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The hero community had long ago stopped pretending Dick Grayson’s scent wasn’t a problem. Brown sugar and vanilla, warmed by sunshine. Innocuous ingredients that should have evoked thoughts of bakeries and lazy afternoons. Instead, they created something that could bring an Alpha to their knees.
The first time a hero had encountered Dick’s scent firsthand, the Omega had been fifteen and cocky and convinced that his training made him untouchable. Roy Harper had been visiting the Batcave with Green Arrow, all easy grins and casual flirtation that Dick had mistaken for friendship. Until Roy’s nostrils had flared during a sparring session after Dick’s scent patch slid sideways. Until his pupils had blown wide and his breathing had turned ragged.
The transformation had been instantaneous. One moment Roy was laughing at something Dick had said, the next he was frozen mid-sentence, his body going rigid as every muscle locked into predatory stillness. Dick had watched in fascination and growing alarm as Roy’s face shifted, the friendly mask sliding away to reveal something hungry and desperate underneath.
“It’s like drowning in honey,” Roy had confessed after trying to jump him, shame coloring his voice as Dick held him pinned against the training room wall, suppressant dissolving bitter on the redhead’s tongue. The acrid bite of scent-neutralizing spray filled the air between them. “Makes you forget everything else exists. Makes you forget you exist, except as something that needs to get closer.”
Dick had released him only after counting thirty heartbeats, watching for the telltale loosening of Roy’s shoulders that meant the Alpha’s hindbrain had surrendered control back to rationality. Roy’s sneeze was violent when Dick aimed the spray directly at his nostrils, but his pupils were already contracting back to normal size. The walk to his room afterward had felt like retreat, though Dick refused to name it as such.
He’d started wearing more scent patches the next day. Double-layered them. Triple-layered them on bad days.
The problem with the hero community knowing about this was that the hero community was a nosy, competitive bunch of assholes that only appeared to be good guys because they saved people. Dick’s scent had become something of an urban legend amongst the Justice League, whispered about in locker rooms and during late-night stakeouts. He’d more than once had to watch his back amongst his colleagues. Not because he thought they’d stab him there, but in case one of them got the bright idea to try to remove one of the specialty-made scent patches that Dick always, always wore.
The patches were medical-grade, designed for deep space missions where pheromone leakage could compromise crew dynamics. They adhered to his scent glands with molecular precision, creating a barrier that should have been impenetrable. Should being the operative phrase. Dick went through at least two a day, sometimes more if he was sweating heavily during patrol or if the adhesive failed. Bruce paid for them without question, had been paying for them since Dick was seventeen, but Dick had started covering the cost himself the moment he’d moved out of the Manor.
Independence came with a price. Everything did.
The patches left his skin raw sometimes, the constant application of medical adhesive creating a perpetual irritation that he covered with makeup when necessary. Alfred had suggested a rotation system- different patch locations to give his skin time to heal- but Dick’s scent glands were clustered primarily around his neck and wrists. There was only so much variation possible.
Dick wasn’t always successful in stopping the more determined attempts by others to remove them. After catching his scent, there were any number of minor and major Justice League heroes that still sent courting offers to Bruce as his former pack Alpha, even though Dick had been independent for years now. The offers arrived with clockwork regularity. Flowers, jewelry, promises of protection and provision that made Dick’s skin crawl with their presumption.
Dick had burned most of the gifts. Alfred had quietly redirected the rest to charity before they could reach Dick’s hands.
Then there were the Alphas that tried to court him directly.
***
Garth still talked up Atlantis whenever they had a spare moment together, emphasizing Omega rights in very pointed ways. His voice would take on this reverent quality when he spoke of the underwater kingdom’s progressive policies, how Omegas were cherished there, protected. The subtext was clear: you could be cherished too, if you’d just say yes.
“The thermal vents create perfect nesting environments,” Garth would say, his dark eyes earnest and hopeful. “And the pressure changes are naturally soothing for Omega physiology. You’d never have to worry about suppressants or patches. The water in Atlantis is designed to filter everything.”
Dick had visited Atlantis once, under a temporary magical spell that allowed him to breath underwater. Had felt the way his body relaxed in the mineral-rich waters, the way his Omega had purred at the constant, gentle pressure against his skin. For three days, he’d been able to go completely scent-free, swimming alongside dolphins and exploring coral gardens without a single Alpha losing control.
It had been paradise. Which was exactly why he’d left while he still had enough resolve to.
***
Roy referred to him as ‘the one that got away’ and made the occasional attempt to change that whenever their relationship was anything approaching friendly. His flirtation had evolved over the years, becoming more sophisticated but no less persistent. He’d learned to mask his desperation behind humor, but Dick could still smell it on him sometimes. The want that never quite faded.
