeping her attention on the pup. His collar was in the way, but it was nothing her pruning shears couldn’t fix.

“Let me go, Isley!” the boy shrieked.

Pam didn't hesitate. She pressed her hand to the back of Robin’s neck, fingers and thumb curling to press against his scent glands. To her surprise, he didn't drop instantly, fighting the scruff with a wild ferocity. She doubled down, imbuing her rose scent with authority and finally, the boy went limp. She confiscated the katana from his slackened grip with great satisfaction, planting it into the soil between her feet.

“Dr Isley!” Batman barked, his voice halfway to an alpha growl. Pam rolled her eyes, directing her babies to dump the vigilantes in a pile near the door. Black Bat recovered quickest, darting to the unconscious Rogue, hoisting him onto her shoulder and heading for the exit. She didn't spare a second glance at Pamela, clearly having decided she wasn't a threat.

The men of the pack obviously thought otherwise. A gun cocked behind her, and the electrical crackle of an escrima stick started up. Sighing, Pam scooped the scruffed pup out of the cocoon of vines. She could feel angry eyes on her from behind the domino, but it was like being death stared by a kitten. Actually, Selena’s pets were probably a bigger threat than Robin was currently. 

“Teach this one some manners, Batman,” she growled, depositing the limp pup into his alpha's arms. 

The Dark Knight didn’t reply, disappearing with a swish of his cape. Nightwing darted after him, and Red Robin shot Red Hood a pointed glare until the man stowed his pistol.

“Don’t hold it against him, Ivy. Robin was literally raised in a cave,” he said. 

“If he ever waves that oversized knife of his at one of my children again, I’ll turn him into fertiliser."

“Threat acknowledged!” Red Robin said cheerfully. He darted forward and snatched the katana back from the dirt. “We’ll send you a gift basket.”

Hood cuffed him over the head, and with that, the last of the Bats finally left her abode. Pam surveyed the carnage with disdain. Next time, she was charging a clean up fee.

~

“Dames, it's really not a big deal. I’m pretty sure every Robin has been scruffed in the cape before,” Dick said soothingly through the door of the bathroom. Damian, who had the art of speed showering down to a tee, still hadn’t emerged from his post patrol scrub down.

“Not me,” interjected Tim smugly.

“Selina Kyle!” Jason shouted from across the cave, and Tim turned pink.

“That was before I was Robin, that doesn't count!”

Dick sighed and turned back to the closed door.

“The point is, you're still a pup and you've got a biological weakness that everyone knows about. It would be more unusual if it didn't happen at some point.”

The door swung open and Damian stormed out. He went straight to dump his sweaty underlayers in the laundry basket, then sat down on a bench to check his equipment for damage. Normal behaviour, except for the grumpy scent coming off him in waves. Dick sat down beside him and grabbed a pouch of birdarangs to share in the task.

“I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen,” Damian muttered after a few moments.

“You were restrained,” Dick pointed out.

“Exactly!” Damian snapped. “I should have evaded capture, and then Isley would have never had the chance to humiliate me like that.”

“From what I heard, you weren’t the only one who got caught,” Steph said with a grin, propelling herself over on a wheeled office chair. The chunky medical boot on her left foot had kept her off the streets for the past week, and she’d taken to haunting the Cave like it would make the sprain heal faster. She’d clearly been listening to the comms during the incident.

“Dr Isley has not breached the terms of her parole in eight months,” Bruce asserted. “We were not in any danger.”

“I was a liability,” Damian insisted. “I have failed you.”

“If you're a failure, then so are the rest of us,” Dick countered. 

“You would have done better!”

“Kiddo, I was eight when I debuted as Robin. I got scruffed more times in my first year than I did for the rest of my life combined.”

Damian eyed him with disbelief. Dick put his arm around his little brother’s shoulder and tugged him into a side hug.

“The first time it happened, neither me nor Bruce was expecting it and it could have gone seriously wrong…”

~

Harvey Dent knew who Batman was. Bruce Wayne had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep his alter ego under wraps, but there was only so much you could do to prevent an eight year old from giving away the secret. Robin’s devastated little face when Two-Face had flipped his coin and ordered his men to attack was enough to startle him back to being Harvey.

