Chapter Text
Bruce struggles, tears streaming down his contorted face as two of Ra's henchmen hold him down.
A rare outburst of anger, something he hadn't shown since joining the ranks of the Demon Head.
Or rather, emotions he'd been taught to suppress, to erase.
"Give him back!"
Cries of distress echo through the pit, the acrid stench of the agonizing omega permeates the air. He's exhausted, his legs bleeding, barely recovered from giving birth.
The Azara pit shimmers beneath him, the bright green light striking his tear-stained face as he watches Ra's leave with his child's body.
He's lived through this moment before, again and again, even more than the death of his own parents. But it all feels so real that he can no longer distinguish truth from illusion.
“Give him back to me, Ra’s! Give him back to me!”
His voice breaks, desperate, as he wants his baby back while he watches the demon’s head disappear. It seems to recede further and further, out of reach.
Like a mirage…
He claws at the ground, trying in vain to rise under the weight of the two men holding him down.
His nails tear from the sudden movements, blood from his hands spilling onto the already flooded, pristine earth.
He is in agony, his vision blurs, and he struggles to see the man who is taking his baby finally turn toward him. The man who taught him so much, but who also destroyed him so much.
“He’s dead, my love. You should accept it and end this charade.” "You know very well I'm going to give you another one anyway..."
Cold, cruel words that echoed in his head like the gunshots of that fateful night.
Another one? He didn't understand. Why was Ra's refusing to let him save his baby? Wasn't he the one who wanted an heir?
Everything became blurry. He didn't understand, and everything hurt as he weakly reached out to Ra's, who was leaving the room.
Anger rose within him, a dark anger.
His last strength deserted him as the omega's piercing cry echoed through the room. He was desperately calling for his child, as if the child were about to magically appear in his arms.
"Damien!"
~
“Master Bruce!”
Bruce woke with a start, breathless. He blinked, looked around, and saw his room.
There he was, in his bed, which was far too big for him, warm, and it was just another bad memory.
A nightmare that had made him sick.
That makes him sicker every day.
He ran a hand through his hair and tossed it back with a sigh. He looked up at Alfred, who was watching him with his usual calm, even though worry was etched on his face.
Bruce already knew what he was going to say.
“No, Alfred, I don’t want to talk about it, and yes, I’m fine…”
Alfred didn’t answer right away. He stood there, motionless, his back straight despite his age, his hands clasped behind his back. Bruce looked away, knowing full well that this silence boded ill.
“Master Bruce…” Alfred finally said in a soft voice, “you will find no peace by stifling your torment.”
Bruce gritted his teeth. His fingers gripped the sheets, as if he needed to anchor himself to reality. He glanced away toward the window.
“I’m fine, Alfred.”
A lie. He knew it. Alfred knew it too.
The butler approached and placed a light hand on Bruce’s shoulder. That simple touch was enough to make him lower his head, his shoulders barely relaxing.
“You can deceive Gotham, Master Bruce. You can even deceive me, if it makes you feel better.” The old fool paused, then added, more quietly, “But you cannot deceive yourself.”
Bruce closes his eyes. Images from the nightmare flash through his mind.
He takes a deep breath.
"It was nothing... just a dream."
"A dream that gives you the chills, sir."
He doesn't reply. He simply pulls back the covers before getting up and heading for the laundry room. He doesn't want to answer, and he doesn't intend to.
"What's my schedule for today, Alfred?"
Alfred clears his throat slightly, as if accepting the abrupt change of subject.
"You have a meeting with Lucius at nine o'clock, sir. Then, an inspection of the construction site for the new wing of the orphanage at eleven. And..." He hesitates.
"And I've planned for you to get more sleep, given the time you got back from patrol last night... Well, I advise you to, since you have a meeting with the League this evening..."
Bruce runs a hand over his face, still marked by fatigue. His dark reflection in the mirror at the end of the corridor shows him an exhausted, almost deranged man. He looks away.
Great, the League… He'd completely forgotten about them.
“Very well. Cancel the inspection. Lucius will take care of it.” His voice is hoarse, almost broken.
Alfred nods, but his gaze remains firm, attentive.
“Good, sir. Should I also inform Lucius that you will… rest today?”
Bruce grabs a shirt lying on the laundry basket and puts it on mechanically.
“No… I’ll be here.” He breathes in slowly, as if forcing himself to remain calm.
“I’m already awake.”
Alfred takes a few steps forward, stopping just before encroaching on his space.
“You’re awake, certainly. But not… rested.” It's not the same thing.
Bruce froze. The silence stretched on, heavy, almost palpable. Good heavens, why was Alfred always right?
"Alfred…" he began, his tone firm, almost pleading.
"Sir?"
"This dream… it's nothing." He looked away, his jaw clenched.
"And I don't want to talk about it anymore."
Alfred inclined his head a second time, with that unchanging gentleness he seemed to reserve for his master… or his son.
