Chapter Text
Jason woke to the beeping of a heart monitor and restraints around his wrists and ankles. For half a second he panicked, picturing the blank white walls of Arkham, but then he inhaled and nearly choked on the overpowering burn of ginger in the air.
There was a hand holding his. Warm, calloused. Familiar.
Jason cracked open his eyes, squinting against the light. It took a moment to place the room he was in as the quarantine room in the Batcave. A heavy armchair had been dragged into the room, the one that used to hold a stressed out Bruce whenever Jason got stuck in the medbay overnight. This time the one under a thick woollen blanket was Alfred, creased face soft with sleep.
On the other side of the bed in a far less comfortable chair was Dick. He was dozing, gradually slipping sideways in his seat. His hair was sticking up on one side like he'd been lying on it strangely, and a faint red outline of a mask surrounded his eyes. It looked like Alfred had finally solved the problem of unintentionally waxing the eyebrows when the mask was removed by force, at least.
Jason breathed in, and was again struck by the ferocity of Dick’s ginger scent. He could see why people always thought he was an alpha; the layers of spice were underlined with a sense of protect-mine-keep so deep that, beta or not, some part of Jason that had been on edge for years relaxed ever so slightly. Alfred’s cedar snuck in as well, a gentle scent that Jason had always associated with comfort and love. He felt almost drunk on the sweet cradle of safety and pack.
The restraints pulled on his skin when Jason shifted, and the illusion shattered. It wasn't real. Dick hadn’t been able to protect him before, and he and Alfred clearly had no issues with Bruce replacing him before he was even cold in the ground. Whatever warmth he was feeling was a lie, a fragment of a life that was never coming back, if it ever existed in the first place.
He tugged his hand out of the comforting oppressive grasp Dick had on it, startling the man awake with the action. Jason scowled and jangled the wrist restraints performatively.
“Really?” he snarked, quietly so as not to wake Alfred. Dick didn't take the bait.
“Protocol,” he said. “They come off when you pass the cognitive assessments.”
Bullshit. Protocol said that, being uninjured, Jason should be in a containment cell, stripped of anything that could possibly be turned into a weapon. The restraints, the quarantine room, Alfred in his armchair, it was all way off track; they were treating him like a patient, not a prisoner. It threw Jason off, more than he wanted to admit.
He glared up at the ceiling. Dick fidgeted in his seat, chronically unable to remain still. Jason let him stew. He’d get over himself and spit it out eventually, and if he didn't, he could suffer in silence. Predictably, his big brother didn't last two minutes.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.
Jason waited for an explanation, eyebrow raised. Dick continued in a quieter tone.
“Sedating you was a last resort. You were nearly feral, and Tim was coding, and–”
Jason rolled his eyes. Of all the things to apologise for, Dick had chosen the only one he didn't actually hold a grudge about.
“I quite literally asked for that,” he said. “I told you to put me down and you did.”
“I’m still sorry,” Dick insisted. “It can't have been easy for you, with your history. I just, I never wanted to cross that line with you, you know? I know you hate being drugged, and I still came at you with a needle and–”
“Hey Dick?”
“Yeah, Jaybird?
“Shut up.”
Dick shut up. Jason marvelled at his newfound powers of persuasion.
Now it was his turn to fidget. He couldn't stop running through escape plans in his mind. Staying at the Cave had seemed like a good idea when he had been dazed by the intoxicating love in Dick’s scent, but he was more lucid now. Whatever he felt, whatever destruction the Pit had wrought on his mind, he could deal with it himself. If he stayed, he was only going to end up in a padded cell. No, he needed out.
He could slip the restraints if he dislocated his thumbs, but Dick would be on him in an instant. He could maybe win that fight, but they'd surely wake Alfred and Jason would fold instantly if his pseudo-grandfather asked him to stand down. He would have to wait until he was left alone, but the chances of that happening seemed extremely low. Not with the way Dick’s hand had found its way back to his already. Jason couldn't find it in himself to take it back a second time. It was the pheromones, he justified. The mingled scents of Dick and Alfred were messing with his head, affecting his judgement. He had a plan, not the immediate one to escape but The Plan, capital letters and all, and it didn't involve letting Octopus Grayson get his claws in him.