“You know, Dick,” Roy would say during team-ups, his voice carefully casual, “I’ve got this cabin up in the mountains. No neighbors for miles. Perfect for someone who needs privacy.”
The offer always came with that same hopeful undertone, the same barely-contained longing that made Dick’s chest tight with something that wasn’t quite guilt but wasn’t quite pity either. Roy was a good man. A good Alpha. He deserved better than pining after someone who didn’t return his feelings.
***
Wally probably thought he was being subtle in his attempts to lure Dick into a threesome with himself and Linda, but he was really, really not. The speedster’s suggestions came couched in jokes and casual comments about how much Linda would love to spend time with Dick, how they’d both be so good to him. Dick had learned to deflect with humor, but sometimes he caught Linda watching him with a considering look that made him wonder if she might be just as eager as Wally claimed.
“She asks about you, you know,” Wally had confided once, during a particularly awkward conversation. “Wants to know if you’re happy. If you’re taking care of yourself. I think she’d mother hen you to death if you let her.”
The worst part was that Dick could picture it. Could imagine sinking into their domestic warmth, letting Linda fuss over him while Wally made jokes and pancakes in equal measure. It would be safe. Comfortable.
Dick had never been good at that. His sharper edges were bound to cut the couple and his relationship with them into pieces if he ever became foolish enough to try it.
***
That wasn’t even addressing Slade, who had smelled Dick once during a mission gone wrong and had apparently decided that they were going to be tied to each other for life. Whether that be through mating or just Slade popping up in Dick’s vicinity until one of them died, Slade seemed determined to make sure at least one of those things happened. Well, he seemed determined for the former, but he was at least gentlemanly enough to not force Dick into it.
The mercenary’s courtship was a thing of terrifying dedication. Gifts appeared in Dick’s apartment with alarming regularity; expensive things that showed an intimate knowledge of Dick’s preferences. Books he’d mentioned wanting to read, tea blends he’d enjoyed once at a cafe, silk pajamas in exactly his size. The message was always clear: I’m watching. I’m waiting. I’m not going anywhere.
Dick had stopped being surprised by Slade’s appearances. The man had a talent for materializing at the worst possible moments, usually when Dick was injured or emotionally vulnerable. He’d offer aid with that maddening calm of his, as if his presence were perfectly natural, as if Dick should be grateful for the attention.
“You’re hurt,” Slade had said the last time, appearing on Dick’s fire escape like some kind of twisted guardian angel. Blood had been seeping through Dick’s suit from a knife wound, and he had been so exhausted he’d been dreading tending to it.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding through military-grade kevlar. That’s not fine, that’s concerning.” Slade’s voice had been maddeningly reasonable, his hands steady as he’d helped Dick through the window. “Let me look at it.”
Dick had wanted to refuse. Should have refused. But there was something in Slade’s tone- not quite gentle, but not harsh either- that had made resistance feel futile. He’d submitted to the attention, to the careful cleaning and bandaging, to the way Slade’s fingers had lingered just a moment too long against his skin.
“Why?” Dick had asked when it was over.
“Because you need taking care of, and no one else is doing it properly.”
Sometimes, in his darker moments, Dick wondered if he was grateful for that twisted devotion. If part of him craved the certainty of Slade’s attention, even knowing how dangerous it was.
***
Not even Dick’s family was immune to the effect of his scent, though most of them at least had enough control over themselves that a whiff didn’t send them jumping him.
Or maybe the exposure therapy just worked to give them some immunity to it.
Because if it was one more thing that separated Dick’s family from the rest of the hero community, it was the way that they were the only ones who regularly got to seek out his scent. And they often did, in ways that were carefully negotiated with boundaries clearly established.
Damian would cutely nudge off Dick’s scent patches whenever they hugged, then blushingly deny it whenever Dick teased him for it. The youngest Wayne had a particular talent for making the removal look accidental, his hands somehow always finding their way to Dick’s neck during their embraces. Dick had learned to carry extra patches when Damian was around, planning for the inevitable loss.
“I do not seek your scent, Grayson,” Damian would insist, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and indignation, even as his pupils dilated slightly and his breathing deepened.
“Of course, Dami,” Dick would murmur, ruffling Damian’s hair.
But he’d seen the way Damian’s shoulders relaxed after those stolen moments of contact. Had noticed how the boy slept better, fought with less vicious desperation, smiled more readily in the days following their encounters. Damian’s Alpha was still developing, still learning to navigate the complex web of pack dynamics and territorial instincts. Dick’s scent provided an anchor, a reminder that he belonged somewhere.
Tim would actually snuggle beside Dick on the couch if his scent patch was off, something that Dick would engineer if he felt his little brother needed a break. The third Robin had a tendency to work himself to exhaustion, forgetting to eat or sleep in his obsession with whatever case currently consumed him. Dick had learned to recognize the signs. The tremor in Tim’s hands, the hollow look in his eyes, the way he’d flinch at unexpected sounds.
