Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a mercy that they had let him live.

Presentation day had been a memorable one. It had been the day that Damian had disappointed his family. It had been the day that the hope, pride, and love his mother held for him in her eyes died. The minute he turned ten (he would not realize that presenting at ten years old was not normal until much later in life), the second the hand hit twelve, it was clear that the universe did not favor him. 

He should have died.

His mother must have held some sentiment for him. He can not understand why she did not end him. She could have started again. It would not be difficult for her to work on another tube. He would be slain, as it should’ve been, or at least cast off to the island of misfit lifeforms. The failures. His multitude of brothers.

Instead, his mother took him, and delivered him into new hands. She was secretive about it. She gave him away in the dead of night surrounded by her brainless servants. The man-bats. Damian watched as she disappeared into her submarine, hostage in tow, and then as her grotesque servants backed away from his father’s neck. Damian said nothing to the man who now owned him. He obediently awaited for the orders that were to be given, and when he was told that they would be leaving England, he took it in stride. 

His father did not speak much in the beginning, but Damian did not expect meaningful conversation. When spoken to, it was only to communicate orders, surely. 

They traveled across the ocean in his plane. Before they reached his father’s base, Damian was blindfolded, and Damian did not think much of it. He did not know what his father wished to do with him, but he knew that he might as well accept his role. He might as well survive as the rotten, filthy, submissive omega he was. Maybe then he would bring some sort of honor to his family.

The blindfold, it turned out, was meant to keep him ignorant. His father did not want him to know where his batcave was, or how he’d managed to land the plane in it. Damian understood the logic. It was wise to prevent compromising his most valued location. What Damian did not understand, however, was the fact that his father did not seem to trust him. He was his property now. His father should know that Damian would not spill his secrets even if an enemy pack tortured him. 

“Robin, I want you to meet Damian,” his father had introduced. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Hey, how are you?” Tim had said. He extended his hand for a shake.

Damian had made a fool of himself and stared.

“Um,” Tim chose to not let the smile slip away from his face. “Here on my world, we call this a handshake.”

Damian bowed his head. “I apologize,” he had said. Then, to please the vigilante in front of him, he extended his own hand. He made the effort to look away, even though it was not something that came to him naturally, and then he kept his strength purposefully lax so as to not challenge the individual in front of him. 

It had been only a month since that instant. 

Damian had learned what was necessary from that point on. The members of the pack consisted of a few individuals, all vigilantes, who patrolled Gotham. His father was an alpha, the leader. Dick Grayson was his eldest ward (son? Damian couldn’t tell), a beta, who made himself scarce in the manor (he lived in a different city). Jason Todd was his father’s adopted son, the second alpha in command, brought in for his acceptable street smarts. He spent most of his time occupied with school, and if not school, then vigilante work. His morals were questionable when compared to the rest of his father’s children. Regardless, Tim was the next in line, and he was a beta. Damian had no trouble locating him in the manor. He spent most of his time in his room, and if not in his room, then down in the cave.

Cassandra Cain was another person of note. Damian had only heard about her, but he was aware that she, too, was an alpha. Damian could not imagine her worthy of traveling by her lonesome, otherwise. 

Damian tried his best to fit into his role. He rarely looked into the eyes of his pack members since, naturally, he was the lowest in the pack’s hierarchy. He never asked questions. He did as he was told. When his father told him to go to bed, Damian forced himself to sleep, and when he did not sleep, he took it upon himself to execute a punishment. 

They were worried about him.

“The boy rarely eats,” he had overheard. Alfred had brought the subject up in his father’s study, and Damian had been passing by coincidentally. “He is abnormally shy. He flinches away from touch. He submits himself the moment someone enters the room. There is something wrong with the child.”

“I know,” his father put out simply.

Damian did not stick around for the rest of the conversation. How was it that, despite trying his best to remain submissive, that his behavior did not please his pack? He was trying, for them. This was not something he enjoyed, but he was a piece of property now. He needed to act accordingly. Why was he wrong? How could he do better? What did he need to do?

He behaved properly in school. Damian did not care for school, he felt it an utter waste of time, but he did his best to fill in his role. Damian knew that was the reason why he was made an easy target for troubled children. He couldn’t do much without getting tripped, teased, and robbed. Damian allowed them to have their way with him. He could not possibly rebel. Not when it would tarnish their pack’s image.

So, when Travis Tremain dragged him behind the gym, and started kicking him in the ribs, what did Damian do?

He endured.