But god he had missed his big brother.
They hadn't been close, not at first. Dick had been too angry, and Jason too distrustful for any interaction to go well. The first six months he had stayed at the Manor had been pocked by shouting matches behind closed doors and icy glares over shared dinners.
But at some point, something had changed. A peaceful movie night here, a tentative offer to teach him how to do a proper backflip there. Then Nightwing started joining Batman and Robin on patrol when he was in town. Somewhere between trading quips at their enemies, and conspiring to dye Bruce’s utility belt pink, they became friends. And one patrol a week turned into two, turned into three, turned into commuting back to Bludhaven for work and staying at the Manor instead of the other way around, and suddenly Dick was home again.
To be close to my pack, he had said, and to Jason’s surprise, he had been included in that statement. Bruce had asked him officially not a week later, and Jason’s name had joined Bruce, Alfred and Dick’s on the register of the Wayne pack.
He’d seen how the household changed, with the return of its youngest beta. Bruce was lighter. Alfred smiled more. Chatter filled the halls, and life returned to the Batcave in the form of a blue-and-black clad form chasing a red-green-yellow one across the gym equipment. The very bones of the Manor felt more vibrant, like Dick had taken the sun with him when he’d left, and it had only just returned.
Years later, when Jason had woken dripping green in a cavern in Nanda Parbat, he’d realised that maybe that had been the point of it. Bruce had been filling the void left behind by his first son, whether he had realised it or not. Jason had been both substitute and lure, something to hold the fraying edges of Bruce’s emotions together until the prodigal son returned. And when Dick had returned, well, why not let the spare stay? Maybe he’d proven his use as Robin by then, or maybe reversing the paperwork was too much effort.
On his good days, at least, Jason believed that Bruce had truly loved him. That the best years of his life hadn’t been a lie. That was why his plan had an out; if Bruce could prove his love, then maybe Jason could return home after all.
On his bad days, he wanted to burn the Manor to the ground with his pack alpha inside.
Today wasn’t a good day. Being in the Cave made his skin itch, seeing and smelling his pack was all kinds of confusing, and he couldn't even take it out on anyone, because he would never yell at Alfred and he couldn't seem to find the same burning anger he had at Bruce for Dick.
And there was something else too, something that he couldn't pinpoint that was raising the hair on the back of his neck and triggering his instincts. His alpha rumbled restlessly, pushing at the barriers Jason had set in place to keep it out. He tried to ignore it, to think with logic and intelligence, and not raw emotion. If he had a Pit episode now, he really would wake up in Arkham afterward.
It wasn’t working. The itch continued, incessant, inescapable. Jason let his awareness pool through his body, trying to find the offending nerve. The covers of the bed were soft, as were the padded restraints. He was vaguely hungry, but not in pain. He wasn't cold or hot or overtired, he wasn't even that bored, but his alpha was howling like he was actively dying. The only thing that normally riled it up this much was seeing kids in danger or being hurt.
Shit.
It was Robin, that was what was bothering him. His alpha was freaking out about being separated from the pup he’d been aggressively scenting before his impromptu nap. Of course it was. Jason’s familiarity with his second gender may be limited, but even he knew that separating a protective alpha from their charge had repercussions. It wouldn’t hurt him, not in the way it would hurt the pup if he was still in drop, but it would account for the horrible sense of wrongness he was experiencing.
Jason craned his neck, looking past Dick through the windows into the medbay proper. No kid. Whatever. Bruce was absent, so he probably had the pup tucked up in the den nest, far, far away from the alpha who’d put him into drop. Dick wouldn't be so dry-eyed and calm right now if Tim was still in danger. He was fine. Jason needed to worry about himself instead. He tried to refocus his mind, to put thoughts of pine-scented pups behind him and concentrate on what he would do next.
Except, now that he’d named the annoyance, Jason couldn't stop thinking about it. It was like a missing tooth; he kept poking the sore spot, over and over, like he was expecting it to have magically fixed itself every time he checked. His alpha grew more and more upset. He needed to check on the pup. Anything could happen to him when he was out of Jason’s sight.
