Chapter Text
Tim was letting out subvocal growls as he tried to sort through confused feelings. Something was happening to his body and he didn’t understand what. Slight fever and descending mental fog might have indicated upcoming heat, but the rest of symptoms didn’t match.
He was damn lucky to be in Titan Tower, alone and away from Gotham. Even his normal heats always were… troublesome. He presented early and his parents were not happy with having an Omega heir. They stayed the bare minimum amount of time to teach him to control it and let him establish the surface bonds to them before they left again.
His scent was always strong. To the point of being nauseous when he was agitated or upset. His bonds with parents never waived even when they should have faded a long time ago (according to the Internet). His heats were rarer, albeit longer than what was considered normal. He barely reacted to Alpha-commands and finished Bat training on resisting them abnormally fast. The list went on and on.
Some of it could have been explained by being a borderline outlier of the biological data pool. Some of it was unusual, but not unheard of. Some of it, like natural desensitization to Alpha-commands, was extremely useful for Robin. On the downside, he was not a fan of using a double layer of Bat-grade scent-concealers and specifically modified for a full coverage collar.
All in all, he was a strange slip of omega. Strange, but not unique. There were always a couple of Reddit threads about tips on battling suffocating scent, on tracking irregular heats or blending in as to not alarm alphas.
Tim made his peace with being strange and somewhat defective omega a long time ago. It was a fact. His parents didn’t stay for him, Dick and Bruce were uncomfortable around him. He accepted it, but what the hell was happening now.
He growled near silently at himself, resisting the urge to pace the common room of the Tower. He tried googling the symptoms, but all he got was a strong recommendation to go to dynamic endocrinologist (rude) and a bunch of nonsense about dynamics cliches.
Tim scratched his neck as he contemplated calling Doctor Thompkins. He didn’t at the end, it was not worth disturbing her. Everyone was riding tense after Red Hood explosive debut, and he didn’t want to add to it.
He was overthinking it, probably. Just an allergic reaction or a new strain of flu combined with surprise heat. Whatever. He will endure it alone and will be fine as always at the end. He was neither a baby in need of coddling, nor a poor omega in need of rescue from big bad Red Hood, no matter what Batman and Nightwing thought.
Alpha shitheads.
Tim was momentarily surprised at his own vicious thought. Than scratched his neck again and sighed. Urgh, his heat was closer than he estimated. He became grumpy and antisocial during his heats, no wonder Batman sent him away. He was just a liability in this state.
His brooding thoughts were interrupted by an escalating itch at the base of his neck, just above his scent glands. No amount of touching was satisfying. Tim's mood plummeted further. He refrained from clawing at it and after a quick search on his laptop set his way to the kitchen. Hopefully an icepack will help. Tim was already restless and feverish, he didn’t need to accidentally tear his own neck apart with his claws. Another inconvenience – his omegan fangs and claws were ridiculously elongated for the first time, like ever. He couldn’t make them retract; calming exercises were not helping as usual. It made him feel clumsy. Tim growled again. At least there was no one around to see him in a pitiful state.
He nearly wrenched the refrigerator door from its place, frustrated beyond control. After a minute of rummaging through refrigerators content, he returned to the common space with hands full of snacks, water bottles and an icepack. He was lowkey hungry all the time while in heat too. He hoped it was a growth sprout. Dick jokingly blamed it on hummingbird metabolism.
Tim sniffed imperiously and wormed his way back into his nest on the sofa. It was just a bunch of the team’s clothes and all the available blankets from his friends’ rooms. Tugging his laptop closer with one hand, Tim tried to settle down to do some work on Red Hood case, but he struggled with compelling grainy videos into something logical and gave up after five minutes when he almost threw his laptop across the room in a flash of sharp annoyance.
His hands were shaking imperceptibly, and drops of sweat were sliding down his forehead uncomfortably. His focus was shot. He shut his laptop with much more force than necessary and snarled at it.
Where is his pack!? They should be here!
His echoed snarl stunned him into silence. Okay. Wow. Tensions were running really high. He was very stressed and worried about Batman and Nightwing. Yeah, that’s it. The wrong wires got crossed in his brain for a sec. Maybe a shower would calm him down.