On those nights, Dick would find excuses to remove his patches, settling beside Tim on the couch in the Cave or in the Manor’s living room. Would let his scent go warm and welcoming and safe/love/care/rest. Within minutes, Tim would be leaning against him, his breathing evening out as Dick’s scent worked its magic. Dick would stay still for hours if necessary, letting Tim absorb what he needed.
“This is pathetic,” Tim would mumble sometimes, his face buried against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m supposed to be past needing-”
“You’re supposed to be taking care of yourself,” Dick would interrupt gently. “This is taking care of yourself.”
Tim’s Alpha was different from Damian’s. More analytical, more controlled, but also more prone to self-destructive spirals. He needed the grounding that Dick’s scent provided, the reminder that there were things worth protecting beyond Gotham’s endless supply of cases and criminals.
Cass would often join them, her presence a quiet comfort that asked for nothing and gave everything. She understood the language of scent better than most, having been raised to read every subtle signal a body could produce. With her, Dick never had to explain or justify. She would simply curl up on his other side, her weight warm and reassuring, and they would exist in perfect silence.
Cassandra’s Beta status made her immune to the Alpha responses that Dick’s scent typically triggered, but she was sensitive to its emotional undertones in ways that others missed. She could read his moods through scent alone better than anyone else, could tell when he was stressed or sad or angry before he’d even acknowledged those feelings himself.
“Sad,” she’d observed once, pressing closer to his side. “Why sad?”
Dick had tried to deflect, to insist he was fine, but Cass had simply looked at him with those too-knowing eyes until he’d crumbled.
“Just tired of being a problem,” he’d admitted.
“Not problem. Gift.”
Duke would sometimes shyly ask for Dick to scent him, though only if he had no plans to go out in public. The newest addition to their family was still learning the complicated dynamics of their pack, still finding his place in the hierarchy that Bruce had never quite managed to establish.
“Is it okay if I...?” Duke would ask, gesturing vaguely at Dick’s neck, his cheeks dark with embarrassment. He was always so careful with his requests, as if he expected to be refused.
Dick would always say yes. Always pull Duke close and let him bury his face in Dick’s neck, breathing deep until his shoulders relaxed and some of the tension left his frame. Duke carried the weight of being the day shift, of protecting Gotham when the rest of them were sleeping, and Dick understood that burden in ways the others couldn’t.
“You don’t have to ask permission,” Dick would remind him sometimes. “You’re family.”
But Duke would continue to ask anyway, his Alpha too respectful, too aware of boundaries to take anything for granted. It was one of the things Dick loved most about him. That careful consideration, that unwillingness to assume.
Even Bruce would sometimes just come and sit beside whatever Dick happened to be doing if Dick was letting his scent go free. They’d never talked about it, but it seemed to be calming for the older Alpha. Dick would find Bruce in the Cave, shoulders tight with whatever case was currently eating at him, and he’d carefully remove his patches without comment.
Within minutes, Bruce would migrate to wherever Dick was working, settling beside him with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. They’d work in comfortable silence, the only sound the clicking of keyboards and the distant drip of water somewhere in the Cave’s depths. Bruce’s presence would gradually soften, the harsh lines of his face relaxing as Dick’s scent surrounded them both.
It reminded Dick of the early days, when he’d been small enough to curl up in Bruce’s lap during long nights in the Cave. When the world had been simpler, when pack bonds had felt like protection rather than complication.
“You were easier when you were eight,” Bruce had observed once, his voice carrying a hint of fond exasperation.
“You were easier when you hadn’t figured out how to brood professionally,” Dick had shot back.
But they’d both smiled, and Bruce’s hand had found its way to Dick’s hair, fingers carding through the dark strands with unconscious gentleness.
Alfred had always complimented Dick’s scent but never seemed overtly affected by it. Like Cass, the butler’s Beta status made him immune to the Alpha responses that Dick’s scent typically triggered, but he’d always been vocal in his appreciation.
“You smell like home, Master Dick,” Alfred would say sometimes, usually when he was feeling particularly sentimental. “Like the best parts of what this family could be.”
Alfred’s approval meant more than he probably realized. In a world where Dick’s scent was treated as either a weapon or a commodity, Alfred’s simple acceptance felt like absolution. The butler had never asked for anything, never treated Dick as anything other than exactly what he was. A man trying to navigate an impossible situation with as much grace as possible.
***
Jason was the outlier.
The first time Jason had caught Dick’s scent had been... chaotic was maybe not the proper word. Dick had been eighteen, Jason thirteen, and the newest Robin had been recovering from a particularly brutal encounter with the Penguin. Dick had come to visit, still in his Nightwing gear, still carrying the sweat and adrenaline of a long night’s patrol.
