VOSAEM

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. You appeared... normal. A little messy and exhausted, but otherwise normal. No different than usual.

No one should be able to tell that you had a dozen of the best scent blockers plastered over all your newly developed glands. On either side of the neck, on the inside of both wrists, on the inner thighs, double patches over each part. Everything covered up with a turtleneck sweater, a denim jacket and slacks, all of them–as well as all your clothes and bedding–having been laundered twice with a special scent-removing detergent.

Moving towards the corridor door, you took one last glance and sniff into the nursery where you lived. All clear–nothing incriminating to see and, far more importantly, no newly presented beta scent to smell, thanks to the high-grade scent-removing spray you'd used a bottleful of.

Good. Not even Mr Pennyworth had stepped a foot into the nursery since you were thirteen and he was swamped with duties involving the then recent arrival of Damian, but you refused to take a risk. You walked across the corridor, down the stairs, through the side entry door, and straight into Damian.

Between enough mental curses to make a Crime Alley goon blush, you wondered if even alluding to Damian could summon him before you.

Fortunately you managed to keep an impassive face. You nodded casually to the boy and tried to walk around him.

Tried being a keyword. Little alpha boy Damian crossed his arms and deliberately stood in your way.

"Reader."

"Damian."

It took your all to maintain the nonchalant air as Damian swept an imperious eye over you. Shit, did he remember it was your sixteenth birthday and so you should have presented? Did he know what you presented as?

Your knees almost buckled in relief when Damian proceeded to click his tongue and say, "Sloppy. You are still a pup at your age and act in such a lowly manner? You ought to refrain from further disgracing the Wayne name."

A wry smile very nearly appeared on your face. Damian, when not treating you like air, always criticized you for being 'disgraceful' as though you weren't–by blood, on paper–his older sibling but his wayward child. Grandchild, even.

Reminiscent of how alphas and omegas tended to treat their pack betas.

The realization chilled you. You forced yourself to shrug, self-deprecatingly so not to anger the kid, and point your thumb at the side gates. "Well, if you'd let me pass so I could reach school in time and thus not disgrace myself...?"

Damian clicked his tongue once more, but did shift ever so slightly for you. You dashed past him, freedom almost within reach, only to notice Damian's nostrils flaring and his hand snatching your arm.

"What scent is that?" He demanded.

CALM DOWN, you screamed at yourself. You pretended to be confused before 'realizing' what Damian meant. "Oh, you mean my perfume? I'm surprised you noticed it."

"My olfactory sense is superior to the presented, moreover to a pup as yours." Damian scoffed. "What brand is that and where did you procure it?"

You shrugged again, this time apologetically. "It was one of those blind box stalls in Chinatown. The bottle didn't have any mark or label. Do you really like that scent?"

"I am above such juvenile impulses," Damian scoffed, then entered the manor without another word to you. You observed his figure through the windows until it vanished at the turn that would lead him to the main building, then ran out into the street.

Damian – Clear.

You went to school by bus, as you'd been doing since you were ten. You sat at the very back next to the door and clutched your backpack to your front, making a mental note to research military-grade scent removers.

That near-escape with Damian was alarming; you hadn't anticipated him or anyone having 'superior' olfactory sense. You doubted Damian was a prime alpha–that kid would've announced it without hesitation otherwise–but if even he could smell you after all those scent removers, wouldn't Bruce realize your secondary gender the second he saw you?

You were still thinking about how to research military-grade scent removers without arousing suspicion–would it arouse suspicion? If you bought them, would it put you on some kind of list of suspicious individuals, under scrutiny, at even higher risk of being found out...?–when someone took a seat next to you. You glanced and almost had a heart attack spotting Tim.

Tim also startled upon seeing you. He blinked, opened his mouth, looked at the bus route, then looked back to you. "You didn't go in the car with Alfred?" He asked before adding, "Hi. Uh. Long time no see, huh Reader?"

True enough. The last time you interacted with each other was maybe two years ago when he rambled half-incoherently to you before falling asleep at the dining table.

"Hi, Tim," you replied with the most even tone you could muster. "I've been going to school by myself for years actually."

"O, oh?" Discomfort flickered in Tim's eyes. "So... Uh. How's school?"

"Good, thanks. How's work?"

"Good, good, it's... good."

You wanted to jump off the bus. You wanted to throw Tim out of the bus. You wanted him to stop trying to find topics of conservation and especially to not ask–

"Say, have you presented? As what?"

–that. You really wanted him to not ask that.

You deliberately sighed in disappointment and gestured at your turtleneck sweater, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Tim even though your heart was beating fast as a hummingbird's the whole time.

Tim flushed. "Oh yeah, it was–obvious huh? My bad."

"Don't mention it." The bus finally reached your stop. You practically dove down the steps with a muttered "Bye" Tim's way.

Daring to look back, you were relieved to see Tim was already shutting his eyes, probably for a nap. You walked the rest of the way to school with a lighter heart.

Tim – Clear.

You didn't go to Gotham Academy.

Oh, you did initially, but starting high school, you'd been a student of Park Row High, deep in Crime Alley.