Anything, like a good night’s sleep and Alfred’s cooking, Jason tried to remind himself.
Dick was watching him with curiosity evident on his face and in his scent. Jason considered ignoring him, but his alpha wouldn't fucking shut up about the pup. The last thing he remembered was seeing Bruce’s face and a veil of green descending on the world, but he could still recall the way Tim had gone still in his arms.
“Where’s the kid?” he said gruffly, trying to keep his prickly alpha in check.
“Upstairs. Leslie said he’ll pull through.”
Jason grunted. Somehow, his alpha was not appeased by that at all. Dick continued speaking.
“We could help him better, if we knew what happened. He hasn’t woken up to tell us yet himself.”
It was phrased like a suggestion, but it was as good as an order. They’d find out eventually, either from Tim or if Barbie somehow managed to recover the security footage. It wouldn’t do him any favors to withhold the information but Jason still cringed at the thought of what he’d done. It was brutal and excessive, and even without actually killing the kid, he was so ashamed of himself that his throat closed up and he had to fight to get the words out.
“I beat the shit out of him,” he croaked, and suddenly the rest of the words were easy. “I shot him, stabbed him. I used my Voice on him. Between all of that and his heat, of course he dropped.”
Dick blanched. “He was in heat?”
“I didn’t realise until after,” Jason said defensively.
Dick didn’t respond, busy glaring a hole into his phone screen between longing glances at the stairs up to the Manor.
“Why are you even still down here?” Jason questioned. “You clearly want to be with the pup, and you can’t actually care if I try to leave, or I’d be in the containment room.”
His brother’s expression shuttered, devastation peeking through the doctored calmness.
“Tim’s in isolation,” he said quietly. “Packless omegas need to be eased into scent exposure after a drop.”
Jason could hear Leslie’s orders in his voice, but he was distracted by the sudden surge of anger that came out of nowhere.
“Not even bothering to pretend to care anymore, is he?” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“First kid becomes part of the pack. Second gets adopted. Third doesn’t get either.”
“That’s not fair,” Dick protested. “Tim’s situation is– different. We didn't know how bad things were for him.”
“And the old man calls himself the world’s greatest detective,” Jason said scathingly.
“Tim keeps his personal life extremely private, Jay. And if anyone can get something past Bruce it's him. Some days I wonder if he missed his calling as an actor.”
Jason levelled an unimpressed glare at his brother.
“He’s fifteen. You didn't question how a fifteen year old was keeping something as big as Robin a secret for the last two years? Didn't wonder what Mommy and Daddy thought of their precious little boy sneaking out every night?”
A hard look came over Dick’s face, and his scent went eerily blank. Jason hated it when he did that; Dick’s control over his scent was impressive, and he used it to its full advantage, but the emptiness he was currently projecting was wildly unsettling.
“You weren't here, Jay,” he said eventually. “Things were… different, after you left.”
“After I died,” Jason corrected.
Dick bowed his head.
“I went back to Bludhaven. Alfred stopped going into the cave at all. Bruce was tearing himself apart, taking stupid risks and not pulling his punches. Tim saw what was happening, he saw and he was the only one who cared enough to try and put a stop to it.”
Jason scoffed.
“I’m serious. I don't know all of it, I wasn't here, but if it weren't for Tim, Bruce would have followed you into the grave. He didn't want another Robin, he couldn't stand to put another pup in danger, but Tim forced his hand.”
That runty little kid forced Bruce's hand? If stubbornness was a sport, the man could compete at the Olympics. Jason wasn’t buying it. Dick either didn’t notice the skepticism on his face, or he was actively ignoring it, continuing his little speech.
“The point is, Tim’s relationship with Bruce is different. He never relies on him for anything. He keeps us at arm's length. We should have seen it, I agree, but the fact is he didn't want us to, and Tim’s smarter than the rest of us put together. We didn't stand a chance.”
The thing was, Jason could picture it all too clearly. Omegas were vulnerable, not because of any genetic differences, but because society had made them that way. They were taught that they were weaker, lesser, frailer. A newly presented omega, fresh in the cape and trying to fill Dick’s golden shoes, trying to prove that he could keep up with Batman? Of course he kept his distance.