Because that was Dick Grayson. That was the pup his friend had taken in, the pup that liked to climb all over him and called him Uncle Harv. Which meant Batman, his rival, his nemesis, was Bruce himself. 

Unfortunately, the revelation came to him a little too late, what with his men laying into the vigilantes, and sizable amounts of dynamite strapped to the rafters of the building. He watched as Batman stumbled, a fist cracking into his skull as he shielded Robin from the blow. Even disoriented as he was, Batman was a talented fighter and his opponent hit the ground a second later, less a tooth or two. 

But then Bruce turned to check on the pup, teetering dangerously, and subsequently missed a second goon charging at him, broken chair leg in hand. One solid whack later, and Batman was down. Robin cried out in dismay, and threw himself at the attacker. The man howled as Robin took a chomp out of his arm, shaking it around to try and dislodge the feral boy, but Dick was a limpet with a mission. 

The watch on Harvey's wrist beeped. Three minutes on the clock.

“Everyone out!” he shouted, and his remaining men scattered, dragging unconscious comrades with them.

Harvey approached the man with Robin attached to him. It took him a handful of seconds to pry them apart, precious time they didn't have to lose. When he finally managed it, Robin immediately latched on to the new target. Harvey swore as an unnaturally sharp elbow lodged itself in his gut.

The goon took one look at the situation, and bolted.

“I hate you!” screamed Dick, tiny fists still flying.

“Robin!” Harvey barked, trying to restrain the boy. “Robin, stand down!”

“No, I hate you, I hate you! You killed Batman!”

“He’s not dead!” Harvey prayed he was telling the truth.

Dick wasn't listening, still fighting with everything he had. He snapped his teeth, missing the cuff of Harvey’s jacket by millimetres. It was taking more effort than he expected to keep the little boy from doing some serious damage. As it was, Harvey was going to wake up black and blue in the morning. The watch on his wrist ticked ominously; two minutes to go. He amended the thought. If he wasn't quick, he wouldn't be waking up at all. 

When Robin charged again, Harvey sidestepped at the last moment and pivoted, seizing the pup by the collar. He dodged a punch that would have given him a black eye if it had landed, ignored the frankly heinous curses being thrown at him and clamped his hand down on the back of Dick’s neck. His fingers pressed into the pup’s scent glands, and Dick crumpled in his grasp. 

Harvey scooped him up and sprinted from the building. He didn't have enough time to feel bad about how rough the scruff had been, not if he wanted all three of them to live. He threw a worried glance at the ceiling as he ran, garlanded by bundles of red wire and explosives. He’d planned to bring the roof down, but had left it to the coin on whether Batman would be inside or not. Now, for the first time, he was trying to disregard fate.

It was cold outside, so he made sure Robin’s cape was wrapped around his bare legs when he tucked him between a dumpster and a parked car in the alley behind the building. He could feel betrayed blue eyes tracking him behind the domino mask as he stood.

“I’ll be back, I'm going to get your dad,” he reassured Dick, ignoring the twinge in his gut at the thought of leaving the pup here alone, scruffed and helpless. Robin’s eyes drilled into his back as he headed back inside for his friend.

Batman was half conscious by the time Harvey reached him. The cowl sported a fracture down the back where he’d been clocked, but it had clearly been enough protection to stop Bruce’s head splitting open like an eggshell. Harvey bent down to drag his friend to his feet.

“Robin,” Batman said, weakly trying to bat away Harvey’s hands.

“He's outside,” he said. 

Batman lurched drunkenly, stepping out of reach. Harvey cursed. They didn't have time for this.

“I’m trying to help you!” he hissed. “Bruce!”

That caught his attention. Even concussed, the frigid glare he aimed Harvey’s way was enough to send a lesser man bolting. But Bruce finally acquiesced to his support, and Harvey dragged the pair of them towards the exit. They barely made it in time, a wave of heat bowling them over before they'd even made it twenty feet from the door.

