Work Text:
Dick finds out about Bruce's new kid through the newspaper.
It's his own fault, really. He's been ignoring Bruce's calls for the last six months since leaving the manor. He doesn't want to talk. Bruce is the one who fired him, he shouldn't be upset that Dick left. He's lucky he hasn't blocked his number yet.
Unfortunately, Bruce is persistent in his way of showing he cares. He's spent the last few months methodically disabling every camera he knows Batman is tapped into. He destroyed at least five trackers before giving up on it. The anonymous basket of heat supplies, somehow packed with a few belongings from both Alfred and Bruce was a dead giveaway that he's still tracking Dick's heats too. Not to mention the fact that his account still has money in it, despite every attempt to spend it all. So Dick knows he cares. He still took away the best thing he's had since his life in the circus.
But even with how much he feels like he hates Bruce right now, but there's a part of him that will never hate him. There's a part of him that loves him so deeply that he's not entirely sure the imprint they formed when he was nine ever really went away. And his omega instincts are soothed every time his phone flashes with his pack alpha's contact information. Despite everything, he's still wanted.
That doesn't make him any less angry about being fired from Robin, though. So he's been silencing Bruce's calls, and he learns about Batman's newest sidekick from the Gazette.
He's already shouting when he pulls into the Cave.
"You let him be Robin?" he shouts at the back of Bruce's head, dropping his bike unceremoniously onto the Cave floor. If it gets damaged, Bruce will fix it. He hears him sigh, and his hackles raise at the sound. It's like he's an unruly pup, nevermind the fact that he hasn't been a pup since he was nine years old.
"You're being unreasonable, Dick," he says, and it pisses Dick off more that he's not shouting too. Six months again, they couldn't stop yelling at each other, and now Bruce wants to pretend like he's the one being reasonable. As if trading one child for another is a reasonable thing to do.
"I'm being unreasonable?" Dick growls at him, and out of the corner of his eye he sees someone flinch. Of course the kid is here to witness this. Good, let him find out the betrayal he has to look forward to. "You're the one who fired me and then went and picked up some new kid to take my place! Where'd you get this one, the shelter? Or was he a more traditional pick up?"
The words are venomous on his tongue. If he weren't so angry, he wouldn't have even thought to say them. Under any other circumstance, Dick suspects he might've even been happy to find a younger sibling. Instead, he's come in at the peak of their biggest fight yet, so he chooses his words to hurt. Not just to hurt Bruce either. He wants the kid to bleed too.
The worst part is that it works just like he planned it to. Bruce turns to him sharply, meeting him with his own growl. It doesn't affect him in the slightest. Dick hasn't backed down from an alpha growl since Bruce himself trained it out of him, and he's never been scared of Bruce. The same can't be said for the kid, it seems. He sees him flinch again and hears the soft puppy whine he probably tried to suppress. He has to ignore the insistent omegan instinct to comfort and protect. This has nothing to do with the kid. If he knows what's good for him, he'd run away instead.
"He needed a place to go," he growls, and it's not quite shouting but it's close enough that Dick is satisfied. He came here to argue, not to be reasoned with.
"And foster care wasn't good enough?" He stalks towards Bruce, pushing against the bat symbol on his chest. "Keep taking in underprivileged little boys and people're gonna talk."
Despite the physical aggression, Bruce doesn't raise a hand to him. Dick doesn't expect him to, either. He's always shown a level of control over his alphan instincts that most alpha men don't bother with. Dick could bite him—has bitten him—and he usually does what he can to redirect it. Even when they're angry and screaming at each other, and he's pushing buttons on purpose to set him off, the most Bruce will do is growl and yell back. And Dick isn't afraid of yelling.
"You know it's not safe—"
Dick scoffs. "And being Robin is any safer?" Bruce's face shutters in the way it always does when he knows he's not the one who's right. Sometimes he'll even admit it. Not this time, though. His face hardens and he squares his shoulders.
"You, of all people, should know that he's better off here." And it's true. Despite the crime fighting, this kid is better off in Wayne manor than whatever system he might've been in before. Dick was only in the system briefly, and it was horrible on all sides. Maybe this kid wouldn't be treated the same way he was, but that doesn't mean he'd be treated well.
Dick doesn't care. This kid is wearing his colors, using his name, following his pack alpha. All right after he'd been told he couldn't anymore. The rejection had stung, but this betrayal burns like no injury he's ever had before. He wants Bruce to feel it too.
"So it's fine that some kid you grabbed off the streets is out fighting crime with you, but when I do it—"
"That has nothing to do with this!"