Not to mention the terrible weight of being packless. The months Jason had spent on the street before Bruce had taken him in had been the hardest of his life. The lack of shelter and a reliable source of food were bad enough, but the crippling loneliness had been so much worse. He told himself it was safer like that, that if he never got close to a pack again, he would never have to feel the agonizing pain of having it ripped away.
Was that the conclusion Tim had come to as well? Had he ever even known what it was like to be loved and protected by his pack in the first place? Jason couldn't blame the kid for wrapping himself in isolation like a shield. But he could, and would, blame Bruce for not correcting it.
“It’s not good enough,” he said tightly.
The anger burned red hot in his gut, and Jason rolled over so that Dick wouldn't see the green leaking out from under his closed eyelids. There was nothing he could do to hide the acrid edge of rage on his scent, nor the undertone of coppery blood that had persisted since his resurrection, so he didn’t even try.
His body and mind were a cacophony of conflict. The cuff linking his left wrist to the medbay cot pulled his arm back uncomfortably, Dick’s gaze drilled into his skull, and Jason’s alpha pawed at the edges of his consciousness. The Pit continued to chafe at him, a siren’s call of violence and destruction that he ached to give into. Instead, he watched Alfred’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall. He tried to match his own breathing to it. I am in control, he thought fiercely. For a moment, the Pit and the alpha fell quiet and Jason’s thoughts were solely his own again.
“Tim reminds me a lot of you, sometimes,” Dick said quietly.
The moment ended and the world was submerged in searing, blinding green. How dare Dick compare him to the smug Bristol brat they’d replaced him with? Every hateful thought he'd been harbouring came rushing back with a vengeance. He’d been tossed aside like so much trash, upgraded to a newer model that didn't have the stink of the streets on him. Nothing remained to show that the second Robin had given his life to the city. They’d buried his very existence alongside him in the coffin he'd dug himself out of.
Under the tsunami of rage, the tiny rational part of Jason scrambled to regain control. He wouldn't fall into the abyss that was the Pit again, he couldn’t. He forced the memory of Tim’s crushed scent to the forefront of his mind, trying to recall the clarity it had given him. He pulled on every scrap of restraint he’d learned as Robin, every ounce of self-control he’d ever exercised. Millimeter by torturous millimeter, he pushed back the poison. I am in control, he chanted. I am in control, I am in control, I AM IN CONTROL!
Gradually, glacially, the green began to ebb and fade away. It left Jason breathless and light-headed. Despite just waking from the longest uninterrupted sleep he’d had in weeks, exhaustion clawed at him. Dick continued blithely, unaware of the nuclear missile he’d just dodged.
“Both of you have this unshakeable drive to do good; you can’t stand by and watch someone be hurt or mistreated. Hell, Tim won’t even pick up a weapon more dangerous than his bō staff, because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone more than he has to.”
Jason’s eyes fell on a small mountain of weapons and armour stacked up neatly outside the door of the room. His helmet balanced atop the little pile of death. The comparison was easy to make, and he knew that his brother was thinking it too; if Jason had ever been that gentle before, it had been burned out of him when the warehouse exploded.
“You used to say Robin was magic,” Dick said mournfully. “Jaybird, what… happened to you?”
The taste of gravedirt soured his tongue. There was nothing he wanted to do less than relive his death and rebirth. He closed his eyes again and watched as scenes of burning buildings and crowbars and laughter danced across the inside of his eyelids. He saw Talia’s face, cast in the ghastly emerald light of the Pit and had to remind himself that his lungs were clear and full of air, not toxic chemicals. Sometimes he couldn’t tell what was worse; his death or what came after it.
But it was going to have to come out eventually; he’d known that since he’d stepped into the Zeta tube. He was just lucky that Dick had been the one there when he woke up, so he got more than a gruff ‘Robin, report’. He flopped onto his back and glared up at the ceiling again.
“Talia told me I crawled out of my grave. I try not to remember that part,” he said bluntly.