Harvey groaned, and forced himself to roll to put out any embers that might have caught on his suit. No-Face was trademarked, afterall. 

Bruce recovered quickly, staggering to his feet and nearly tripping over himself to reach the corner of yellow cape that was spilling out from behind the car that Harvey now realised was the Batmobile. He pulled Dick from his hiding place, tucking the pup into his arms and wrapping his own cape around them.

“What did you do to him?” he demanded. There was a ripping sound, and Harvey winced when he realised his friend had just removed his scent-blockers, and likely a layer of skin too. Furious coffee rolled down the alleyway like a wave of noxious gas. Harvey nearly gagged at the strength of the protective pheromones, but he was sure it was a comfort to Dick. The only part of his nephew he could see was the mop of dark curls peeking out of the top of the cape.

“Bruce-man– Bat– Bruce. He's just scruffed,” Harvey said, now nursing his own concussion. 

Bruce only snarled in response. Harvey sighed, and dug his phone out of his pocket. There was no way he was dealing with this alone.

“Alfred? I need you to come pick up Bruce and Dick.”

~

“We both got grounded for a week,” Dick finished with a conspiratorial wink.

“That doesn't count,” Damian muttered sullenly. “You barely had any training. I should have been able to avoid it.”

“It wasn't just when I was untrained,” Dick tried to argue, but Damian was past listening. He’d finished with his gear by that point, stowing everything neatly in his locker and making his way to Batcomputer where Tim was beginning the night’s reports. He threw himself into a chair with uncharacteristic force.

Dick seized Jason’s arm, pulling him away from his civilian bike and pushing him towards the others 

“Jay, tell him about Harley,” he hissed.

“What is this, storytime?” Jason grumbled, but one glance at his littlest brother’s unhappy face was enough to make him relent.

He sat down heavily, spinning Damian’s chair to face him.

“The last time I got scruffed, I was nearly fifteen. Had been Robin for three years at that point, and I was definitely trained enough to avoid it but…”

~

Harley Quinn hadn’t been thinking when she’d tackled Robin and grabbed at his neck; she’d just been trying to keep the idiot from busting in on Mistah J before he was ready for visitors. Even after presentation, scruffing could disorient and disarm pups, right up until their scent finished maturing in their mid-to-late-teens. She’d been hoping it would be enough to slow him down, but surprisingly, the teenager had just folded like a bad hand.

“Hoooly shit, I can't believe that worked!” Harley cackled. “How old are ya, kid?”

Robin glared at her with as much force as a scruffed pup could muster, which was about as much as Harley’s self restraint when faced with a breakfast sandwich. His curly hair was falling over his mask, and overall he gave off the impression of a pissed off, but ultimately harmless, baby cherub. 

Harley bit back the urge to coo at him. 

Instead, she stuck her head out the door to listen to what was going on further down the hallway. She could hear her Puddin’ shouting orders, but it was his “showtime’s coming” tone, not his “lights, camera, action” tone, so she had a few minutes before her entrance. Robin’s premature arrival would definitely put him in a mood that she didn't want to have to deal with, so the bird was just gonna have to sit tight and keep her company.

Harley slipped back into the kitchen where she had caught the kid. He was still lying on the tiled floor by the sink, a sad looking puddle of pup and cape, but she’d learnt the hard way not to underestimate the kids the Bat picked up. She slipped a zip tie around his wrists, and propped him up a little more comfortably against the cabinets while she tightened it.

“Y’know,” she said conversationally as she worked. “Being unpresented at your age could mean ya got some underlying shit.”

The stink-eye Robin gave her was almost audible. She held her hands up in surrender.

“Oh, don't look at me like that, I’m a doctor remember? Pack neglect, physical abuse, malnutrition, Delayed Presentation Syndrome,” Harley ticked off the options on her fingers as she spoke. 

Her money was on some kind of abuse. You didn’t end up fighting crime in your underwear when you had a good home life. A thought struck her, one she’d had before and never really had the chance to examine carefully.