Sometimes you wondered if anybody at the manor knew about it. You didn't wonder if they'd care–they wouldn't beyond the possibility of you, to quote Damian, 'disgracing the Wayne name'–but you were half-certain they had no idea. It could've been funny seeing as Mr Pennyworth was, according to Bruce and his chosen kids, basically omniscient.

It wasn't funny seeing as Mr Pennyworth didn't think you worthy of attention to begin with.

Your day at school went by peacefully, and you blessed every single second of it. Due to Crime Alley having plenty of... colorful personalities, it was mandatory for Park Row High students and staff alike to wear scent blockers and not flaunt their secondary genders. No one looked at you weirdly, the administration staff and the nurse didn't approach you about updating your file or getting a medical checkup. It was a breath of fresh air after so much stress.

So, naturally, things turned bad the moment you got out of school. Jason was at the gate, sitting on his parked bike.

You could strangle someone. Meeting any of the Waynes was a once in a blue moon event. Sure you knew Jason was from Crime Alley, that upon his miraculous resurrection he'd been living here again, but why here at your school, today of all days?

It didn't seem like he'd seen you. You blended in with some other kids streaming out of the gate, hoping to pass by unnoticed. Almost there, just one turn to the bus stop–

"Reader!"

You already knew you had an awful luck to be a beta, but guess it was worse than anticipated.

"Jason? Why are you calling me?"

Jason didn't answer you, but asked you back with a fierce glare, "What the fuck are you doing here? Did the old man send you to spy on me?"

He spat out the accusation. You couldn't help yourself reflecting how, once upon a time, you yearned so badly to have Bruce spare you the attention Jason now treated as garbage. That thought slid off like water off a duck's back as you remembered that now you also considered attention from Bruce and his pack as garbage.

Smiling wryly, you told Jason, "I sincerely doubt Bruce even knows I attend school here."

For a while Jason looked askance, then became doubtful, then what might be angry or upset or something you couldn't decipher, at last settling into impassivity as he jerked his head to the back seat of his bike.

"Get on," he ordered.

You stared blankly at him. A perfectly normal reaction to a perfectly abnormal act. Since when did Jason ever give you a ride?

Jason didn't seem to share your opinion. He let out a curt, bark-like noise that alphas made to wayward pups.

Their wayward pups.

Later on you would berate yourself for this. As of now, however, being treated as a pack member by Jason made your hackles rise. Without a second thought, you snarled and took a step–backward, not forward, because thankfully you still had a sense of self-preservation even when your basic common sense abandoned you.

Nevertheless it was so obviously a disobedient move, and dread filled you as you noticed how Jason's hand–draped over the front of his bike–curled lazily as though intending to scruff you.

An eternity passed during the couple of seconds Jason seemed to debate whether to actually scruff you here in public or not. You felt yourself having aged when he eventually decided to feel amused and warn you instead,

"Fine then, alpha pup. Just remember that your daddy isn't the ruler here, I am. Capiche?"

He didn't wait for your response, just revved his engine and left trailing exhaust smoke that made you cover your nose.

You would've been more irritated had you not been relieved he didn't linger on.

Jason – Clear.

Once an accident, twice a coincidence, thrice a pattern. Having encountered three of Bruce's children today, you were grimly unsurprised to see Dick right after entering the manor.

Dick on the other hand was surprised to see you.

"Reader?" He began, sounding... disbelieving? "You still live here?"

You levelled him a look. "I haven't moved out of the manor, yes."

"No, wait, that's not what I mean!" Dick hastily waves his hands. "I mean–you still live here, in the nursery wing?"

"Nothing's wrong with it," you said.

"I know, I know," Dick nodded soothingly before giving you a smile–the fake beaming smile he gave you whenever you interacted. "So, haven't presented yet, huh? I've been wondering about that!"

Sure he did. You believed him completely.

"Need to store some things in what should've been an abandoned wing?" You questioned, meaningfully glancing at the heap of boxes at Dick's feet.

He coughed, cheeks flushed. "I'll find another place to put them in."

You shrugged. "Just use the downstairs rooms, nobody uses those."

Dick perked up. "Thanks, pup!"

He went to put an arm around your shoulders, but you dodged. A frown marred his face before it smoothed back into the fake beaming smile.

"Say, Reader, if you present as an omega feel free to hit me up! I'd be happy to show you the ropes!"

You gave him an equally fake smile back. "Sure, thank you, Dick."

Sometimes you couldn't help but wonder why Dick kept making these empty promises. It was practically pathological lying at this point.

Dick – Clear.

The nursery wing really occupied an entire wing of Wayne Manor, next to the omega's side of the main building, opposite the elderly wing next to the alpha's side. It was huge, unnecessarily so for such a small pack without any mated members moreover pups of their own. Once upon a time, however, all those rooms were apparently really necessary:

The ward for home birth. The bedroom saved for the midwife or other medical staff. Another of said bedroom for medical staff dealing with pups suffering contagious disease. The isolation ward for said pups. The bedroom with enough cribs and changing tables to open a shop with. The nanny's bedroom. The dorm-style bedroom for pups aged 1 to 7. The series of individual rooms for older pups. The private tutor or governess' bedroom. The schoolroom. The playroom. The nursery dining room. The nursery kitchen and laundry. The dorm-style bedroom for the other domestic staff–housemaid, footman, cook and chauffeur detailed to attend to the nursery only. The spare bedrooms for visiting pack's pups and their attendants. The six bathrooms.