He was a glorified punching bag. He was the stress reliever. Children who were all puppies were treating him like their alphas treated their mothers. They were practicing on him. They were taking their frustration out on the only thing available around them.

Damian had gone home afterward walking through pain. He gave no hint that he was hurt, and sought out an ice pack to encourage healing. Bruised ribs were possibly the most painful thing he’d experienced aside from outright breaking them, but Damian is not one to expose unnecessary emotion. He climbed mountains with broken fingers. He fought, died, and lived through pit rage. He could handle bruised ribs. 

Damian convinced himself that this was true, but the pain was getting to be too much. He grimaced on his way back to his room, ice pack in hand, ready to disappear into the confines of his nest. Ready to wait until called upon as he had done for a majority of his stay in the manor.

“Hey, Damian,” Tim greeted in the hallway.

Damian nodded his head curtly. Stopping everything he had planned to look as non-threatening as possible. He looked down at the floor, and then rooted himself in his spot.

“What’s in your hand?”

Damian glanced at the ice pack. He thought it easy to make out, but he would explain it regardless. His pack member had asked him a question. Damian would have to answer it. 

“An ice pack,” he answered.

Tim raised a brow, though Damian could not see it.

“Why do you need an ice pack?” He asked. 

Damian took in a deep breath through his nose. Though he did not think this information important to share, he answered, knowing that if he avoided the question that he would be challenging Tim’s position in the pack. “I’m going to use it to attend to my bruised ribs.”

Tim almost fell over himself. He sputtered, “What?”

That was the beginning of chaos and disorder.

“Let me see.”

Damian obediently lifts up his shirt, and tugs it over his head. His father crouches in front of him on the coffee table with the pack present. Alfred was standing aside, ready to aid, brow creased with concern. Tim gnawed on his bottom lip as he sat on the edge of a wooden chair. 

Damian looks down at his bruised ribs. They were horribly purple. It was not an attractive look for his body. He feared his father’s reaction since, of course, Damian was an omega. He was supposed to be taking care of his own appearance to appeal to the alphas in the pack. 

His father says nothing as he looks at his bruises. He looked thoughtfully stoic, if not a little pained (why?), and Damian did not dare read any further. He was not supposed to be looking his father in the face to begin with. 

“How did this happen?” His father asks. Unbeknownst to the omega, his father had stopped looking at his bruises, and was now tracing his scars with his eyes. His jaw tightens at the sight. 

“I got into an altercation with another boy at school,” Damian replied plainly.

Bruce’s eyes narrow. Alfred massages his brow, and Tim’s fingers dig into his legs. 

Finally, Tim blurts out, “How did he get you so bad? You’re a trained assassin.”

Damian’s eyes lower respectfully. 

“I did as any would do in my standing. I allowed him the opportunity to relieve his stress.”

The room goes dreadfully silent. 

“You let him hurt you?” Tim puts out breathlessly. Like he couldn’t believe what he was listening to. Damian feels a load of shame for it. Why could he never do anything right? How was he supposed to make his pack happy? They just seem disappointed with him. 

“What do you mean by that, Damian?” Bruce asks. 

Damian was now aware he was to spell it out for them. He says, “He needed an outlet. I, as an omega, was the choice option.”

The room goes silent again. The atmosphere was uncomfortable. 

“And you didn’t fight back?” Bruce asks for clarification.

“I didn’t fight back,” Damian agrees.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

Damian frowns. This had to be a test. “I did not wish to tarnish the pack’s reputation by drawing attention to myself.”

It seemed his family needed to take another mute moment to digest this information. Damian feels hot shame fill his breast. Had he answered wrong? 

“I need a moment,” Alfred decides aloud. He exits the library without further explanation.

His father did not try to convince Alfred to stay. He lifts the ice pack that Damian had rested on the surface of the coffee table, and then holds it gently against Damian’s ribs. Damian does not dare show his initial discomfort with a hiss. 

“Son,” he says, and it makes Damian’s heart leap, because his father had never called him such an endearing term before, “I need you to help me understand what is going on in your head. What does being an omega mean to you? Why do you think it’s okay for someone to vent their anger by beating you up?”

Damian takes a breath before articulating an answer.

“I belong to you. It is my duty as an omega to highlight the excellent qualities of their handler. I am to be submissive at all times. I am not to anger you. I am not to fight back. I am not to act out of line.”

Tim makes a strangled noise. 

Damian looks up at him, and instantly realizes his mistake. He looks back down.