“Say, Batsy isn't forcing you to do this, is he? ‘Coz then we’d have a real problem.”

“Fuck you,” slurred the kid, with such genuine indignation that Harley immediately scrubbed the thought of Batman being a bad dad from her brain entirely.

“Feisty!” she giggled.

Harley rocked back on her heels, examining the pup. He was shaking off the scruff already, quicker than she thought was possible. He shifted a bit, wriggling around, testing his restraints. His bound hands drifted towards his utility belt, right in front of her eyes, so she confiscated it and set it on the counter behind her. Robin just growled and continued to pull at his bindings.

“You’re not gonna get far,” she said bemusedly.

“Batman's g’nna… fuckin’ kill you,” Robin replied.

Harley giggled again at the thought, because the Bat never killed anyone, which was half the reason they were all there in the first place. Life would be a lot simpler if he put his Rogues in the ground, instead of Arkham, but hey, who was she to complain? It wasn't like an inmate had irreversibly altered the course of her life or anything.

In her brief moment of distraction, Robin had managed to do something complicated with his arms. The zip tie snapped and Harley jumped in surprise. The pup lurched to his feet, swaying like he'd had too much to drink, and took a swing at her. It missed by a country mile, but Robin was already compensating for his lack of balance and settling into a defensive stance.

That was not good. That was very, very not good. If they fought, they’d make noise, and if they made noise, the Joker would send someone to find out what the fuss was, and if Mistah J caught Robin now… well, what happened to him would be nothing compared to what would happen to her when the Joker figured out it was her fault his plan got ruined.

She needed to subdue the pup, quick and quiet, and she'd already done that once tonight. Robin was fast, but at that moment, Harley Quinn was faster. She vaulted off the counter and landed nimbly in the sink behind him. Before Robin had a chance to so much as flinch, she wiggled her hand under his collar again and pressed down hard.

She caught him as his legs gave out once again, and eased him gently to the ground. The whiteout lenses of his mask fluttered and Harley had a feeling his eyes had rolled back. Not an entirely unexpected reaction, but still a dangerous one.

Robin was clearly old enough that scruffing only barely worked on him, but repeated instances without being soothed by his pack would still stress his system to the breaking point. If she had to do it a third time, she might as well let the Joker at him. Harley rearranged his limbs carefully, some long dead instinct welling up inside her.

He really was just a kid. 

It had been easy to forget, as the last one got older and more aggressive, and as her omegan instincts slowly rotted away. It was hard to feel sympathy for a kid who was more likely to give you a concussion than a hug. But this Robin wasn’t even presented yet. He didn't deserve to be thrown to the wolves and torn apart. Not like what had happened to her.

Somewhere in the building, a glass window shattered. Her time was up. This time, Harley zip tied each of Robin’s wrists to the plumbing separately. It wasn't much, but if she could save the pup from one more fight, she would. Silently, she promised herself that if the Joker ever went too far and really hurt a kid like this one, it would be over between them. There had to be a line.

~

“By the time I got free, the fight was already over,” Jason shrugged.

He was a bit pale after recounting his tale, and Cass appeared from the aether to perch on the arm of his chair. She scritched her fingers through his hair, uncaring that it was still a bit sweat damp. Dick saw the writing on the wall, and started collecting pillows and blankets. If this didn't end in a puppy pile, he’d eat his domino.

“At least you tried to fight back!” Damian spat. “I just… crumpled.”

“That’s just what happens when you’re scruffed, Dames,” Tim said. “The older you get, the less effective it will be, until you can shrug it off completely.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

Tim made a face. 

“I was an edge case. I presented pretty early, but my parents being away meant my instincts got a bit messed up.

“That’s an understatement,” muttered Jason. 

“What's this about Selina Kyle, by the way?” Dick asked curiously.

Tim turned fully in his chair and smacked Jason on the shoulder.

“I told you that in confidence, now look what you’ve done!”

“Would you rather tell them about Titan’s Tower?” Jason said snidely. The pink returned to Tim’s face.