He’d removed his domino mask without thinking, running his hands through his hair and inadvertently loosening the scent patch on his neck. It had been a tiny thing, barely a whisper of scent escaping, but Jason’s reaction had been immediate and violent.
The transformation had been terrifying in its completeness. One moment Jason had been a hurt, tired thirteen-year-old complaining about Penguin’s goons. The next, he’d been a predator, all instinct and desperate hunger. His eyes had gone Alpha red so fast that Dick had barely registered the change before Jason was moving.
Dick had near a decade of experience on him, Bruce even more, and Alfred had been young enough that he would be able to take down any number of their villains. It had still taken all three of them an incredible amount of effort to get Jason off of him before he could sink his teeth into Dick’s neck and claim him.
Jason had fought like a wild thing, all claws and teeth and desperate strength that should have been impossible for someone so young. His size had worked against him- he’d been small for thirteen, still growing into the height and muscle that would define him as an adult- but his determination had been absolute. His eyes had been pure Alpha red, no trace of the sharp intelligence that usually lived there. He’d snarled and snapped at anyone who tried to come between him and Dick, his voice dropping to a register that was barely human.
“Mine,” he’d kept repeating, over and over again, his hands scrabbling at Dick’s neck, trying to get at the source of that intoxicating scent. “Mine, mine, mine.”
The word had been possessive in a way that went beyond want, beyond even need. It had been the sound of an Alpha laying claim to something essential, something that his hindbrain had decided was necessary for survival. Dick had never heard anything quite like it, before or since.
It had taken three doses of suppressant to finally bring him down, and even then he’d continued to struggle until the drugs finally dragged him into unconsciousness. Dick had sat there afterward, his neck bruised and his heart racing, staring at the young Alpha who had nearly claimed him by force.
The guilt had been immediate and overwhelming. This was his fault. His scent, his carelessness, his inability to keep himself properly contained. Jason was just a child, barely into his presentation, and Dick had nearly destroyed his future with one moment of thoughtlessness.
The quarantine afterward had lasted a week. According to Bruce, Jason had reacted just as violently to Dick’s lingering scent as he had to Dick himself. The Alpha in him couldn’t differentiate between the source and the memory. That had never seemed to change.
No one else seemed to hate that fact as much as Jason did.
The end result was that Dick always hid his scent around Jason. Always.
And he kind of hated that, but more than he hated it, he realized the necessity of it. For whatever reason, Jason’s Alpha just could not be normal about Dick’s scent, even more so than any outside Alpha.
The science was unclear, but the pattern was consistent. Jason’s Alpha had fixated on Dick’s scent in a way that bordered on obsession, creating a feedback loop that seemed to intensify rather than diminish over time. Jason only seemed to get worse. By the time he was fifteen, Dick was well used to hiding his scent from him.
It seemed to be a thorn under Jason’s skin, even after he came back. Any reference to one of the other Bats smelling Dick’s scent at some other point was enough to set Jason off. The less said about what happened when he actually caught Dick’s scent on one of the others, the better.
Dick remembered one incident with Tim, how Jason had cornered the younger man in the Cave and demanded to know why he smelled like Dick. Tim had been bewildered and frightened, not understanding why Jason’s eyes had gone red or why his voice had dropped to that dangerous register.
“He’s my brother,” Tim had said, his voice small and confused. “We were working on a case together. I fell asleep on the couch and he-”
“Don’t,” Jason had snarled, his hands clenching into fists. “Don’t you dare talk about what he let you do.”
The accusation had been unfair, and they’d all known it. Dick hadn’t ‘let’ Tim do anything. Tim had needed comfort, and Dick had provided it the same way he’d provided it to all of his siblings when they needed it. But Jason’s Alpha had heard only possession, only territory being violated.
It had taken Bruce’s intervention to defuse the situation, but the damage had been done. Jason had avoided the Batfamily for weeks afterward, and Tim had started wearing his own scent blockers whenever Dick was around. The careful ecosystem they’d built around Dick’s needs had been disrupted, leaving everyone walking on eggshells.
What made Jason’s sensitivity to Dick’s scent worse was that Jason and Dick’s relationship was finally improving again. Finally getting back toward something like friendship, if not family. Dick had begun accepting that while he did and always would disagree with Jason’s choice to kill, his disapproval would do nothing to stop Jason from doing it.
It probably made Dick a terrible person that Jason killing wasn’t enough for Dick to want him out of his life. He’d tried, in those early days after Jason’s return. He’d tried to maintain the moral high ground, to refuse to work with someone who crossed lines that Dick held sacred.
But Jason was still Jason underneath it all. Still the bright, passionate boy who Dick had cared so much about. Still the kid who had died trying to save a mother who had betrayed him, who had come back angry but not broken.