A mix of embarrassment and self-flagellation kept his temper down all the way to his room and bathroom. Under a cold stream of water his mind partially cleared. Carefully washing away sticky sweat, Tim took stock of his body. He was feeling jittery (preparing for invasion), like a nest of buzzing bees under his skin. Inside him was a lurking urge to… do something, fight something. He was letting subvocal growls again without realizing. He closed his jaw with an audible click but immediately felt wrong (they need to know it was his territory). His flushed body was shaking with the need to confront something or someone and growling was slightly elevating the strain of it.
He didn’t register how he got out of the shower and back to the common rooms. He barely remembered not to go out completely nude (irrelevant).
Something was definitely wrong now. Thinking was impossibly hard and he didn’t know what he wanted (pack, hunt).
He walked (stalked) back to his nest. He was… going to do research? On... enemy, threat Red Hood?..
Yes, that’s it. He fell back into the heap of soft blankets (his littermates, good) and opened his laptop, squinting at the screen. Why were the lights so weird here? Why was everything so right sharp?
His brain lagged for a few long moments. Why research now? Useless. He didn’t have focus for that. Much better to spend some time and energy checking the perimeter (his territory, his Keep). Yes.
The last conscious effort, pure muscular memory, was to grab the boo staff before everything descended into gold-tinted haze.
Yes. Protect territory, find pack.
On the screen of laptop the article was left open that Tim discarded as a useless collection of rumours and cliches. He didn’t come around to read it, overwhelmed with the biological imperative to secure pack and territory.
The article was titled “Prime Omegas: brutal truth or cinematic myth?”
If Tim wasn’t not-raised by two Betas disgusted by second sex dynamics.
If Batman didn’t insist on total suppression of any dynamic traits in the field.
If he didn’t carry it into his civil interactions with one Timothy Drake, still deep into grief and depression.
If Tim himself paid more attention to his body and didn’t dismiss warning signs.
Maybe then they were prepared and knew the content of the article.
We all saw at least one Prime Alpha in our lives, if not a real one, then on the screen. The best of the best, golden standard of alphas, wet dream of omegas. He is the strongest warrior, omegas fall to his feet after one sniff of his hypnotizing scent. He can have anyone he wants for a pack, he is always a winner at the end.
So called Mary-Sue, on screen and often in life. As much as it can irritate, the stereotype of Prime Alpha is very close to reality. Prime Alphas are strong and resilient, biologically. Their command overrules any other alpha command. They are natural leaders and can hold the head position in several packs simultaneously. Pinnacle of dynamics evolution. Perfect protectors. The collected data says they are also quite good in bed. Glowing dream for any pack to have.
The word ‘prime’ feels fitting here, doesn’t it? All alpha traits, cranked up to 12. But… what about the opposite sex? If there is Prime Alpha, shouldn’t there also be Prime Omega? And, dear friends, you will be right!
A lot of people would be surprised, but dynamic studies recognize Prime Omega as a real designation, if a very unlikely one. According to EU Health Dynamics Organization, for every five Prime Alphas there is one potential Prime Omega. Their biology and evolution are still mostly a mystery to us, thanks to their rarity and differences in biology. Yes, you read it right, not every potential Prime Omega undergoes the process of turning into a real one! History records indicate that Prime Omega appears in times of great stress and instability in society. They were covered by a sheet of mystic: they often held the position of high priests or royal advisors. Even witches or wizards, even though now we know they had no magic, just extraordinary biology!
They were worshipped as Anchors and Last Hopes of whole kingdoms. Some famous Prime Omegas had what would now be called harems of Alphas (though historians suspect such dynamics were mostly platonic). They were rumoured to throw Alphas into frenzy by one growl-command. Ballads and tales told that one Prime Omega could begin and finish a war by themselves. They were described as fiercely protective, blood thirsty and very territorial. Almost opposite of modern perception of ‘civilized’ omega, soft, obedient and nurturing. See our other article on false stereotypes about omegas, if you want to know more.
Even nowadays, scientists are not 100% sure how much of those facts are true. Sounds like a fairy tale, right? Nevertheless, we have too much evidence for at least some of records to be accurate. In times when our society relied on a dynamic hierarchy to function, the existence of Prime Omegas made sense from an evolutionary point of view. To have power to entice numerous Alphas to your pack’s side for protection and to rally them as a unit against neighbor Tribe was an undisputable advantage. Seems almost like magic to modern omegas, right?