“Low blow,” he hissed. “Fine. When I was eleven…”

~

Selina Kyle was standing frozen on the rooftop of the Gotham City Museum, watching a pup, who couldn’t have been any older than ten years old, steal her favourite stakeout spot. 

The kid was dark haired, bundled up in a coat several sizes too large for him, and carrying the kind of camera that Selina more often saw in the hands of the paparazzi than a hobby photographer. And he was settling in between the walled edge of the roof, and the large exhaust duct that carried heated air out of the building. Her favourite spot! Always free from snow, sheltered from the wind, fantastic sightlines across the whole complex, and now it was home to a snot nosed brat!

On another night, perhaps she would have let him be, but her window of opportunity tonight was very narrow. If she wasn’t out of the area in the next hour, she’d end up on the wrong side of Batman’s cape. So it made logical sense to her that they could, at the very least, share.

“That’s my spot,” Selina said, slinking out of the shadows to crouch next to the boy. 

Predictably, he jumped, nearly sending the camera flying over the edge of the building. Less predictably, he took a swing at her. Selina caught his little fist in her hand, begrudgingly impressed by the strength he had put into the punch. His eyes widened comically as he realised who had caught him.

“Miss Catwoman!” he squeaked.

Selina bit back a smile and let go of his hand. He shuffled back instantly, pressing himself further against the exhaust duct.

“Now what’s a little kitten like you doing here so late at night, hmm?”

“Just, uh, birdwatching,” he said, lifting his camera slightly. “I didn’t know this was your spot Miss Catwoman, I’m very sorry, I can go–”

And tip someone off as soon as he was out of sight? Not on her watch. 

“I don't bite,” she purred, sitting down cross legged next to the kid. “And sharing is caring, you know?”

The pup was practically vibrating with tension, so Selina deliberately shifted her attention away from him. She made a show setting herself up, placing her binoculars beside her and spreading a dark blanket across her lap for some added warmth. After a second, she changed her mind and offered some of the blanket to the poor pup. The shivering might actually be from the cold.

After a very visible moment of hesitation, the kid accepted the offer. His fingers were turning white where they gripped his camera, and he made no move to lift it to his face, but the shivering ceased after a few minutes. Selina took that as a win, and started her actual tasks for the night, keeping half an eye out for the Bat.

She peered through her binoculars, aiming them at the northwest corner of the building where the new Egyptian display was being hosted. Like she had suspected, she could just see the corner of the case she was after through the window. She glanced down at her notes.

By comparing the height of the decorative statues that she had measured on a previous venture, she could estimate the depth of the security glass. Of course, she could have waited until after the opening weekend of the exhibit and done this part from closer up, but it rubbed her the wrong way to think of all the money the museum would make from ticket sales. It would be far more satisfying to liberate the stolen artifact before they could earn back a single dime of the millions they’d spent on acquiring it. She was sure the Cairo museum she planned to deliver it to would appreciate the irony.

Selina settled into the routine, making notes and scratching sums on her notepad. The boy beside her remained as still as the gargoyles that decorated the museum’s facade, but she could tell he was watching her carefully. After nearly twenty minutes, she felt him brace himself for something, and to her surprise, that something was speaking.

“That equation is wrong,” he mumbled. “Your ratio is off.”

Selina looked down at her handwriting, squinting slightly to see it through the gloom. The pup was right. She corrected the error, and smiled when the chain reaction made all the rest of the numbers line up neatly.

“Good catch, kiddo,” she said, and made to ruffle his hair. 

He flinched slightly, and she settled for a pat on the shoulder. Jeez, it was like he thought she would bite his head off. She might have to do some PR work if this was how Gotham’s kids thought of her. Although, his clothes were a bit too high end to be from the central city; Bristol brats tended to get their opinions straight from their parents, and her reputation amongst that lot was past saving.

Far below, a shadow shifted and detached itself from the surrounding darkness. Selina zeroed in on it immediately. Her tip off was right. She hunched down, putting herself below the line of the wall, with only her suit’s ears and her eyes peeking over the edge. Her companion copied her, peering out into the night with curiosity.

