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Damian stared at the nest, refusing, stubbornly, hopefully, desperately, absolutely refusing to understand and accept what he was seeing.
Jason had constructed it with a kind of reverence Damian recognized from the League: the same precision given to weapons, to rituals, to things that mattered. Every blanket had been layered with intent. Every article of clothing was placed, adjusted, and replaced until the scent profile was exact, balanced, dense, comforting. Worthy of the pack and of Jason’s heat. It had been… perfect. Soft in a way Damian would never admit aloud, warm in a way that felt absolutely perfect.
And now it was wrong.
Damian had made it wrong.
He did not know how to fix it. That was the worst part. If this were a blade, he would sharpen it. If it were a plan, he would refine it. But this…this required instinct, familiarity, a kind of emotional intelligence Jason possessed effortlessly and instinctively, and Damian did not. He could not recall the precise order of fabrics, the layering logic, the subtle placements that made it Jason’s nest.
Still, he tried.
He forced himself forward, hands stiff but determined, pushing clothing back into place, stuffing fabric into gaps he knew—knew—had not been there before. He rebuilt the wall as best he could, pressing and tucking until his fingers ached.
When he finished, he froze.
It looked… terrible. Even worse.
Not objectively, perhaps. Someone less trained might not notice. But Damian saw every flaw. The uneven tension. The disrupted flow. The way the scents clashed instead of blended. There was no way Jason would miss it.
His eyes burned.
Jason was going to be furious.
This was his first heat with the pack. Father had made it clear that everything must be flawless, controlled, worthy of Jason, so Jason would continue to choose to heat with the pack around to take care of him. And Damian had failed before it had even properly begun.
He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, grounding himself in the sharp sting. Weakness would not help him now.
Jason had spent hours on this. Hours Damian had watched in silence, pretending disinterest while memorizing every movement, enjoying the excitement building in the Manor. And still, he had destroyed it.
His omega will be displeased.
The thought settled heavy and cold in his stomach.
Damian straightened, though his legs felt strangely distant, and turned toward the kitchen. Reporting his failure was not optional. In the League, concealment of error was worse than the error itself.
Punishment must be accepted. He must inform Jason of Damian’s ruination of his nest so the pack omega could decide a fitting punishment.
The pack was gathered when he entered, clustered around Jason, who was sorting through snacks with focus, trying to decide what he would crave during his heat. There was laughter, easy noise, the kind of warmth Damian still found disorienting because of just how different it was from the place he had grown up.
It stopped the moment he crossed the threshold.
His scent betrayed him. He knew it did, misery-apology-sadness that he could not fully suppress. Heads turned. Silence spread, worry scenting.
Damian crossed the room and dropped to his knees before Jason in one smooth motion, bowing his head, hands twisting behind his back in practiced submission.
“I am here to apologize,” he said, voice controlled, precise.
Jason’s scent shifted immediately, concern, sharp and alert, but he did not tell Damian to stand the way that anyone else in the pack would have. Of course he didn’t. Jason knew him. Knew what this meant; this was the only way to truly apologize, to lower himself. Jason also knew it must be serious for Damian to apologize.
“What for?” Jason asked, serious now.
The words lodged in Damian’s throat, tangled and uncooperative. He forced them out anyway.
“I ruined your nest,” he whispered.
Stillness.
Absolute.
Damian kept his gaze fixed on the floor as he heard Jason stand, footsteps moving away, toward the nesting room.
Inspection.
Assessment.
Judgment.
Damian closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Panic was useless. He would endure whatever came. Pain was irrelevant.
Exile, however—
His chest tightened.
A ban from the nest would be… appropriate. Logical. He had compromised Jason’s comfort during heat. In the League, such failure would demand consequence.
But—
He had been anticipating this. Days in the nest, surrounded by pack, tending to Jason, ensuring that the Wayne pack omega wanted for nothing. It had mattered more than Damian had allowed himself to examine.
He could withstand injury. He could withstand punishment.
Missing Jason’s heat?
That was… less acceptable. But, all the same, he would deserve it.
The room remained silent. No one interfered. Not even Father, though he scented worried, angry, unhappy. Correct. Father understood that this was between Damian and the pack omega, and they all knew it.
Footsteps returned.
Damian did not move.
Jason stopped in front of him, then lowered himself to his knees beside Damian.