So, what we know from medical studies (all anonymous, of course!): Prime Omegas undergo two presentation heats. The first one as baseline omega and the second one as Prime in case their bodies decide the environment is hostile.
Their orexin levels are over-the-roof levels (orexin is a hormone responsible for the state of hyper-vigilance and wakefulness) and they have faster-than-normal metabolisms. They develop the secondary set of smaller scent glands and have a strong scent, usually typical for Alphas, even as a potential Prime.
Nature equipped them with impressive fangs and claws for protection against rut-drunk and/or high on Prime’s smell Alphas that they use without hesitation. After becoming Prime, they are heavily driven by their instincts in heats and need to re-learn self-control.
Unlike Prime Alphas, their biological imperatives and instinct behavior is much more complicated (oh no!). Scientists are just starting to uncover the mystery of it, seeing how some cultures, such as indigenous tribes, hide their Prime Omegas if one shows up. Other societies, let’s say, ancient China killed Prima Omegas the moment they were found as a risk for destabilization of the current authority structure. The aversion, if not the deed, partially carried into the present. The leftover beliefs stand on the way of discovering the whole truth about Prime Omegas. We may know their names in history but what we are yet to learn about their nature?
Let’s dive into the subject together with Elena Botch, the world-leading expert at second sex dynamics (the full transcript of the interview is page 3-4).
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***
Replacement was going to pay dearly for his audacity in blood and tears. Patiently laid plans were executed perfectly; Batman and Nightwing chase their own tails back in Gotham while he takes care of cuckoo bird. Oooh, he was ready to break snotty little Alpha that cozied up in place of a dead boy.
The green in his veins was singing with delight, image after image of broken bones and cut throats clicking in his mind like monochrome old film. Ah, it would look so much better in reality, so many possibilities. Just several minutes more and he will have his sweet-sweet revenge.
The time was chosen perfectly, no Titans or adult heroes in the Tower, Bats busy hands-full of fabricated crises aaaall way back in Gotham. Nobody is coming for poor, soon-to-be-crushed Robin.
Lazarus Pits thrummed with vicious satisfaction in sync with his heart behind his eyes. Ah, what a wonderful, wonderful day. Jason brushed his guns and shivered with dark anticipation. He brought a lot of fun toys to play with Replacement. Oh, he will enjoy the hunt greatly.
Talia showed him reports of his ‘successor’. Picture-perfect soldier, following Daddy Bats rules to the last letter. Scrawny, pitiful imitation of alpha. He will give it to Replacement; looks like he knows how to move in battle with Gotham thugs. But Red Hood? He just hoped for a good enough hunt before he sinks his fangs into Replacement's throat. A little humiliation before he cuts it wiiiide open.
“Let’s see how good Robins can fly,” he hummed cheerfully to himself, punching the access codes into the electronic panel next to the ground door. It beeped and unlocked with a welcoming green light. How naïve did Batman become after his death? Oh, he will teach Bats a lesson with great pleasure.
“Well, well, well, where is Robin hiding?” Jason murmured, ignoring the announcement of initiating of the lockdown protocol. Nifty feature – nobody coming in or out unless the cancelation code is entered into the main terminal. How thoughtful.
The promise of Replacement fear and screams pushed him forward. Like a demon hound straight out of Hell he tracked through the Tower, gun ready in his hand and hissing whispers of green in his ears. Lurking in shadows, he skipped the living floor with predator instincts driving him further – no sign of Replacement in his room. He was in the common rooms or the kitchen.
Jason smiled sharply to himself with too many teeth. The moment finally came. He will show Batman why taking a new Robin was such a bad idea. Basking in the feeling of anticipation, he opened the door with a bang, coming guns blazing. Nobody could tell he didn’t give the kid a fair chance to fight back. He wanted him to fight back, to see how hope gave place to despair and fear in his eyes.
Only if he could find Replacement first. His scent challenge-fury-green twitched into challenge-annoyance-green when he didn’t detect any signs of life in the huge common room. Besides a pile of blankets on the sofa, no traces of Replacement.