Selina could tell the exact moment he spotted Batman, and the exact moment a split second later, when he decided to do something about it. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, and Selina slapped her hand over it.

“Don’t!” she hissed, but the boy was wriggling like his life depended on it. He twisted away from her hand and got his mouth free.

“Bat–!” 

Selina jabbed him in the side of the neck. It wasn't her neatest bit of work, but the pup still toppled over, landing safely in her lap, boneless, and thankfully silent.

Below them, Batman glanced up. The cowl swivelled, taking stock of the surroundings. Selina stayed low and held her breath. It felt like an eternity passed before there was the shkkk thwip of a grapple and a colourful blur launched itself at Batman. He caught Robin with ease, letting the pup climb up him to sit on his shoulders, attention diverted. Selina breathed a sigh of relief, and turned back to her own pup.

The shivering had returned tenfold. The poor little thing was shaking hard enough to make his teeth chatter, his soft milky scent turning sour with distress. 

“Sorry, kitten,” Selina whispered. “Couldn't have you giving away the game.”

She bundled him further into her lap, drawing the blanket around them, but the shivering didn't subside this time. The pup whimpered quietly deep in his throat, a tiny noise of anxiety and fear. She frowned, rocking them back and forth. Even though the circumstances of the scruff were a bit distressing, the kid was having a very strong reaction to it.

It took fifteen minutes of careful soothing for the scruff to abate enough for the pup to get control of his limbs back. He nuzzled further into Selina’s arms for a split second, then scrambled back, cheeks tinting red with embarrassment.

“S-sorry, Miss Catwoman,” he said.

“I’m sorry, little one. I didn't think you'd react that strongly to the scruff,” she replied honestly.

The pup’s cheeks darkened further, and he busied himself with packing away his camera.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again.

Selina watched with rising worry. 

“Is someone picking you up?” she prodded. 

“None of your business,” he said shortly, before adding a quiet “miss” at the end, like the bad manners didn't agree with him. It was quite cute in all honesty. “I can get home by myself.”

In the end, she lost track of him somewhere between the rooftop and the third bus stop full of shift workers, party goers and less savoury types. Two nights later, Batman caught her as she was cutting a hole into the safety glass of the new display. She thought of the little pup and his camera, and realised what had happened pretty quickly, but couldn't seem to find anything beyond wry amusement for the situation. She’d let him have this one.

~

“She was pretty nice about it, in the end,” Tim confessed. “Kept insisting on walking me home, and it took me changing buses six times to be sure I lost her.”

Bruce frowned, arms folded on the back of Tim’s chair. It was no secret that he wasn't a fan of his third Robin’s antics from before they met.

“See?” was all Dick said. “It happens to all Robins at some point.”

He picked up Damian and half placed, half threw him into the makeshift nest he had built on one of the training mats. It was a sign as to how much he’d calmed down that he let it happen. Damian stole a glance at Cass as she joined the developing pile.

“Not Robin,” she said primly. “But trained… trained avoiding. Got caught many times. Not fun.” 

No one questioned her further. Cass’s training was as much of a minefield as any of their pasts, but also much less likely to include fun anecdotes. Dick knew it was better to let her share what she wanted on her own terms, for the collective wellbeing of everyone involved.

The rest of the pack trickled in in dribs and drabs, making their way to the nest to comfort their youngest. Even Tim let himself be pulled in, swiping a tablet as he went so he could continue his work. As soon as Bruce sat down, Steph swung her injured leg up into his lap and sighed dramatically, effectively trapping the man.

“Forgotten again,” she bemoaned. “It’s like none of you care that I was Robin too.”

“You were only Robin for like two months,” Tim pointed out. “And you had already presented by then. Statistically, the chances of you getting scruffed by a Rogue during that time are like, basically nothing.”

“Basically is the key word there, Double R. I’ve always been good at beating statistics.”

“You didn't,” said Tim gleefully.