The proximity hit Damian like an impact. He swayed forward instinctively, helpless as a plant toward sunlight.
Jason smelled like gunpowder and chocolate and spice, like danger that would never harm Damian and warmth that would always be there for Damian, like something that had chosen to be gentle instead of forced into it.
Home.
Damian inhaled despite himself, taking comfort in the omega’s scent, even as he knew he didn’t deserve it.
“Damian,” Jason said.
Not pup, which was what Jason normally called him.
Damian’s head dipped lower.
Yes. Anger, then.
“Stand up and come with me.”
Damian obeyed immediately, rising and keeping his gaze down. Jason took his hand, squeezed once, which made the burning return to his eyes, and led him back toward the nest.
Damian could not bring himself to look at it, so ashamed is he.
“I apologize,” he repeated, because it was required.
“What were you doing to my nest?” Jason asked.
Soft. Calm.
It made no sense.
“I was trying to add more clothing,” Damian said miserably. “You said you wanted more scents. I gathered items from the pack. I intended it as… a surprise.”
Failure tasted bitter on his tongue.
“Instead, I ruined it.”
His nail dug into his cuticle, sharp pain keeping him present, silencing the familiar whisper of stupid child. Jason had killed the tutor who said that to Damian, had ripped his neck open with his teeth.
“Oh, Damian.”
Jason’s voice shifted, something warm, something impossibly gentle that Damian did not deserve.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin my nest. Not even a tiny bit.”
That was incorrect, a clear falsehood.
Damian snapped his head up, eyes locking onto the obvious flaw. “I did,” he cried, no, firmly insisted, voice breaking despite his effort, pointing at the disruption.
Jason huffed a quiet laugh.
His scent was deepening now, growing sweeter, heavier, heat settling in fully. He should have been resting, surrounded by the pack. Instead, he was here, managing Damian’s failure.
“That’s different, yeah,” Jason said easily. “But ‘ruined’? Not even close. Needs a little fixing, sure. That’s a few minutes’ work.”
He shifted, already climbing into the nest, tugging Damian with him.
“You did something nice for me,” Jason added. “That matters more. You knew there was something more I wanted, and you got it for me, pup. Now let's see the goodies, yeah?”
Damian hesitated only a fraction before following, submitting to the tug on his hand.
Jason began sorting through the materials, pulling items free, sniffing each with soft approval that sent heat flooding Damian’s face.
“Alfred’s apron, good call. Dick’s pillowcase, nice. Cass’s leotard, damn, that is soft. Tim’s coffee holder, how did you even get this? And, oh. Bruce’s gloves? Yeah, that’s perfect.”
Jason leaned back, studying him.
“Only thing missing,” he said, “is something from you.”
“There is already an abundance of my belongings present,” Damian replied stiffly, gesturing towards the towels, shirts, and blankets that were all former occupants of Damian’s bedroom that had gradually disappeared. It was true. His scent was everywhere.
Jason hummed, unconvinced.
“Fine,” he said. “Then you’re helping me fix it. That way it smells like you anyway.”
He guided Damian through it, not correcting harshly, not criticizing, just… showing, perhaps, was the proper word. Adjusting the memory foam structure, smoothing blankets, layering clothing with deliberate care. A system, Damian realized. Not random. Never random, of course.
Something he could learn.
Something Jason was teaching him.
By the time they finished, the nest looked… right. Not identical to before, but cohesive. Whole.
Jason sagged slightly into it, flushed and warm, fully in heat now.
“Perfect, pup,” he murmured, satisfied. “Go get the others before I lock them out.”
Relief hit Damian so abruptly that it nearly staggered him.
Not ruined.
Not rejected.
Still allowed.
He moved quickly, ignoring the lingering lightness in his chest, scrambling out of the nesting room and into the kitchen where the pack stood, silent, clearly trying to listen in on their conversation regardless of the distance.
“Jason says to get yourselves in the nest,” he reported.
He returned first.
Jason let him in first.
Positioned him close, at his side, within reach.
The others followed, one by one, each inspected, scented, and placed with careful authority.
Damian settled beneath Jason’s arm, a small, sharp smile pulling at his mouth.
The nest was not ruined. Jason was not angry with him.
Damian’s scent turned sweet with relief.
He relaxed back and watched his fierce, loving, forgiving pack omega order Father around.