"It has everything to do with this!" They're both shouting now, and he vaguely registers that the kid has curled himself up as small as he can get. He'll feel bad about it later. Right now he's just angry. "You're letting this kid do exactly what you fired me from—"
"You could've died, Dick!" Bruce doesn't quite look angry anymore, but he's always shown fear poorly. "I can't lose you!"
"But you can lose him?" There's a gasp that comes from the direction of the kid, and Dick immediately regrets the dig. Bruce, for his part, also looks properly scandalized, like he's only just now realizing the weight of his actions.
For the first time since coming home, Dick turns to look at the kid, but he's already gone. He's bolting up the stairs and out of the clock entrance almost as fast as Dick used to be able to. All of the anger he'd been feeling flushes out of him, and all he's left with is the sick feeling of shame. Bruce might've deserved it, but this kid's only sin is existing. He doesn't even know the kid's name.
Bruce heaves a sigh and all but collapses into the computer chair. He rubs his temples, and Dick thinks he looks ten years older than he his. It's mostly his fault, probably, but he suspects that it hasn't been easy dealing with the media surrounding adopting a new kid right after the first one has seemingly flown the nest. The Gotham elite are ruthless. It took years before Dick was out of their crosshairs. It'll probably take years before they take their eyes off this new boy too. He wonders if this kid has skin tough enough to deal with it.
"He was finally starting to open up to me," Bruce mutters. It's not directed at Dick, but he hears it all the same. Whatever progress they'd made, the setback is going to be his fault. Unfortunately, he does feel bad about that.
He crosses his arms and leans against the computer desk. The glow highlights the bags under Bruce's eyes. He wonders how much of the exhaustion written there is just from their late night hobbies, and how much is from caring for a new kid on top of his absent one. He doesn't remember him looking this tired when they were younger.
Hesitantly, he asks, "Why did you decide to take him in?" He cocks his head, a little half smile forming on his face. "He's not also from the circus, is he?"
Bruce shakes his head. "He stole my tires."
Dick blinks. And then blinks again. That kid stole Bruce's tires? He tries to imagine that scrawny little pup jacking the tires off of the Audi. It makes for a funny picture.
"From the Batmobile," Bruce adds helpfully, and Dick can't help it. He tosses his head back and cackles.
"You've gotta be joking." When Bruce just looks at him with his big, glassy eyes, he lets out another incredulous laugh. "The Batmobile? Where did you leave it unsupervised long enough that some ten-year-old could come and jack your tires?"
Bruce doesn't even look chastised. He honestly looks a little proud. What an idiot. "Park Row."
Dick falls silent. He must've been making his trip to visit his parent's murder scene if he'd left the Batmobile unattended like that. He'd taken Dick only once to visit the scene. The whole trip had been silent, and he could feel the presence of Thomas and Martha Wayne's death like a weighted blanket. Dick hadn't asked to go with him again. Sometimes he wonders if Bruce would have wanted the company. It's too late to do anything about it now, anyway.
"So this kid jacks the Batman's tires and you decide that he's sidekick material?" He tries not to sound too bitter. He probably doesn't succeed.
Bruce shakes his head again. "I did actually try to get him in the system. I thought they might've gotten their act together in the years since you were placed in it."
Dick's surprised, honestly. It makes him feel worse for what he said earlier. There's no imprint here between Bruce and this new kid, just a man genuinely trying to do what's best for a pup with nowhere to go. He feels his anger soften a little more.
"I'm sensing a 'but'?" he prompts, waiting for the rest of the story. Bruce's face darkens.
"I was wrong." He doesn't elaborate after that. Dick doesn't ask. He doesn't need to know the details to know. He'd been there too.
They sit in silence for a bit. Dick has never been good at admitting to doing something wrong, at least not with Bruce, but he can feel guilt gnawing at him for hurting the kid. He feels worse knowing that he wanted the kid to be hurt. He'd felt pushed out of his pack, as if he were an unwanted pup that could easily be replaced. Now that he's not being fueled by rage, he knows he was wrong. Bruce has done nothing but try to take care of him. He probably knows just how badly he hurt Dick six months ago, but he's also never been good at admitting fault. What a pair they make.
Dick sighs. Somebody is going to have to get their act together. Maybe it should be Bruce, but he can fill in until he's ready for it. At the very least, he should apologize to the kid. He pushes off of the desk.
"What's his name?" he asks.
"Jason," Bruce replies. He says his name with a warmth that has Dick wondering if he's ever said his name like that. Does he think fondly of the child he protected for so many years? Or is he just another responsibility?