So Dick had grown to tolerate Jason’s particular form of vigilantism, if not accept it. They’d found a middle ground, a way to work together that acknowledged their fundamental differences while still allowing them to be effective partners. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable.
And slowly, carefully, they’d begun to rebuild something that looked like trust.
Jason seemed to expect Dick to rescind that tolerance at any moment. There was always a tension in his shoulders during their interactions, a readiness to retreat that spoke to deeper wounds than just their philosophical differences.
Dick had no intention of doing that. But while his commitment to Jason remained unwavering, being in Jason’s space had become increasingly difficult. Not because of what Jason had done, but because of who he was.
Dick paused in his preparation for patrol, his head falling back against his bedroom wall. The admission, even to himself, sounded terrible. It sounded like he was blaming Jason for his own feelings. For being an Alpha that Dick and his Omega were more affected by than anyone else he’d ever met.
But it was true. Jason’s presence did things to Dick that no one else’s did. Made his carefully constructed control feel fragile, made his Omega whine and pace and beg for things that Dick couldn’t give it. Going to Jason’s apartment- and it was always Jason’s, never Dick’s, for obvious reasons- meant being surrounded by Jason’s scent. Gunpowder and leather and spiced rum, all underlaid with something uniquely Jason. The way his Omega chased every hint of Jason’s scent, even through his suppressants, almost made Dick understand how Alphas lost themselves around him.
The parallel was uncomfortable. Dick spent so much time managing other people’s reactions to his scent that he’d never fully acknowledged his own reaction to Jason’s. The way his pulse quickened when he caught that familiar blend of danger and warmth. The way his hands wanted to reach out and touch, to map the lines of Jason’s shoulders, to press his face against Jason’s throat and breathe deep.
You need to hold it together tonight, Dick preemptively scolded his Omega as he finished getting ready for patrol. His Omega made no promise that it would do any such thing, instead sending him images of Jason’s strong hands and broad shoulders, of what it would feel like to be pinned beneath that powerful frame.
Dick groaned and splashed cold water on his face, trying to shock himself back to sanity. This was exactly the kind of thinking that would get him in trouble. Jason was off-limits. Had always been off-limits. Would always be off-limits.
No matter how much Dick wanted him.
The want had been growing steadily over the past few months, fed by long nights working together and careful conversations that revealed more of Jason’s wit and intelligence than his Red Hood persona typically allowed. Dick found himself looking forward to their partnerships, craving the easy banter and seamless teamwork that they’d developed.
He was falling for Jason Todd, and that was a disaster waiting to happen.
By the time Dick arrived at their meeting point, Jason was already there. The Alpha’s posture relaxed slightly at the sight of him, as if Jason was perpetually expecting Dick to simply not show up one day.
If only Jason knew how much Dick yearned to be in his presence lately, those fears would evaporate. If only Dick had the courage to tell him. But Jason pushed him away when he thought Dick’s friendly overtures were becoming too much. Dick could only imagine how the Alpha would react to romantic ones.
Just because Jason was affected by his scent didn’t mean anything. Physical attraction wasn’t emotional attachment.
“Thought you were going to keep me waiting forever, Goldie,” Jason said as he pushed off the wall he was leaning against and fell into step at Dick’s side. “Your beauty routine take longer tonight or something?”
“Something like that. I’ve gotta put in a lot of work to keep myself this glamorous, Hood. Don’t you think my hair looks extra luscious tonight?” Dick said with an artful toss of his hair that he’d done nothing to except briefly straighten after putting his mask on.
It caused Jason to bark out a short laugh, the Alpha giving a playful nudge against his shoulder. “The prettiest rat’s nest I’ve ever seen,” Jason said solemnly, and Dick squawked and swatted at him in fake outrage.
The contact sent a jolt through Dick’s system, his Omega perking up at the casual touch. Jason’s hands were warm even through their gloves, steady and sure in a way that made Dick want to lean into the contact instead of pulling away.
They traded jokes and insults as they worked through Gotham’s standard offering of criminals. Jason had a drug bust he wanted help with, and they handled it efficiently between dealing with the usual assortment of thugs and wannabe villains. No actual rogues, thankfully. It was turning into a mercifully quiet night.
Dick found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of their partnership. Jason had grown into a formidable fighter, his technique more brutal than Dick’s but no less effective. They moved together like they’d been doing this for years, anticipating each other’s moves and covering each other’s blind spots.
It was easy to forget, in moments like these, why he had to maintain his distance. Easy to pretend that the careful space he kept between them wasn’t self-preservation.
Right around the end of the night, they ran into a group of gunrunners, and the fight was proceeding like normal with half of the runners knocked out already when one of the runners got in a lucky swipe at Dick with some brass claws he was wearing. The man was small and wiry, the kind of fighter who relied on speed and dirty tricks rather than brute strength.