“Oh but I did,” Steph said, matching his tone with an extra helping of mischief. “I got got by the worst one of them all…”

~

Bruce Wayne had a headache. Patrol had not gone well. Stephanie was an excellent vigilante, but if Bruce was being honest, a terrible Robin. She was headstrong, the same as his boys had been, but she didn't respect him like they did. She’d been on her own for too long to place her trust in anyone but herself. 

Tonight, that had nearly gotten them both killed. The League was in town, and despite repeated orders for her to not engage without his say so, Robin had spotted a pair of assassins on a rooftop and given chase. He understood her reasoning; Ra’s al Ghul had become increasingly interested in Tim despite his semi-retirement, and with his identity being known to the League, their presence in Gotham was bad news. Her protective streak was as bad as his own, and she’d been trying to cut off a threat before it could fully rear its head.

But Robin’s actions had been rash. Instead of staking out the target or attempting diplomacy or even waiting for backup, she’d gone in with metaphorical guns blazing and the encounter had gone south near instantly. Between the two of them, they had enough injuries to make a crash test dummy blush, and they hadn't even found out the League’s true plan. 

The ride home in the Batmobile was deathly silent. Bruce was trying to find the correct words to string together that would explain to Robin just how dangerous her actions had been, without losing his cool entirely. Robin herself was stewing in the passenger seat, nursing a fractured wrist and the remnants of a bloody nose.

They pulled into the cave and Robin was out of the car before it fully stopped moving. Bruce dragged off the cowl and pinched his nose. Compassion, patience, authority, he reminded himself, then followed his wayward partner to the medbay.

Stephanie was already patching herself up when he got there, domino off, haphazardly scrubbing blood from her face with an alcohol wipe using enough force that Bruce was worried the bleeding would start again. He flicked on the light to the shielded room that held their x-ray machine, and stole the wipe out of her hand, replacing it with a lead apron.

“I was getting there,” she hissed snidely, and stomped off.

The wrist was most definitely fractured, but it was a clean break that they could treat in the cave. And better yet, Stephanie couldn't run away from him if he was setting a cast on her arm. He waited until the first layer of dampened plaster bandage was drying to begin his speech.

“Your actions tonight were unacceptable, Robin.”

“Oh boo hoo,” she muttered. “I didn't wait for written permission to take out a threat.”

“You disobeyed direct orders,” Bruce corrected. “I told you not to engage, and you did. I can't work with someone who won't listen to me.”

Stephanie scoffed and rolled her eyes. There was still blood crusted in her blonde hair.

“You can't work with someone who won't let you be a control freak, you mean. Your way or the highway, right Bruce? God forbid someone have their own thoughts.”

“You could have died,” Bruce snapped. “Like it or not, I have decades of experience on you, and I know the League. A firefight was never going to get us the information we want!”

“That’s what you want, Bruce! What I want is Ra’s al Ghul’s head on a spike!”

“Stephanie!” he barked, and she snarled when he jostled her broken wrist. Silence fell as he hurriedly loosened his grip, refocusing on wrapping another layer of wet plaster. This was not going the way he wanted. Compassion, patience, authority. He tried again.

“I understand that you are angry, and want to protect Tim, but interfering with the League without a plan is dangerous and fruitless. You can't let your emotions rule you.”

He thought it was a better attempt. He thought empathizing with her emotions would help her calm down, to see things logically and from his point of view. Instead, Stephanie laughed sarcastically, and ripped her arm out of his grasp. She seized the final roll of fibreglass bandage from the counter, and started sloppily wrapping it herself. It was bright purple.

“Great, now the world's most repressed man is telling me about how to handle my feelings.”

She finished off the cast, and snatched a handful of butterfly bandages out of a nearby drawer. Her scent was starting to leak through her blockers with the force of the furious pheromones she was emitting.

“Stephanie,” he started.

“Oh my god, Stephanie this, Stephanie that, just leave it alone Bruce!”

His heart clenched as she continued spitting insults, shedding bits of uniform and tending to her wounds with a lack of care that told him she'd done it too many times before. He stepped in when she picked up a suture kit for a particularly nasty knife wound on her calf.

“You’re going to injure yourself further,” he said. “Give me that.”