Dick took a carefully measured breath in and didn't comment.
“I was catatonic for a bit, apparently. Got picked up by the League. Talia got sick of trying to fix me after a while and threw me into a Lazarus Pit. Stowed away on a plane, and here I am.”
He didn't mention the months of training, of having ferocity and violence beaten into him until they were second nature. He didn’t mention slowly sinking further and further into his rage, because it hurt less than the fear and grief. He certainly didn't mention his little shadow in those months; he didn't know if they could be trusted with that yet.
“Why didn't you come home?”
Jason scoffed. Dick said nothing, just watched him with sad eyes, his scent bleeding heartbreak.
“Seriously? Dick, the first thing Talia did when she pulled me out of the Pit was tell me about B’s new bird, and the second thing she did was clean up the bodies of everyone I killed after that.”
“That was Pit Madness.”
Clearly Dick had done some research while Jason was asleep.
“That time was, yeah. But did Bruce ever explain to you why I left in the first place?”
“Your mother–”
“Before that,” Jason cut in.
“I– no? I’m not sure what you're getting at Jay.”
“Does the name Felipe Garzonas ring a bell?”
Dick mutely shook his head. Of course the old man hadn’t told him; it might have made him look bad. Dick always had a way of seeing through Bruce’s bullshit.
“Serial rapist. Got spooked when I landed beside him and fell ten storeys to his death. Bruce thought I pushed him.”
Jason barely remembered that fight. He just remembered the hollow, bitter realisation that he had been right; life at Wayne Manor was too good to be true. There was always a catch.
“He had no evidence, no proof, not even a good reason. It was enough that I was an alpha and angry and didn't care that one more piece of shit was off the streets for good. It was enough for him to decide that I did it on purpose.”
Dick had stopped breathing, Jason noted absently. His scent was slowly heating with anger, though that meant very little. He could be mad at Bruce’s complete lack of emotional intelligence, at Jason for failing to save Garzonas, or at nothing at all. The only version of himself that Dick let show was what he thought needed to be seen.
“He froze me out for something I didn't even do. I wasn't about to serve myself up on a silver plate once I actually was a murderer.”
“He would have forgiven you,” Dick entreated.
“Well maybe I haven't forgiven him,” Jason snarled. “Maybe I was sick of being treated like a violent dog instead of a son. He got what he wanted after all, a Robin he can send away at the end of the night.”
“Jason, I told you–”
“Yeah, yeah, the man had a few shitty days. If he actually cared, then why the fuck did he put another kid in the suit? Actually, if he cared, then why the fuck is the man who murdered me still alive?”
Dick’s mouth fell open, gaping speechlessly.
“Forgot about that, did you? It's not like the Joker is innocent; he's not insane, or psychotic or whatever bullshit diagnosis he has that's letting him skip out on death row for a cushy bed in Arkham. He’s a monster and he will never stop until someone puts him in the ground. But Bruce’s stupid rule is more important to him than his own kids, not to mention half the city.”
“I tried.”
“You– what?”
“I tried to kill the Joker. Bruce did too. The first time, Superman had to stop Batman from beating him to death. The second time, I actually succeeded and Bruce resuscitated him.”
Jason was so shocked, he momentarily forgot to be angry.
“Why?”
“Because killing changes you. And he didn't want that for me, even if he was willing to do it to himself to avenge you. He loves us, Jason. Even if he doesn't show it like any sane person.”
“That he does, Master Dick.”
Jason and Dick both startled violently, whipping around to see Alfred standing from his chair and folding the blanket he had been using.
“How long have you been awake?” Dick asked with narrowed eyes.
“Long enough to know this conversation is going in circles,” Alfred said. “Now, you’ve disturbed my patient enough. Go upstairs and get some proper rest. You may continue this argument when you’ve both slept for more than four hours and have some food in you.”
“But Tim–”
“Is with Master Bruce, and going nowhere before you wake.”
Dick grumbled and groaned, but Alfred’s flinty eyed stare was impossible to disobey. He shuffled to his feet, and made it halfway to the door before looking back at Jason.
“I love you, Little Wing,” he said, and vanished from sight.