Coward, Pit snake hissed in his mind. Jason rumbled in agreement, coming closer to investigate. No matter; Replacement had nowhere to run.
But before he can inspect the heap properly, the shiver run down his spine. A primitive instinctual reaction to the presence of danger. Suppressing fleeting unease, Jason turned swiftly to unlit part of kitchen area, madly grinning, gun cocked into position.
He was met with eerie silence, no target to aim. Jason narrowed his eyes in irritation, releasing wave of rage-fight-challenge. He knew his alpha scent was strong; no way Replacement could hold a reaction to that. Alphas automatically rose to respond and fight for territory, and he was trained to take advantage of that.
“Come on, cuckoo bird, come out to play, I went all the way here just to meet you,” he sing-songed with a hint of sneer, tracking any noise or movement in the area. By now, smell should be suffocating for Replacement – hostile alpha, openly walking into his territory, challenging. Hm, maybe he had half-decent control of his nature, he was trained by the Bat, after all.
He concentrated on fight-green-revenge as he crept closer to kitchen island. There was a possibility his instincts went high-wire and Replacement wasn’t here at all; scurried away to hide somewhere else, trembling in his boots.
His doubts were solved quickly by gradually increasing in volume growls from behind of the massive counter. They were strangely high-pitched for an alpha and too quiet. Ha, Replacement couldn’t even accept his challenge properly. Pretender of an alpha as well as Robin.
He let out a proper growl in response, deep and threatening – Replacement final warning. He readied himself for an attack, slowly circling the obstacle, mind completely focused on the upcoming brawl.
He was expecting Robin’s taunts, stupid questions like “who are you” and “how did you get here” or even an attempt at surprise attack.
Instead, he got brat springing in his face, like fucking whack-a-mole, doing his best to try to rip his throat apart with claws. Claws. Jason jerked to the side, Replacement missing his side by inches with animalistic howl and flying over his shoulder.
Adrenaline flooded his systems, green roared louder and brighter, supplanting any stray thoughts. Fight-revenge-kill moved him to swirl around and put a couple of bullets into Replacement.
Only to find his opponent back in his face, snarling, his arm with the gun knocked down with unnatural amount of strength for such a scrawny body. Jason had a split moment of panic when those razor-sharp claws had gone straight for his eyes. The awful screeching sound of talons sliding off his helmet’s surface made him flinch and leap back with lesser grace than usual.
What the fuck was that?
Green shrieked at him to attack-attack-kill, and Jason obeyed blindly, feeling off-balance in battle for the first time in months. His teachers and sparring partners in League were ruthless, and he was intimately familiar with lethal methods of fighting, but nobody had ever tried to gouge his eyes out in the first second with their hands.
Replacement regained his balance in a blink of an eye, dropping to all fours, baring his teeth at him (holy shit, are those fangs) and coiling for a new attack. Without thinking, Jason pulled the trigger. The harsh bang echoed around the Tower.
The snarls changed to painful hissing. Jason hit the mark.
Wariness-attack-fight still swarmed his mind, but he had just enough self-preservation left to put some distance between himself and feral Robin. Where on Earth did Batman find him?
Jason shot again, aiming for legs, but little shit already darted back behind the kitchen island. Jason, despite green in his veins pressing to chase his prey, backed into the common rooms, gaze fixed on the counter. Hissing pepped out and returned to previous levels of threatening growl. Brat didn’t even have decency to let him enjoy his whines of pain.
But now he was wary. He was prepared for star-eyed Robin, maybe trained young Bat, if he pushed it. But this? He was probably more cautious than Replacement deserved, but he also didn’t want to discover what was tougher: his armour’s neck protection or Replacement claws, and, by the way, what the fuck and why did he have them? Aren’t only omegas in heat equipped with those? And certainly not that sharp and long?
No, he could control Lazarus Pits a bit longer and assist the situation. The little fucker barely flinched at the bullet in his arm, it wouldn’t hurt to gather some information first. So he moved to have better view of the whole kitchen and cocked the gun back. Confusion at what was going on swirled in his mind, mixing with raging green, but he froze in place, all senses focused on Replacement.