He clenches his jaw. If he keeps thinking like that, he's just going to get worked up again. He puts the thoughts aside for now. Maybe it's about time for him and Bruce to have a real heart to heart, but that can wait until after he talks to Jason. After all, if they're going to be packmates now, he'll need to recruit him into the war on Bruce. Whichever side they fight on will depend entirely on the alpha in question.
He starts to make his way out of the cave, but Bruce stops him. "Where are you going?" Dick turns to look at him again.
"To say sorry to him." Bruce's brow furrows.
"You don't even know where he ran off to." Dick scoffs.
"He's Robin," he says, turning to continue walking. "I know where he is."
And he does. When he exits the Cave, he goes straight to the residential wing. He hates walking through his old bedroom, hates the memories that have soured the space that used to be safe. At least Alfred seems to have aired it out. He can't smell the noxious scents that were left behind after the explosive argument six months ago. He can't smell much of anything, though, and he's not sure if that's better. It really does feel like he's been pushed out of his nest without any of his scent to keep his claim.
He shakes his head. He can reclaim the space later if he really wants to. He makes his way to the window, throwing it up and open with practiced ease. Whenever things got to be too much, he'd always escape to the rooftop. He was born for high places, and he has a feeling that his successor may also appreciate the view.
It takes a little rooftop wandering, but Dick's theory is proven right when he spots the scrawny pup sitting on a far corner of the roof. Count on a bird to want to spread his wings. He pauses for a second when he sees the smoke, but huffs and shakes his head.
"I didn't realize ten-year-olds could buy cigarettes," he says, sitting down next to Jason. He doesn't jump, no doubt already aware that he was on the roof with him. It's that Bat awareness training for sure.
He lets out a little puppy growl that almost makes Dick want to laugh. "I'm twelve, so shut the fuck up." That does get him to laugh, which only seems to upset Jason more. His shoulders are practically touching his ears.
"Still not legal," he teases lightly. Jason huffs and turns his head away, but he doesn't take another drag from the cigarette. Dick wonders if he even really likes them, or if it was a habit formed out of necessity, like jacking car tires.
"You gonna tell Mr. Wayne?" he asks. Dick scoffs and leans back to look up at the sky. There aren't any stars in Gotham, but he can almost picture the map of galaxies he used to see traveling with the circus.
"Bruce can figure it out himself," he says. He may feel bad for scaring the kid, but that doesn't mean he's ready to go spilling things to Bruce yet. He looks at Jason out of the corner of his eye. "I am gonna tell you that those things'll kill you."
"I know," he answers. The words hold a weight to them that seem too heavy for a twelve-year-old. Then again, what does Dick know? He watched his parents die at nine. Maybe all tweens seek out a slow suicide through nicotine poisoning.
They sit in silence for a little bit while Dick tries to figure out how to say what he wants to. He doesn't want Jason to think that he's doomed here at the manor, but he practically screamed it for everyone to hear down there. He knows, deep down, that his life with Bruce was actually far from horrible. Despite his faults, Bruce was an attentive pack alpha, keen on providing anything Dick might've needed. He'd even go as far as to provide Alfred with small favors too; stocking his favorite tea from England, hand embroidered handkerchiefs and neckties, a generous paycheck. He isn't good at showing his real thoughts after years of hiding them away, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. Dick learned how to look for it throughout the years. Jason will have to, too.
But Dick's still angry, is the thing. It's hard to want to reassure Jason that Bruce isn't bad when he's been simmering in his anger at him for months now. Pups need packs, and Dick knows he'd be safe here in this castle. But he said things he can't take back, and now he's not sure if Jason knows he's safe here. He heaves a sigh and sprawls backwards on the roof, covering his eyes with his arm.
"Sorry you had to hear all that," he says. It doesn't feel as sincere as he wants it to be, but something tells him that Jason probably would prefer it more casual anyway.
There's some shuffling before he responds. "Guess it's good to know that it really was too good to be true."
Dick uncovers his eyes and sits up to look at Jason. He's gotten rid of the cigarette and moved to hug his knees to his chest. It seems like he's trying to suppress his scent, a trait that pups are notoriously bad at, but he's surprisingly successful. Another learned habit, he thinks. Not something pups who are safe would learn. Dick certainly hadn't before he'd presented eight years ago, and it caused him no end of troubles.
Still, omega noses are particularly sensitive. Jason isn't hiding his disappointment and fear and acceptance as well as he seems to think he is.
"What do you mean, Jason?" he asks softly. Jason scoffs.