“Quite right,” Alfred sniffed, coming to stand next to the bed. He placed the back of his hand on Jason’s forehead, and Jason tried not to squirm under his searching gaze.
“How are you feeling, my boy?”
“Fine,” he mumbled. He was out of practice at being fussed over. He used to milk an injury for all it was worth, demanding food and attention like it was going out of style. Once, he pretended to have been dosed with cuddle pollen to have an excuse to curl up in the pack nest with his family for a few hours, not realising B would want to take blood to confirm it was nothing more dangerous. Alfred had told him the machine was out of order, and sent them upstairs with a wink and promise of extra snacks.
“You burned through eight hours worth of sedation in just over three and a half hours. Your temperature is a little warmer than I’d like, but your heart rate and breathing are good,” the beta reeled off. His hand slipped down to cradle Jason's cheek. “Though your eyes are more green than before.”
Embarrassingly, Jason felt tears begin to prick at said eyes.
“It comes and goes,” he said, voice as stable as he could manage.
“Well, if it brought you home, then I am glad for it. Are you hungry, lad?”
Jason’s stomach growled in response, and Alfred chuckled.
“I will make you something. Rest now. You’re safe here.”
~
Jason sighed, breathing in the fading smell of his brother and grandfather. He’d been away from the scents of pack and home for two long years. He’d thought he’d learnt to live without it, but now he wondered if he’d only been surviving instead. Soon he'd be back to the dead smell of grime and pollution and his own tainted rosemary, though whether it would be through freedom or imprisonment far from Wayne Manor, he didn’t know.
He breathed slow and deep, drinking in the scents while they were available. He didn't feel guilty about it – well, much. It's not like he could get away, anyway. Jason was just glad Bruce’s coffee scent was absent; there's no way he'd be this calm if he could smell it. What he did miss, however, was evergreen pine. Robin’s – Tim’s – scent had wormed its way under his skin when he hadn’t been looking and now his alpha was rebelling against its absence.
Jason groaned. He didn't want to get involved with whatever shitshow was going on with the Waynes and Tim. Clearly, his knucklehead brother and father Bruce were previously unaware of the kid’s pack status, but it was also clearly being fixed. His help wasn't needed.
He just had to get his stupid alpha on board with that.
The measured breathing wasn't helping and the longer he was alone in the quarantine room, the worse the need to move got. Jason wanted out. There was nothing he hated more than being caged. He shifted restlessly, tugging on the restraints. He didn’t notice the gradual green tint that slid over his vision, but he sure as hell noticed the chains of the padded restraints snapping like they were made of paper and not Bat-grade steel.
He stared at the broken links in disbelief. He knew the Pit had enhanced his strength and stamina, but to this degree? He had the sudden urge to find an open gym and see how much he could bench. He shook his head to dispel the thought; an opportunity had presented itself and he wasn’t going to miss it because he was daydreaming. Within seconds, Jason had unshackled himself from the remaining restraints and slipped out of the quarantine room on silent socked feet. This was why the protocol for compromised Bats was complete isolation. If Jason were feeling slightly more vengeful, he could create chaos in the Cave, unsupervised as he was.
But honestly, the past eight hours had been extraordinarily exhausting and confronting. His emotions were a tangled mess, and he just wanted to slink off and lick his wounds in solitude.
Jason pulled on his boots and jacket, choosing to shove his body armour and weapons into a duffel bag instead of taking the time to don them. The clock had started ticking as soon as he broke free; if Dick wasn’t back down here in the next ten minutes, Jason would eat his shoe. He only let the estimate go that long because the bed hadn’t been alarmed (sloppy) and Bruce was occupied (fortunate).
He grabbed his duffel of gear and darted across the cave, heading for the bikes and aiming straight for the souped up Harley Davidson that no one was supposed to take out but the Bat himself. Yes, Jason would be stealing Bruce’s favourite; he deserved to have nice things. He made it as far as strapping his bag to the back of the gleaming black beast, before his alpha seized the reins from him.
Pup, it howled. Can’t leave the pup behind.