Dick was fast enough to avoid the worst of the blow, but the edge of the claws caught on one of the scent patches on his neck, yanking it straight off with a sound like velcro.
The scent hit the air like a physical force.
It was complete pandemonium. All of the Alphas’ heads snapped around to whirl on Dick within a heartbeat, their eyes going wide and then narrowed with predatory focus. Soon every single one of them was heading his way with laser-focused intent, their movements coordinated in a way that they hadn’t been moments before.
Dick had seen this before, had lived through it more times than he cared to count. The way Alphas moved when they caught his scent, like sharks scenting blood in the water. They forgot everything else- the fight, their injuries, their own safety- and focused solely on getting to him.
But this time felt different. More intense. Maybe it was because he’d been thinking about Jason all night, maybe it was because his suppressants were wearing thin, but his scent seemed to be hitting the air with unusual potency.
Jason got in their way before they could make it to Dick, his movements swift and brutal. He sent an uppercut right into a brick shithouse of an Alpha’s throat, the sound of cartilage cracking audible even over the chaos. Then he landed a neat spin kick on the solar plexus of another, sending the man flying into a brick wall with enough force to leave a crater.
Dick ached to join him, but with his scent out that was dangerous. Better to stay back and let Jason handle it while Dick got his patches back in place. He fished out one of his emergency scent patches, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to position it correctly over his scent gland.
The adhesive fought him, not wanting to stick properly to skin that was already damp with sweat and adrenaline. Dick cursed under his breath, pressing harder, willing the patch to hold. His scent was still leaking around the edges, still calling to every Alpha within range.
By the time he was situated, Jason had just finished body-slamming the last Alpha to the concrete street, face first. The man hit the ground with a wet thud and didn’t move again.
The Alpha still seemed tense when he stood from taking care of his last opponent, his shoulders rigid and his breathing harsh. Dick grimly braced himself to take Jason down for his own good, his muscles coiling in preparation for a fight he desperately didn’t want to have.
This was the moment. This was when Jason would lose control the way he always did, when years of careful management would crumble in the face of unfiltered pheromones. Dick had contingency plans for this scenario. Pressure points that would drop Jason quickly, escape routes that would get him clear before the Alpha could recover.
But after a few seconds ticked by, it became clear that Jason wasn’t going to lunge for him. The Alpha stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, his whole body radiating tension but not moving toward Dick. After another moment, his shoulders began to relax, and he turned to face Dick with what looked like monumental effort.
Dick eased his stance in confusion, his mind struggling to understand what was happening. Jason should be trying to get at him by now. Should be fighting the same losing battle against his Alpha instincts that every other Alpha did when they caught Dick’s scent.
Instead, Jason was just standing there, breathing hard but in control.
“Does your helmet have scent filters, Hood?” Dick asked after a minute or two of silence. That had to be it. Some kind of technological solution that Jason had implemented without telling him.
“There’s no way to filter out only Omega scents without filtering everything else. That’d be like putting blinders on,” Jason replied, his voice surprisingly calm. “No. I can smell you just fine.”
Dick swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His Omega whined in distress, a sound he had to fight to keep internal. The reaction was immediate and devastating. If Jason could smell him and wasn’t responding, it could only mean one thing.
Alpha doesn’t like our scent anymore? his Omega cried, curling up in the depths of his subconscious like a wounded animal. We’re not good enough? Not worth wanting?
This isn’t the time for that, Dick scolded harshly, forcing his attention back to the physical world. He managed what he hoped was a convincing smile. But the smile felt brittle, like it might shatter at any moment.
“You’re not affected by my scent anymore, Hood? That’s-” his voice broke and he had to clear his throat, the words coming out rougher than he’d intended. “That’s great.”
The words tasted like ash in his mouth. Great that Jason didn’t want him anymore. Great that he was losing the only connection he’d ever had that felt real and reciprocal.
“Something like that,” Jason repeated his words from earlier gruffly, but there was something in his voice that Dick couldn’t quite identify. Something that sounded almost like pain. “Look, you’re still leaking some scent even with the new patch, and it’s late anyway. Let’s get you back to your place before half of Gotham tries to jump your ass. I’ll escort you.”
Dick didn’t have the energy to protest, or even to talk much during the sad trek back to the apartment Dick kept in Gotham. The silence between them felt heavy, weighted with all the things they weren’t saying. Jason seemed just as reluctant to break it, his movements stiff and mechanical as they made their way across the rooftops.
Every step felt like a retreat from something Dick hadn’t even known he’d been approaching. The careful balance they’d built over months of working together felt suddenly fragile, as if acknowledging Jason’s immunity to his scent had somehow broken an unspoken understanding between them.