“I-” Damian swallows. “I apologize if I have acted in a way you do not approve of. I am prepared for whatever punishment you wish to give me for making a spectacle out of yourself.”

The ice pack against his skin presses a little harder. This time Damian cannot control his wince.

His father relents immediately. “Sorry,” he sighs. “I just- I’m not going to punish you for getting beat up. That’s not how things work around here.”

“Of course,” Damian agrees. “You are to punish me for making a fool out of myself.”

“No,” his father grounds out.

Damian’s brows dig into his forehead. “Then you expect me to punish myself? That is acceptable.”

“No,” his father pushes out in horror. The implication was not lost upon him. “What I want for you right now is to focus on recovering. Do not punish yourself. Understand? How do you usually punish yourself?”

Damian says, “I refrain from eating. I go without water. I-”

“Oh hell ,” Tim exhales loudly.

Damian ignores him. “I train in my room until my muscles give out.”

Silence. Again. 

Damian keeps his mouth shut. He had somehow displeased them. Why did he keep doing that? 

“Damian, look at me.”

Damian hesitates. 

“Damian.”

He cannot risk a third command. He looks up through his eyelashes. 

“You-” His father pauses. He picks up again, “You don’t have to punish yourself.”

“I don’t have to,” Damian repeats, “but it is what you want, correct?”

His father looked as if Damian had smacked him. 

“No! I-”

Damian flinches at the raise in volume. 

“I-” His father deflates. “What I want is for you to be safe. What I want,” he looks apologetic about it, “is for you to be happy. I don’t want you to punish yourself.”

Damian averts his gaze.

His father gently reaches out to guide his chin. Damian was staring into his eyes again. 

“I want you to look me in the eye. I want you to be comfortable with me. With your siblings. With Alfred. I want you to tell me when people are hurting you. I want to take care of you.”

Damian is stunned. 

“I want you to be healthy,” his father adds. “I do not want to punish you.”

“Why not?”

He slaps a hand over his mouth. He’d just spoken out of turn.

His father looks pained. He sets the ice pack down back on the coffee table, and then carefully pries Damian’s hand away from his lips.

“You’re my son.”

Damian is pulled out of school. 

Damian was present when it happened. His father had ordered him to stick behind him, and with a protective fervor his father passively aggressively chewed out the school’s principal. Damian was glued to his leg when it happened, as was commanded, and his father made his disapproval known to the staff through business lingo. It made Damian realize that he’d never witnessed his father’s disapproval. His father had never acted in the way he had at the school. Damian was beginning to realize he’d misinterpreted his father’s silence. It wasn’t disapproval. It was something else. Something thoughtful. Considerate. Worried.

Damian was not involved when his father visited the households from the list Damian had provided him. Instead, Damian played chess with Alfred, who decided Damian needed more time outside his nest.

Alfred made sure to encourage verbal participation from Damian when they engaged in conversation. Alfred told Damian that he wanted to hear his opinions, and Damian had been rightly bewildered. 

“But I’m an omega,” Damian would say to almost everything his family told him. 

They didn’t care.

Things changed from the moment he’d returned home with bruised ribs. His family were straightforward with what they wanted from Damian. 

“I don’t want you to aggravate your injury,” his father had said.

“I want you to tell me if you’re in pain.”

“I want you to tell me how you feel.”

“But, I’m an omega-”

“You’re my son, first and foremost, and your designation doesn’t dictate how I should love you.”

His father loved him.

Damian’s heart was warm at the thought.

“I want to hang out with you,” Tim says.

Damian looks at Tim from his mattress. His brother eyes his nest with some interest. Damian found it fascinating that his brother would not invade his area unless invited. 

“Okay,” Damian agrees.

Tim steps foot into his room. He sits down on the floor, braces his back against the bed frame, and pops out his laptop. Damian observes as Tim silently begins typing out an essay. This was now a usual occurrence between the two of them. His brother would come around to sit in silence with him, and Damian found that he did not mind too much. 

“You-” Damian dares. Tim stops typing. “You could sit up here, if you want.”

Tim turns to look at him over the edge of the bed.

“It’s your nest,” Tim says. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Damian tries again. “I want you to sit up here.”

This is the best way to communicate in the pack, Damian had realized, which was why he was trying to implement it in his speech. His family would always tell Damian what they wanted from him. He had learned it was okay for him to do the same for them. 

Tim wordlessly accepts his invitation by climbing up onto Damian’s bed. Damian feels some satisfaction as Tim makes himself comfortable in Damian’s well-kept nest. 

“The nests you make always look comfy,” Tim compliments. “They feel that way, too.”