Having lived here for a year short of a decade, you feared you had developed agoraphobia. So much space with only you occupying it. Many times you thought you would've loved for there to be ghosts haunting this wing.

You had one of the bedrooms for older pups and the bathroom next to it. Over the years you had bought a small washer-and-dryer combo to put in the bathroom, a mini fridge, a microwave and an induction stove for a makeshift kitchenette in the bedroom. It was like your own little house, except you figured a real house would not make you fear that you'd be kicked out of it when the owner remembered your existence.

Or, now, that you'd be forbidden from leaving it if the owner knew what you were.

You showered with a scent-removing body wash and made sure to apply triple scent-blocking patches instead of just double like you did in the morning. You cooked your dinner, ate, brushed your teeth and washed the dishes. You were just sitting down to look up 'military-grade scent-removing spray' on your laptop when something unexpected happened:

Someone knocked on your door.

For a moment, you froze in place. Then a voice followed the knock and you hadn't known it was possible to feel more beyond freezing like that.

"Reader? May I enter?"

The voice belonged to Bruce.

Of fucking course. Nine years and you doubted you had conversed with him nine times–half of them happening before Jason's death when Mr Pennyworth still pushed you, gently yet firmly, into playing house with the pack and pretended not to notice them pushing you aside every time. And now of all times he actually came to you?

You didn't tell Bruce to come in. You closed your laptop, looked hard around your room and self for anything that would even whisper I recently presented as a beta and am still unclaimed, and it was only after double-checking there were no such hints that you opened the door.

Looking Bruce in the eye, you absently noted that he was shorter than you remembered. More like a real human being than a colored shadow lengthened by specific light arrangement.

But still a prime alpha. Still the most dangerous to you.

As subtly as possible, you shifted so that most of you was hidden by the door. "Can I help you?"

Bruce's expression was unreadable. The smile he put on afterwards was as fake as Dick's.

"Hey, chum. Dick mentioned to me you were still living here, so–"

He paused. You didn't prompt him to continue.

"So... Ah. Would you prefer staying here?"

"...I don't mind it."

"Well," Bruce visibly hesitated. "If you'd rather move to the main building–well, make sure to tell Alfred first, okay, chum? It's up to you, just–ah, I'm afraid you would have to take a room on the next floor. The ones not used by me and your brothers on the main floor were rather damaged by lack of use, I'm sorry to say."

That was a lie.

Not that you actually knew it; by your first year here you'd been discouraged from exploring. But Bruce's statement made no sense, all of those remaining rooms damaged? But the next floor ones weren't despite being equally unused?

Had it been before, hope might've soared within you. Maybe Bruce and his children shared a secret. A huge secret that you weren't privy to, that was the sole reason you were excluded by everyone all the time.

Your mind was clear now. Whether they really shared this huge secret that existed or not, it did not absolve them from their neglect. No family secret ought to justify you having to take a cab alone to the hospital for an appendectomy and pay the staff extra because you couldn't reach anyone to sign your medical forms.

Unclenching the fists you didn't remember clenching to begin with, you replied, "I prefer staying here, thank you."

Once, it would've hurt to see the palpable relief in Bruce's face.

"That's–good, that you stay here. I mean, that you prefer to stay here and get to stay here." He let out a forced laugh. "A growing alpha has to get to choose their own space, after all! I won't bother you anymore then, Reader. See you at dinner."

You didn't tell him you'd eaten. That you hadn't joined the pack for dinner since Damian came to live here. That you weren't an alpha or an omega or unpresented, because you weren't stupid.

Bruce – Clear.

Having encountered every member of the pack but Mr Pennyworth today, you refused to tempt fate. Bruce's prime alpha might've been unable to detect your beta scent under triple blockers and scent-removing body wash, but it very well could've meant that Mr Pennyworth's supposed omniscience would work on you.

You wrote Already ate. Busy studying. Please do not disturb on a post-it note, stuck it outside the door, and locked the room shut, shoving a chair under the door handle for good measure.

You didn't know it, busy as you were researching late into the night, but Mr Pennyworth did come to your door in order to fetch you for dinner. He frowned reading the post-it note, but wordlessly heeded it and turned back to the main building.

Mr Pennyworth – Clear.

A/N: I'm finally done ahhh!!! I won't say sorry for the late update bc knowing me it should've taken like weeks for me to update each new chapter but in my defense this time I really did mean to finish writing yesterday :/ Unfortunately my bestie abducted me to keep her company getting her phone repaired in the neighboring city and we finished so late I stayed overnight and was too exhausted to write anything until today 😔 I'd reminisce on the days I was young and not so easily downed but tbh those days seemed like a dream.

Edit: Made the story under read more, hopefully I didn't mess it up

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