Dick found himself cataloging the distance Jason maintained as they traveled. Three feet on the fire escapes. Five feet when they paused to scan the streets below. Never close enough for accidental contact.
It was exactly what Dick should want. Jason in control, unaffected, safe from the biological imperative that had nearly destroyed them both when they were younger. It was the rational, logical outcome of years of careful boundary management.
So why did it feel like loss?
Once they arrived, Dick invited Jason inside. No reason not to anymore, he supposed with deadened practicality. Jason said nothing as they climbed the stairs, said nothing as Dick unlocked the door and disarmed his security system.
Bringing Jason inside should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like a loss so profound that Dick could barely breathe around it. His safehouse had always been off-limits to Jason, a necessity born of the Alpha’s extreme sensitivity to his scent. Now that restriction was gone Dick felt only emptiness.
The apartment felt different with Jason in it. Smaller somehow, despite Jason’s careful positioning near the door, despite the way he held himself like he might leave at any moment. Dick’s Omega whined softly, wanting to offer comfort, wanting to make Jason feel welcome. But what was the point, when Jason no longer needed what Dick could offer?
Jason allowed the silence between them to go on unquestioned until the point when Dick had locked the door behind them and discarded his mask, setting it carelessly on the small table by the entrance.
“Alright, Dickie, what the fuck is with you? It’s not rare for me to get like this, but you not talking my head off at the end of patrol isn’t like you.”
The Alpha’s stance was firmly set, his arms crossed as he stared Dick down, not giving Dick the grace of removing his helmet and letting Dick see his face. The red metal gleamed.
Dick could see himself in distorted reflections on it's surface. Tired, disheveled, somehow diminished. When had he started looking so worn down? When had the careful mask he wore started slipping so obviously? No wonder Jason didn’t desire him; who would?
“It’s nothing, Jason. I’m just tired,” Dick said, probably more testily than he should have for there to be any chance of Jason believing him. But he was tired, bone-deep exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the physical demands of patrol.
He was tired of managing his scent, tired of managing other people’s reactions to it, tired of being wanted for something he couldn’t control and couldn’t turn off. And now, faced with the indifference of the one person he wanted desire from, he was discovering that the absence of want felt worse than its presence.
Jason snorted, the sound harsh and disbelieving. “Pull another one,” he snapped. “You think I don’t know you well enough to tell when you’re lying?”
The accusation stung because it was true. Jason did know him, probably better than most people. Had learned to read the subtle signs of Dick’s moods during their months of working together, had developed an intuitive understanding of when Dick was pushing himself too hard or hiding pain or struggling with something he didn’t want to name.
Dick was beginning to get annoyed now, his emotions too close to the surface for him to maintain his usual diplomatic demeanor. “I said that it’s nothing.”
But even as he said it, Dick knew it wasn’t true. Jason’s immunity to his scent wasn’t nothing. It was everything. It was the final confirmation that Dick was exactly what he’d always feared he was. A novelty that people eventually grew tired of, a problem that could be solved with enough time and effort.
Jason stepped closer to him, his arms falling to his sides, his movements predatory in a way that made Dick’s breath catch.
“Goldie, we both know damn well that-”
“Maybe I’m just struggling with the fact that you don’t want me anymore!” The words burst unwillingly out of Dick’s mouth, and he closed his eyes in physical pain as soon as they did. Godsdamnit. Of all the things he could have said, that had to be the worst possible choice.
The admission hung in the air between them like a living thing, ugly and desperate and far too honest. Dick wanted to take it back, wanted to laugh it off as exhaustion or stress or anything other than the raw truth it actually was. But the words were out now, and there was no calling them back.
Jason was very, very silent. So silent that after a few moments Dick opened his eyes again to see what he could of the Alpha’s reaction through that impenetrable helmet.
At the sight of Dick’s eyes, Jason began stepping toward him once more. Slowly, inexorably, with the kind of controlled movement that suggested he was fighting every instinct he had. Dick found himself backing up until he hit the kitchen counter, the edge of it digging into his lower back.
The cool press of marble against his spine was grounding, real in a way that the rest of this conversation didn’t feel. Dick’s hands gripped the counter edge, his knuckles white with tension as he watched Jason approach.
“I don’t want you anymore,” Jason said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’d laugh, but that claim is fucking insane.”
He did laugh then, but the sound was too harsh, too bitter to be true laughter. With one hand, Jason reached up to finally take his helmet off, placing it on the counter beside Dick with movements that were carefully controlled, deliberately slow.
When he looked down at Dick, his eyes were Alpha red and starving, pupils blown wide with want that he’d been hiding behind that helmet. The carefully controlled exterior that Jason had maintained all night crumbled in an instant, revealing the desperate hunger underneath.