Stephanie whirled around and threw the kit at his head. He dodged and it bounced harmlessly off the wall behind him and fell to the floor.

“You're so fucking overbearing!” she yelled. “Just leave me the fuck alone!” She spun on her heels and stalked towards the stairs, abandoning her attempts at first aid.

Bruce snapped. 

Everything went vaguely hazy in the way he knew on an intellectual level meant he was panicking, but all he could see was a little alpha pup in Robin colours, screaming at him and leaving. The past was repeating itself and he knew how this ended. He couldn't let the pup leave, he couldn't lose another, he couldn't–

Stephanie staggered, crashing sideways into a cabinet. Kidney dishes and sterile packages went flying as her fingers grasped for stability. For a moment, it seemed like she would lose her footing entirely, but she clawed it back at the last second. Her scent spiked, pheromones amping up as alpha rage overtook what little pup instincts she had left. She turned, slowly, her face promising an unmerciful end.

“Did you,” she snarled. “Just try to fucking scruff me?”

“Stephanie–”

“No, that’s it, Bruce. I'm sick of your over-protective alpha bullshit! You have no right, I am not your pup!”

“As long as you're Robin, you're my responsibility.”

“Then how's this? I quit, Bruce. You can take your responsibility and shove it up your ass!”

Bruce flinched as Stephanie stomped away. That had gone well.

~

“You didn't.”

Bruce hung his head, staring at Steph’s moon boot like it held the answers to the universe.

“I’m not proud of it,” he said.

Dick dropped his head into his hands with a solid thwack.

“I can't believe you,” he said, a little muffled. “I actually can't believe anyone could be that pig-headed.”

“And that's why I have eternal shotgun rights for the Batmobile,” Steph said angelically.

“I am unsure if that tale was supposed to make me feel better, or to make Father feel worse,” Damian deadpanned.

“Yes,” said Steph. She crawled across the nest, narrowly avoiding kicking three different people in the face with her boot, and situated herself in Tim’s lap. “I want cookies, take me upstairs.”

“You have crutches,” Tim pointed out, but pulled her into a piggyback anyway. They tottered off, clambering up the stairs with enough ruckus to wake the dead.

“She's my hero,” mumbled Jason dazedly, stumbling after them holding Steph’s crutches.

Cass followed as well, but only after raising an unamused brow at their father. Of all the reactions, that seemed to cow Bruce the most, and he rubbed the back of his neck, chagrined.

Damian made no move to join them, which was all Dick needed to see to know that he was still upset with himself. He stretched out, rolling until Damian was within grabbing range and then wrapped himself around his little brother. One of Bruce’s hands found his hair automatically, the other resting on Damian's shoulder, and Dick let out a pleased hum. Damian just huffed.

They waited, Bruce and Dick, letting the pup between them sort through his emotions quietly. His soft sweet scent was still perturbed and unsteady, but he no longer smelt like he was one spark away from exploding.

“I am aware that Isley captured the whole team tonight,” he said eventually. “But I am the only one who was put completely out of play. It is… embarrassing.”

Dick opened his mouth, but Bruce tapped him gently on the shoulder, a silent signal. Let me handle this.

“Damian. Pup, look at me.”

Damian raised his eyes begrudgingly.

“It is not embarrassing or shameful to be scruffed, any more than it would be to be drugged or knocked out. The mechanism that made it happen might be more unique, but it is not a moral failing on your part. Our work is dangerous, and sometimes we get incapacitated. Do you understand?”

“...Yes, Father.”

Bruce’s coffee scent washed over them, gentle for once and full of care. Finally, finally, Damian untensed fully, allowed his father and alpha to scent him and run his fingers gently through his hair. Dick was impressed. That was actually pretty competent. Good job, Bruce. 

Then his pack alpha spoiled the moment, by turning the head pats into a noogie.

“But you should have listened to me when I told you to stand down.”

Damian scowled, wriggling out of range.

“You were far too calm for being restrained by the enemy!”

“Like I said, we were not in any danger. You have to trust me to make those calls, okay chum? I won’t let you get hurt.”