Without his permission, Jason’s body turned around and bolted back through the cave. He fought viciously against his alpha, but his instincts were in full control. Come hell or high water, he would be laying eyes on the pup. Jason could only hope that a visual check would be enough to subdue it. He did manage to detour past the medbay and snag some scent blockers; he wasn’t going to be breaking Leslie’s rules any time soon.
The study was silent when he emerged from the grandfather clock. Jason paused, listening intently. The thick walls of the ancient house deadened sound, but he didn’t pick up on anyone lurking on the other side of the door to catch him out. Cautiously, he poked his head out. The hall was dark, a faint glow creeping up from the stairs further down the way. There was no sign of any interfering Bats, which Jason’s alpha took as full permission to proceed.
The family wing was even darker than the hall where the study was. Jason couldn’t tell if the faint green glow was real or imagined, but the combination of that and old familiarity led him straight past several closed doors. Faint snoring came from behind the one he knew to be Dick’s – maybe he had more time than he thought. Bruce’s door too, was ignored, as was the room Jason used to stay in. Even if Tim were in there, he wasn’t sure he could face opening it.
Jason came to a stop in front of an unassuming door. Here, said his instincts. He eased the door open as slowly as he could, praying the hinges had been oiled recently. Inside was a plain, unadorned room, filled with the heavy antique furniture that characterised most of the rooms at the Manor. It looked like one of the guest rooms. Jason wondered why they had put Tim here and not in his own room for a split second, then dismissed the thought. His own room was probably incurably contaminated with ginger.
A very rough circle of blankets that could theoretically be a nest if Jason squinted and turned his head was taking up the majority of real estate on the queen sized bed. Inside were two huddled forms, curled into each other like a pair of brackets.
He carefully breathed in through his mouth. He could still vaguely taste the mixed coffee-and-pine, but it was muted enough that his vision didn't tinge green again. The smaller body in the nest twitched, like a dog chasing rabbits in its sleep.
See? Jason told his alpha. Kid’s fine. We can leave.
The alpha fell quiet. It longed to join the nest, but not even Jason’s deepest instincts could make him forget that he was in enemy territory. He rested his forehead on the doorframe, silently willing himself to leave.
“Jason?”
A pale face peered out at him from the dark. Tim looked like a disgruntled cat that had been rolled into a blanket burrito, all mussed hair and squinty eyes.
“Go back to sleep,” Jason told him, sotto voice.
Tim slumped slightly, like his body had started to obey before his mind caught up. He shook his head like he was ridding flies.
“No,” the pup said, and Jason fought the urge to walk over and scruff the brat, and tuck him in so tight he wouldn't be able to get free by himself. “I want to know. Why did you save me?”
“Look kid–”
“Tim,” he cut in. “I did the math, and you're four years older than me at most.”
“Yeah well, dying ages you.”
A smug little grin crept onto the boy’s face.
“So, given I apparently died twice last night, the gap’s even smaller right?”
Arrogant little brat, Jason thought, with far more fondness than he felt was sane.
“Do you want me to answer your question or not?”
Tim shut his mouth. Jason sighed, running a hand over his face. He was too tired for this conversation. He had half a mind to turn around and leave. It's not like Tim could follow him down the hall at the moment anyway. But try as he might, he couldn’t overcome the niggling guilt that had made him go along with his alpha to come here in the first place. He had seriously hurt the kid and he hated it.
“I shouldn't have attacked you in the first place,” he murmured. “I’m all kinds of messed up, but I don't hurt kids and as soon as I realised what I’d done I regretted it.”
Tim’s face twitched like he was trying to decide what to make of that.
“I’m sorry.” The words were hard to get out, but Jason felt lighter once he’d uttered them.
“You know,” Tim said slowly. “Me being Robin was never really the plan. I can’t– I can’t undo the past, but I can give it back. Robin’s yours, Jason. I wouldn't keep it from you.
Jason recoiled. Of all the things he thought Tim would say, returning Robin to him had never been on the list. Fleetingly, the thought of donning the colours again crossed his mind. He could go back to the best part of his life. He could help people, keep his city safe, do good recklessly. He could fly again.