Dick’s breath caught in his throat. Jason’s eyes weren’t just red, they were wild, feral, barely human. This was the look Dick remembered from that night years ago, when Jason had been thirteen and newly presented and completely overwhelmed by instincts he didn’t understand.
But this was different too. Older. More controlled despite the obvious wanting. Jason was fighting his Alpha with every ounce of will he possessed, holding himself back through sheer force of determination rather than medical intervention.
“Pretty bird,” Jason said, his voice dropping to a register that made Dick’s knees weak, “I’ve wanted you more than anything else on this godsdamned Earth since I was thirteen. Since my Alpha caught first whiff of your scent and roared that you were ours. He used to only be able to wrest control from me when I could smell your scent, but when I came back-”
Jason released that humorless laugh again, placing his other hand on the counter on Dick’s other side, boxing him in completely. Dick’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stared up at the Alpha who was suddenly so close, so present, so there.
The heat radiating from Jason’s body was overwhelming, carrying with it the scent that Dick’s Omega had been craving for months. This close, Dick could see the fine tremor in Jason’s muscles, the way his jaw clenched as he fought for control, the sweat beading at his hairline despite the cool night air.
“When I came back, that nearly happened just at the damn sight of you. Any little glimpse of your eyes or your suit or even your fucking hair, and suddenly I had a war going on in my body to keep my Alpha from doing something real, real stupid. I had to figure out a way to keep him in control, or you would have been claimed against your will a long time ago.”
The words hit Dick like physical blows. Jason hadn’t developed immunity to his scent. He’d developed a tolerance born of necessity, a control so complete that it had fooled even Dick into thinking the want was gone. But it wasn’t gone. It had been there all along, hidden behind layers of self-discipline that must have cost Jason everything to maintain.
“And now you’re trying to say that I don’t want you?!“ The end of Jason’s sentence was more of a roar, the counter beneath his fingers beginning to creak as his grip grew too tight, his Alpha strength finally breaking through his careful control.
The marble cracked under Jason’s hands, hairline fractures spreading outward from his fingertips. Dick stared at the damage, at the physical evidence of the control Jason had been exercising all this time. How much strength did it take to hold back that kind of want? How much willpower to maintain the facade of indifference when every instinct was screaming for possession?
Dick moved his eyes up to the Alpha breathing harshly and staring down at him in angry incredulousness, his heart rabbiting in his chest. Jason’s scent was everywhere now, no longer held back by whatever incredible control he’d been exercising. It wrapped around Dick like a physical embrace, claiming and starving and desperate, making his Omega purr with satisfaction.
Alpha wants us, his Omega sang, practically vibrating with joy. Alpha wants us so much he breaks things trying not to take us. Good Alpha. Strong Alpha. Ours.
“Jason-” Dick finally began carefully, his voice barely above a whisper. The name felt different on his tongue now, weighted with possibility rather than careful distance. “What if I want you to want me.”
The question hung between them, simple and complicated all at once.
Jason went stock still for a moment, staring down at Dick like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Like the words were too good to be true, too impossible to accept. His eyes searched Dick’s face, looking for deception, for some sign that this was another cruel twist in a life that had already given him too many.
Then he let out a sound that was purely Alpha, purely possessive, the sound of restraint finally breaking after years of careful control. He darted down in a blur of speed, drawing Dick into a kiss that was desperate and hungry and everything Dick had been dreaming of for longer than he cared to admit.
Jason’s lips were chapped from the cold night air, his hands were shaking slightly as they cupped Dick’s face, and there was something almost reverent in the way he touched him. As if Dick were something precious, something that might disappear if he held on too tightly.
Jason kissed him like a drowning man tasting air, like someone who had been starving finally offered sustenance. Dick melted into it, his own hands finding their way to Jason’s shoulders, mapping the broad strength he’d been admiring from a distance for so long. Gods, Jason was so fucking big now. Dick liked that more than a little bit.
Dick’s mind went blank for several long and wonderful moments, his world narrowing to the press of Jason’s mouth against his, the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body pressed against Dick’s. When they finally separated enough to pant into each other’s mouths, Jason had a look of wonder in his eyes, as if he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.
The wonder was intoxicating. Dick had seen Jason angry, determined, focused, amused, but never soft like this. Never vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with physical injury and everything to do with emotional exposure.
Dick smiled and cheekily raised up to his tiptoes to press a quick peck to Jason’s lips again before saying, “So I guess you have a courting request to send to Bruce, huh?”
The joke was weak, but it served its purpose, cutting through some of the intense emotion that threatened to overwhelm them both. Jason laughed, and it was happy this time, full of joy and relief and the kind of hope that Dick had thought they’d both given up on long ago.
“I guess I do. You going to ignore the old man’s input and accept it anyway when he tries to reject it?”
Dick grinned up at the Alpha, just as happy, just as hopeful, just as desperately in love.
“Yes.”