#alphadickgraysonweek

The red-hooded omega is a perfect mix of beauty and sadness.

He has his hood down, his masks discarded. His features a more mature version of the way-too-familiar face of the lost Robin that Dick remembers, and the mewling pup in his arms a perfect mirror of his father. But the omega’s eyes are almost vacant, empty, blue as the sky like in his memories but also polluted with a touch of green… the echo of the water of Lazarus.

And Dick doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like finding out his dead love coming back to him this way, doesn’t like seeing him in his amnesiac state, doesn’t like that he has been kept a secret (along with Damian) from him for so long, and he doesn’t like those fresh scents of lemon and rain - sweet and memorable though they are - are too lonesome, too secluded, too lacking of the indication of a pack. There’s a lot of things Dick doesn’t like about this. But he just can’t help but let loose his own scents of warring emotions, tears of bliss clouding his vision, and Dick wants nothing more than to hold his long-lost bird, claiming him, and never letting him leave his sight.

There’s a spike in the omega’s scents that screams longing, and as Dick inches close with his hands up in the air, the boy does nothing more than tightening his own hold on Damian protectively. They stare at each other for a moment, Dick’s own passionate blues boring into the assassin’s Lazarus-tinted ones, irises speaking many thoughts of possibilities, of grief, and of could-haves that never had, and the familiar omega doesn’t back away as Dick pulls him into an embrace, his nose nuzzling into the boy’s scent glands behind his ear before rubbing their glands together, mixing their scents as Dick reclaims the omega as his own.

The omega lets out a low-rumbling whine as Dick reclaims him as part of the pack, and he doesn’t stop him as the alpha pets his pup on the head gently, subtly scenting him as well, their long-lasting embrace has Damian wrapped between them protectively.

The clock is ticking, but it won’t be for long. 

The green-haired psychopath laughs one last time before he chokes on his own blood. Ignoring the single-edged sword sticking out from his chest, he kneels onto the floor, legs giving out from under him. Behind him, above the gloved hands holding the hilt, is the cool and passive face of a young alpha. Blue eyes follow the clown’s decline from under a domino mask, completely motionless save for a few strands of the long, black hair flying upwards before falling down. 

Renegade pulls his Katana out, the whites of the metal stained with red streaks as he uses his foot to dislodge the purple-clad body. The clown falls to the ground, choking, wheezing as he tries to laugh some more. Blood bubbles up through his painted lips and pools on the ground, his body curling and twitching in a grotesque spasm. Then the same sword comes down again, finally severing Joker’s head and making grating laughter abruptly cease. 

The warehouse is quiet now. Other than the ticking of the timer and the whimpers coming from the corner. The sweet, sticky scent of a presenting omega heavy in the air. 

Dick straightens and walks through the scattered bodies. Some are intact, others dismembered, but all alphas except the blonde lying dead next to the column—he’s made sure that she suffered the most before she died—all perished with a single strike of the sword. He walks towards the sad bundle of yellow and green lying shaking on the floor beyond them, its cape bunching up under the ropes tying it, stained with specks of red. Its uniform half undone, pained moans coming out with each shuddering breath. 

Renegade stands over the pup-turning-omega, scrunching his nose at the harsh smell of cinnamon and cider mixed with the strong tinge of copper. His gaze falls onto the ticking bomb situated beside him. 

Batman will not come. The boy will die. 

Good thing Renegade isn’t planning to let that happen. 

Dick kneels next to the bomb and works fast, opening it up and finding the right cords to cut, finally putting a stop to the death-clock with great efficiency. He could’ve just taken the boy and left, but there’s no fun in that. Bruce had taught him more than enough to dismantle a bomb even before Slade came along, and Dick wanted to take his time studying the injured bird. 

The digital numbers dim when Dick cuts off the final cord. The ticking stops, the light shutting off. Dick stands up, walks over to the whimpering mess lying only feet away. That sweet omega scent is tangy with distress and pain and fear. 

Renegade stands above Robin, tilting his head, brows knitted in concentration.

When he finally speaks, it’s with an almost sing-song quality to his voice. 

“Omega, huh?” Dick muses, taking a few more moments to consider the situation before kneeling down. He looks Robin over as the boy tries but fails several times to get up, slipping on top of his own blood-soaked cape with the ropes binding him, constraining his range of movement. 

Dick’s fingers find their way onto the rough surface of the rope, index gently tapping there as he tilts his head to the left. His blue eyes are almost flashing behind his black domino mask. 

“Pity,” he says, tone gentle but with a tinge of mockery in it. “Presenting in the worst scenario possible, while your pack alpha isn’t here to bear witness or comfort you. In fact, you would’ve died if it wasn’t for me. I always knew Bruce wasn’t up to the task. Still isn’t, it seems.” 

The omega whines again, though from pain or from Dick’s words, he can’t tell. 

Glove-clad hands find their way onto the top of Robin’s head, gently smoothing over the messy mop of hair in a gesture of comfort. Dick lets out his own alpha scent to calm and reassure the distressed omega, making him whine. Taking a few more seconds to savor the moment, Dick reaches over to untie the ropes.

Dick has been dancing around the bird for months now. He loved to tease and frighten the boy for fun, watching as he tensed up whenever he’d gotten too close. He loved mocking him in an almost flirtatious way, throwing out fake threats just to see the pinkish flush of indignation and fear spread from his successor’s cheeks to the tips of his ears. All while the pup was too proud and stubborn to back down.

The whole sport was thrilling, probably the most fun Dick has had since he’d left the Titans and sought Slade. Dick loved to tease a reaction out of the new Robin. It made him smile and kept him entertained.

And, just as a child would mark their most precious toy, Dick secretly marked Jason as his own even before the boy had run off to seek his birth mother, when he was still running around in Gotham trailing behind the Bat. And Dick has always scented him whenever he’d gotten close enough. The inside of his wrist always brushed the scent glands behind the boy’s ears, just barely, marking him as his own and his to protect. 

Dick would have kept the sport up behind Batman’s back. Like a cat chasing a mouse, he’d let his target escape purposefully only to show him later on that it was all planned, that Jason never truly slipped out of his grasp, and there’s no escape of the current Robin from the former. A game that Dick liked to play. 

Except it had all stopped being a game when Batman let his Robin slip from under him and flew into danger. It stopped being a game when the pup—now omega—was lying in a pool of his own blood whimpering with every strike of the crowbar, a madman standing over him and countless alpha low-lives awaited eagerly to get a taste of the sweet and young prey. It stopped being a game when Dick had got to the scene before Bruce did, saving Jason—Robin—from the grim fate that would’ve befallen him. 

The ropes are untied and the distressed boy clings to Dick, as if his life depends on it. Dick allows it, spending a few more seconds to hug Robin’s warm body close and letting his own comforting sandalwood scents surround the petrified omega. Minor comfort for this nightmarish experience of the boy’s first heat. 

“Batman really isn’t the best guardian, is he?” Dick coos, a hint of playfulness in his tone as he pets Robin on the hair. “But don’t you worry, you’ll be safe from now on... because I’ll be taking you away from him.” 

Robin doesn’t answer, rather purrs in relief and nuzzles closer to Dick’s comforting presence. Dick shifts him, wrapping the injured boy into a bundle inside his own cape, before lifting him into his arms and standing to walk out of the warehouse. 

Yes. It will all be different from now on.