Damian beams in pride. “Of course,” he brags. “I imagine that my nests are the best in the house.”

Tim barks out a laugh. “You’re probably right. You should stop by my room to fix up my bed. I think it’d look better if you did something to it.”

Damian brightens even more. 

They fall into a comfortable silence afterward. Damian sketches while Tim works on his laptop. Damian spends about fifteen minutes in internal conflict. He had invited his brother into his nest, and now he had a most childish desire.

He wanted to cuddle with him.

Damian endures the desire for an hour. Tim closes his laptop in preparation to leave, but Damian shoots a hand out to grab at his shirt. He sprawls himself across the mattress just to do it.

Tim looks at him questioningly.

“What do you want?” He asks.

This time, Damian cannot bring himself to answer. He is far too embarrassed.

He stays mute even as his brother begins making guesses.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Damian nods.

Tim looks at the door, then back at Damian, and hums.

“Okay,” he decides. He makes the first move. Damian feels his heart leap when Tim settles back down on the mattress, holding a single arm out in invitation.

Damian crawls over to him eagerly. He allows Tim to wrap his arm around his shoulders. Tim pulls Damian into his side. Damian presses himself against Tim happily with a content sigh.

“You omegas are all the same,” Tim teases. “You just want cuddles.”

Damian purrs as Tim runs a hand through his hair.

“We’re not all the same,” Damian says.

His pack had taught him that. 

Chapter Text

Bruce makes the conscious effort not to draw attention to the wandering pup standing in the entertainment room's archway. He knew doing so would most likely scare him away. Damian might be doing better with communicating his wants, but initiating something typically involved a great amount of reluctance. Damian didn't have to say anything for Bruce to get somewhat of a clue as to what he wanted. Bruce now knew him well enough to understand certain behaviors.

Damian wanted to get close. 

Bruce keeps his eyes on the television screen. It was late in the evening, Bruce had decided he needed a break, and the movie playing on the screen happened to play a part in that decision. Bruce was only semi-focused on the going-ons in the movie's story. Most of his attention, though it might not seem like it, was concentrated on his pup. He might not be looking directly at him, but a majority of his thoughts dwelled on him. 

Damian doesn't make a move in his peripheral vision. 

Bruce waits it out. 

Damian still does not make a movie over the span of seven minutes. Bruce determines his next action. He opens up his arm wordlessly in silent invitation. 

That gets Damian moving. Bruce puts in the effort to pretend that this is not an abnormal occurrence. He makes the conscious decision not to look at Damian, to help him feel less scrutinized, as his pup's warmth settles into his side. 

Bruce isn't just happy with his side. 

So, without verbal warning, he guides Damian gently into a position on his lap. Damian quietly presses a cheek against his chest. Bruce frees a hand to rest it on Damian's back. He keeps his eyes on the television, but his mind determines a path of soothing for his youngest. Bruce swirls circles into Damian's back with the barest skim of his knuckles, transitioning into the flatness of his palm. He rubs into Damian's back with a blossoming warmth in his heart. 

Bruce thinks about how far Damian has come in the realm of physical affection. Damian had always allowed things to happen to him, but he'd never willingly tried to receive love. He'd learned that he was an omega, and in turn, he learned that his opinion didn't matter. It'd not been easy to teach Damian that he was more than the League's twisted definition of his role. 

They still encountered troubles on the daily concerning Damian's unhealthy thought processes, but he was now doing significantly better than he had been. 

Bruce's hand gently pats Damian's back. Like that of a babe. Bruce feels in a very strong way that Damian is his baby.

Damian's eyes flutter as Bruce rubs in the creases of his shirt. Bruce can feel the tension release from Damian's body. He becomes heavier. His cheek squishes against Bruce's chest with no restraint. Damian takes in a heaving exhausted breath. Feeling comfortable enough to show this part of himself. 

Bruce loves the purr. 

Damian's purr is quiet. He would've missed it if Damian wasn't literally pressed against him. But Bruce could feel the vibrations in Damian's body, and he could make out the quiet sound. He feels ridiculously pleased because of it. It makes him happy in a giddy sort of way. It cracks into his stoic expression. It tugs at the corner of his lips in a twitch. 

Damian's breath evens out. Bruce rumbles soothingly. He thinks about how the boy in his hold belongs there, and how Bruce feels all kinds of love for him. 

They stay like that in the company of white noise. Damian dozes off on Bruce's chest, feeling safe, and Bruce promises him protection with soothing hands.