But then reality caught up with him. Even if Tim returned the suit, there was no way Bruce would let a murderer patrol the streets with him, much less be his trusted partner. No, that part of his life needed to stay dead and buried.
“I don't want your cast offs,” he growled, harsher than he intended. Tim didn’t visibly flinch, but his darkening scent betrayed him anyway.
The other man in the bed stirred, reaching for the pup’s shoulder to draw him close.
“Tim? Are you alright?” Bruce said groggily.
“I’m fine,” Tim replied steadily, letting himself be cradled anyway.
“Sweetheart, I can smell your pain, you’re– Jason?!”
Jason cursed and backed up. Bruce made it halfway out of the nest before Tim’s cut off whimper and plummeting scent drew him back.
“What are you doing up here, Jason?” Bruce called, clearly torn between the need to stay by Tim, and the need to restrain Jason. At the very least, it was an easy question to answer.
“Leaving,” he snarled, and slammed the door.
The timer was really ticking now. He could hear Bruce questioning Tim behind the door, and even though the alpha was stuck in the room, he had a phone and Dick was still in the house. Jason slipped back down the hall. He should have a clear shot back to the Cave and the bike he’d picked, so long as he left now and didn’t suffer anymore diversions.
Muscle memory kicked in as he inputted the correct time on the clock face, and threw himself down the narrow stairs cut into the stone. Maybe the old man would learn his lesson and change some pass codes after this, but for now, everything was exactly how he remembered it. Jason rounded the corner and slid to a stop when he spotted a figure sitting by the Batcomputer. Alfred had a cup of tea in hand, and a heavy duty backpack at his feet.
Jason froze. He hadn't planned for this.
“I don't suppose I can convince you to stay, Master Jason,” Alfred said mildly. Jason hesitated.
“It wouldn't work out well for anyone,” he said.
“It would not be easy, no, but some things are worth the trouble. I have never known you to shy away from difficult situations.”
“I’ve killed people, Alfie. I’m not even sorry. That’s not something the old man would gloss over.”
“You are not the only killer to reside under this roof, dear boy, and you would not be facing this alone. I am not Master Bruce, and I lived a very different life before I came to Gotham. I understand you more than you might think.”
Jason shifted uncomfortably. Alfred sighed, and returned the teacup to its saucer on the desk. He stood, and made his way to where Jason was still standing frozen.
“I won’t be able to change your mind, will I?”
Jason dropped his gaze, unable to face the beta’s disappointment. He jumped when the rough handle of the backpack was pressed into his hands.
“Alfred?”
“You will find some supplies inside, along with a burner cell phone. It has a direct line to me in it, and Bruce does not know it exists. If I do not hear from you regularly, I will not hesitate to use all the many resources at my disposal to track you down. I have lost my grandson once before, and I do not intend to do it again.”
Jason was speechless. His years away had fractured his relationship with his pack, so much so that he didn’t know if it could even be fixed. He had doubted every memory he had, convinced that that his mind was lying to him, sheltering him from more pain. And with a single gesture, Alfred had swept all that aside. He wasn’t forcing Jason to stay, but he wasn’t abandoning him either. At that moment, Jason felt seen and understood in a way he hadn’t since his presentation.
“You will always be welcome here, Master Jason. But unless you wish to extend your stay, you should leave now, before your brother detains you again.”
Later, Jason would open the backpack and find scent-marked clothes from every member of the pack, tucked between a well stocked first aid kit and tupperware container of homemade protein bars. He’d find the burner phone, carrying the numbers of everyone from Alfred to Barbara to Clark. The essence of love would floor him, and he would spend the day curled into a ball around a cedar scented scarf.
Even later than that, he would meet his men with new orders not to interfere with any of the Bats in Gotham, telling himself it was because no one else had the right to hurt them but him. He would quietly tap into Bab’s frequencies, and ignore the subtle greetings he received in return. He would tentatively reach out to his contacts in Nanda Parbat, reassured that at least one person in the Manor would truly love and care for his baby brother in a way the League never could.
He would maybe even let himself hope.
But for now, he pressed a kiss to Alfred’s wrinkled cheek and sped away from Wayne Manor, head held high.