"He doesn't actually care about me. He just wanted someone to replace you." He buries his face in his knees, but Dick can hear the tears he's holding back in his voice. "I was just an easy pick up, like you said."
Dick's heart sinks. He's really good at picking words to hurt, but now he's faced with the consequences of his actions. He wants to pull Jason into a hug and into a nest.
Instead, he places a hand on his shoulder. "None of what I said was… right." Why's it always so much harder to find words after he blows up? "I'm angry at Bruce because he fired me, that part is true. But Bruce is—he cares a lot." He winces. Of course he's suddenly tongue tied.
Jason scoffs, but doesn't shake his hand off. "Maybe he cares about you."
Dick shakes his head. "When you ran away, he was devastated. He was worried if you'd still trust him." Which probably doesn't sound that great, now that he's said it out loud. "What I mean is: he cares about you, too."
"Not enough to put me in his pack." Dick wants to groan. Count on Bruce to respect boundaries so aggressively that he misses exactly what his pups want. If he hadn't had his life threatening presentation, he's certain he would've never invited him.
"He'll probably wait until you ask for it," he says. Jason peeks at him.
"Did he do that with you?" He grimaces.
"My situation was… a little different." It sounds like bullshit, but the story is personal. He doesn't want to share it if he doesn't have to.
Jason just huffs, though. "What, you became an omega and then he decided he wanted you?"
Dick knows he's not trying to start a fight, but he feels himself bristle. He's talking about Bruce like the tabloids and other society people do, trying to paint him badly because they don't know him. Except Jason should know Bruce by now. At least, he should know him a little better than that. He may be pissed at him still, but that doesn't mean he wants people slandering him.
He didn't want to share his story, but he does it anyway. "I had a trauma induced presentation heat. If Bruce hadn't brought me into his pack, I would've died."
He feels raw saying it. Only a few people know the actual details to Dicks presentation heat and subsequent pack bonding. Sharing it with this kid he just met feels wrong. But when he looks back at Jason, he's met with wide blue eyes. It's almost reassuring to know that, in trying to gain his trust, Bruce hadn't shared what Dick went through. It probably would've been easy to gain his trust that way, but he'd kept his privacy instead. Jason gapes at him, though, clearly hearing about it for the first time. Somehow, that makes him feel both better and worse.
"Really?" Jason asks, as if that's something Dick would lie about to paint Bruce in a good light.
He shrugs. "He saved my life. Not because he had to or because he wanted to look good. He saw me, and he wanted me to live a good life. That was enough for him."
His own words surprise him. He feels a lump form in his throat. Despite all the poison he was spewing earlier, now he can only think about how Bruce really does care about him. All his temper tantrums through the years never pushed him away, not even the most recent one. It's the same for Dick, too. Despite Bruce's struggle to express his care in clear words, he'll always come back to him. They're drawn into each other's gravitational pull, like the Earth and the moon.
He clears his throat and blinks quickly a few times. He'll have to apologize to Bruce later. It might not make everything better, but his heart aches. He misses his pack alpha.
"You think he'll do the same for me?" Jason is studying him, and Dick offers him a smile.
"I know he will." He stretches his arms above his head, relishing in the way his spine pops. "Just like I know he'll fuck it up some time, too. When that happens, give me a call. I'll steal you away for a weekend." Jason tilts his head.
"You're not gonna stay?" Dick can feel his omegan instincts fighting against his logic that he has a perfectly good apartment away from the manor. Here's this pup who's lost and in need of a pack, and he's just going to abandon him.
Nevermind that society doesn't work like that anymore. Jason is perfectly safe here in the manor.
"Maybe for the night," he compromises, both for himself and for the pup. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks on the equipment down there."
That seems to perk Jason up pretty quickly. He looks like he has literal stars in his eyes, his puppy scent going creamy sweet. He hops up, bouncing on his feet a little. "Bruce says you can do a quad summersault, is that true?"
Dick can't help but laugh. "'Course it is. I'll even show it to you—" Jason looks like he might vibrate out of his own skin, "—if you promise to slow down on those cigarettes, okay?" His face falls into a pout, and he scuffs his foot against the rooftop.
"Yeah, fine, whatever," he mumbles. Dick reaches over to ruffle his hair, leaving a little bit of his caramel scent on him. Jason looks like he's trying not to preen too much about it. Then, he grins a little evilly at the pup.
"Race you there!"
He doesn't give Jason the chance to respond before he's bolting across the rooftop. He hears him squawk and stumble behind him, calling him a cheater. He just throws his head back and cackles. Maybe a bigger pack won't be such a bad thing after all.