"Very well, sir. I understand."
He turned to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway.
"However… if this 'nothing' becomes too much for you to bear… I'll be in the kitchen with some tea."
Bruce closes his eyes for a moment. That brief heartbeat, just long enough for his mask to fall. Then he immediately puts it back up.
"Thank you, Alfred."
The butler disappears down the corridor. Bruce remains there, motionless, as the memory of his dream washes over him.
He sighs; the day is off to a bad start…
~
Indeed, the rest of the day unfolded in a strange torpor.
He had tried to immerse himself in his tasks: the meeting with Lucius, a quick stop at Wayne Enterprises, a few signatures, a discussion with investors he was only half-listening to. No one had noticed his inattentiveness—they were all too intimidated, too polite, or too used to his aloof demeanor.
But Alfred had seen everything.
And Bruce had done his best to avoid his gaze, for he was ashamed to keep things from his adoptive father.
But despite the pain it caused him, he couldn't tell Alfred what had happened. He never would; he simply couldn't.
He sighed and stared up at the dark sky through his bedroom window. He stood by the large window, his hands in his pockets. His reflection in the glass showed him only a truth he still refused to accept: he hadn't recovered. The memory continued to weigh on his eyelids like a persistent shadow.
Alfred knocks softly on the door.
"Master Bruce? Your… reunion with the League begins in a few minutes…"
Bruce nods without turning around.
"I know, Alfred…"
Silence.
Alfred enters and discreetly places a tray containing a thermos of steaming tea on the bedside table.
"You will have to be… vigilant, sir. You have already explained to me how these Alphas can behave when they disagree."
A touch of irony, very subtle. He manages a smile that vanishes almost immediately; come to think of it, he is the only non-Alpha member of the League. Well, except for Jon'h, considered a Beta, since he didn't have a secondary gender on his planet.
The other members of the league know nothing of his secondary gender identity. Imagine a pack of alphas convinced there are only two betas in the room? They don't hesitate to fight, mark their territory, leave their scent, growl… in short, to behave like alphas.
Like animals.
Not that he resents them; he knows it's his nature and they can't control him. But sometimes, it's exhausting.
"It's okay, Alfred… I can handle them," he says in a low voice.
"I don't doubt your determination, sir." Alfred takes two steps forward.
"But nothing replaces rest. And you haven't taken the extra nap you promised."
Bruce grits his teeth.
He hates that Alfred has stirred something in him.
He's so right.
He finally looks away from the window.
"I have to go," he says decisively.
He leaves the office and descends the stairs leading to the secret entrance of the facilities hidden beneath the mansion: the immense Batcave.
He puts on dark, discreet, and functional clothes, as well as a few odor-absorbing patches. No full costume today: League meetings don't require the symbol, only the man.
As he buttoned the sleeve of his jumpsuit, an image flashed through his mind.
The nightmare.
His little boy.
Death.
She sang it.
Bruce held his breath for a moment. He closed his eyes, his hands gripping the fabric of his uniform.
It was nothing.
Just a memory.
Just a memory.
He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the computer screen. A young man. Too young to bear such a burden.
But he had never had a choice.
He activated the Zeta tube.
Alfred appeared at the bottom of the ramp, his hands behind his back, his face grave but calm.
"Make sure you return safely, sir. You promised Master Todd a cozy night in the nest."
And as if his words had fallen from the sky, Bruce's stress vanished instantly. The mere mention of Jason, his puppy, was enough to calm him, and Alfred knew it, of course.
When Bruce was young, he was the type to say he'd never have a puppy, that he refused to conform to social conventions. Then he disappeared for years and returned with… empty nest syndrome.
His need for a puppy was so strong that he adopted Dick at 17 (fresh out of the League of Assassins) and made him his sidekick. Now that Dick is 16, has become an Alpha, and often travels with Titans, returning to the mansion less and less frequently, empty nest syndrome has struck Bruce again.
Then Jason appeared in his life, a puppy who had stolen the Batmobile's tires after a patrol. His heart melted so quickly that he immediately took him to the mansion, despite the little one's attempts to run away. He was wild, frightened, a baby longing for a mother.
Bruce wanted to give him that, to be his mother. Perhaps because he himself hadn't been able to be, because that chance had been stolen from him, or because Dick had already had parents and had never truly seen her as such.
He would never force a bond with Dick; that was his choice. And what if one day he wanted to see Bruce as a mother and not a guardian? The door remained open.
At the time, he didn't really know why he'd made that remark.
What he was sure of was that as soon as he saw Jason, he knew he wanted him as his own son.
That he was his.
And luckily for him, after welcoming him into his nest and comforting him, the bond formed naturally. Jason accepted him as his new mother, and Bruce was overjoyed. Even though Jason can sometimes be protective, even possessive, of Bruce and growls at anyone who gets too close to his mother (which is why he rarely takes him to galas...).