There was some rustling noise, likely Robin bandaging his bullet wound. Growls dropped in volume, but not in viciousness. He couldn’t get all instinctual clues through the helmet interference, but even like he had no doubts that new Robin wanted his head on a stick, preferably separate from his body.
A second passed. Replacement was smart enough not to show his face from his cover. Jason decided to bait him further.
“That’s it, Robin? And here I thought you were supposed to be a hero, not a goddamn rat, scurrying away after the first shuffle. What’s your plan, huh? Wait there, till I come an’ shoot you like a fish in a barrel? And I heart you were the smart one!”
The burning rage came back in full swing, lovingly stroked by green monster residing just under his skin. Right, that’s why he was here. To break the Pretender and leave memorable message for Bats.
Robin should have stayed dead.
Feral or not, this one would soon enough be, when Jason was finished with him.
And the sentiment would hold up beautifully, only if he wasn’t distracted by sudden switch of tone from Replacement. He has gone silent to presumably listen to his taunting, but then instead of more nonverbal snapping, there was… churring? Jason frowned, weapon unconsciously lowered in confusion. It was not an alpha sound. Their vocal cords are not built like that.
Jason stepped closer, straining his ears. It was something between a snake rattling and croon. Jason furrowed his brows. It didn’t sound like begging either. He had never heard something like that before. A faint warning scratched at the back of his mind and he shook his head.
It… Replacement was probably distressed? Finally showing his soft belly? Something didn’t sit quite right with this explanation. Jason crept a step closer. He can just shoot the kid the moment he sees him, right?
Another churring (crooning?) sound pierced the space. This time Jason could maybe decipher call for pack(?)and impatience (??). Fuck, he had no idea what the fuck Replacement was trying to communicate. Only that it was causing itchy tingling down his spine.
Jason narrowed his eyes, contemplating taking off his helmet. The air filtration system was engaged, he checked, and he planned to reveal his face later anyway. Besides, Lazarus Pits wanted the kid to know who Red Hood was. Give him nightmares.
Repla- Kid crooned again, this time louder and more urgent, and his hands lifted to his head almost without his volition. He needed to hear it himself.
The moment his air filters disengaged, he dropped his helmet and swayed on his feet. His sense of smell went high-wire, overloading him with tons of conflicting information.
Unbounded-omega-presentation-heat-BOW-blood-vulnerable-MINE-territory-go-away-WANT-PACK
Citrusy, deceptively light smell punched him in the guts, whacking his soul out of his body. At least, it felt like it. His vision swam, and he blinked away involuntary tears. Why was the floor so close all of a sudden?
What..?
He pressed his forehead to the cool tiles, trying to think. Green evaporated out of his mind, and the world flipped upside down. He didn’t realize he was whining questioningly until it turned into distressed sounds. A winning chirp rang through the room. Jason twitched and tilted his head to look in kitchen’s direction. He saw a slightly blurry blob of black hair pop out from behind the counter. The green was dead silent.
Smug-MINE-territory-heat-BOW-caution-vulnerable-curious
…Omega? Reple-Kid- Robin was an omega? The more he inhaled thick, somewhat metallic (bergamot, yuzu) scent, the more his thoughts slowed. He found himself blinking heavily and body relaxing. To his hazed mortification, he couldn’t help but answer omega with a small chirp of his own.
Terrified, inquiring and pacifying at the same time.
Oh god, he didn’t make such pathetic sounds long since he was a pup.
Ome- Robin crept closer step by step, stopping to sniff air and periodically churr at Jason. It rattled him to the bones every time, dislodging any semblance of grip Green tried to take. And it is in both parts, relieving and frightening to be able to tell the difference.
Somehow, new Robin (strong omega, bow) untwisted poisonous snake coils from his mind in a few seconds. Jason slumped on the floor, rational part slowly floating away from him.
He blinked, distantly surprised to see kid’s face nose-to-nose. His eyes were glowing gold rings around bright blue and his face, still holding traces of baby fat, was flushed with heat. He stared unblinkingly into Jason’s eyes, like he was trying to find all the answers in the universe.
He is just a kid.
And he attacked him, put a bullet in his arm and was planning to hurt him. Break bones and slash his flesh. Whatever the kid was planning to do with him, he deserved it. He closed his eyes and rumbled resignedly.
No more dead Robins.
He will be the last one.