Bruce already knows he'll become an alpha when he grows up, but for now, he's still her little puppy who loves being cuddled in his mother's nest. Besides, he doesn't need any more gossip from the press about him or his little one.
He sighs. Cuddles in the nest… he would never refuse him, and Alfred, perfectly aware of his protégé's empty nest syndrome, doesn't hesitate to use it to get what he wants: to let him rest, for example.
"I hadn't forgotten…"
"I doubt it, but I'll make sure there's still hot tea when you get back."
Bruce closes his eyes. This dream, this feeling, this chilling certainty that something is brewing.
And that he might not be ready.
"Of course, Alfred… there's always tea…"
Then he enters the Zeta Tube, heading for the Watchtower…
The Zeta tube emitted a white flash, then released Bruce into the circular atrium of the Tower of Justice. The moment he stepped inside, he felt the palpable tension—not his own, but the almost imperceptible tension of a group of familiar Alphas.
He checked his watch. Late. Very late. Batman was never late, what was wrong with him?
"Perfect..." he muttered with his usual irony.
He walked down the main corridor. As he approached the large meeting room, he heard voices—loud voices, grunts, and a strong scent of alpha pheromones. A clear sign of a heated discussion, almost an argument. Clark was obviously trying to defuse the situation. Diana, on the other hand, never sought to ease tensions.
He took a breath. He already knew someone would make a comment. And he already knew they wouldn't respond.
He pushed open the door.
All eyes turned to him. The large, still-new oval room had an eerie atmosphere: too much power, not enough trust.
Superman stood there, arms crossed. Diana, seated, had a piercing gaze beneath her dark curls. J'onn remained motionless, his expression as neutral as a living statue. And the others? Just as impassive as Clark and Diana.
"Batman," Clark said, half-relieved, half-reprimanded, but Bruce saw his eyes light up at the sight of him, despite the heavy atmosphere.
"You're late," Diana added curtly.
"I know..."
He said nothing more. He never said anything again.
J'onn inclined his head, as if sensing something, but chose not to dwell on it.
Bruce sat down and sighed as the room began to erupt with growling again.
Damn, they knew managing a group of alphas could be difficult, but usually it wasn't this intense.
"Enough!"
His stern voice silenced everyone in the room. Everyone could sense his bad mood, even if they didn't know the reason.
"You'd better have a good reason for showing your fangs like that! This is a meeting, not a fight ring, and I don't tolerate pointless quarrels. So, what's the problem?"
A heavy, almost palpable silence fell. Glances were exchanged—shifty, nervous, even aggressive in some cases. The pheromones, previously diffuse, had dissipated enough for Bruce to think clearly again, without his Omega brain interpreting everything as a threat.
Clark was the first to look away. Diana held her head high, but her Alpha aura trembled, as if something deeply troubled her. Flash fidgeted, perfectly aware of being trapped in a space saturated with hormonal tension. J'onn, stoic, watched.
No one spoke.
Bruce clutched his cape tightly.
"Very well. Let me rephrase. What's causing this?"
Clark glanced at Diana, who didn't respond. Flash gestured for her to speak. Clark sighed.
"It's... complicated."
Bruce has a source.
"Then simplify."
This time, Diana spoke, standing tall, perfectly poised in her Alpha aura.
"Batman, we've been working together for several months. We've already faced several threats together. We risk our lives for each other." Her gaze met his.
"And yet, we know nothing about you. Not your name. Not what you are."
Bruce remained perfectly still.
"You know what you need to know."
Aquaman, arms crossed, grunted.
"That's precisely the problem. We don't even know if, in a critical situation, your instincts might endanger the group."
A muscle in Bruce's jaw tightened.
J'onn added calmly,
"We're not asking for your civilian identity. But knowing your secondary gender is essential to our cooperation. It's like not knowing whether Superman can fly or not. It's... a tactical risk."
Clark nodded, uncomfortable but sincere.
"We don't want to force you to talk. But if we don't even know if you're Alpha, Beta, or Omega… we don't know how to protect you. Or how to avoid making things worse."
Protect him? Why would Clark want to protect him? Why did he think he needed protection?
Flash continued, his voice quick but sincere:
"For example! If you were Alpha and I… or any of us bumped into you at the wrong moment without realizing it, things could get ugly! Or if you were Omega and you were too stressed… it could trigger…"
"That's enough," Bruce interrupted.
Barry fell silent instantly.
A heavy silence seemed to settle over the room.
Bruce took a deep breath, calm and perfectly composed.
His heart was pounding.
He hated this subject.
He hated that they were right.
And he hated most of all that his control system was being questioned.
"My secondary gender has nothing to do with the missions."
"Yes, it does," Diana replied without hesitation. "Even a Beta can be affected by another's pheromones. We need to know how to work with you without putting you at risk. Otherwise, we'll put ourselves at risk."
Batman sneered, cold and unfeeling like a son.
"You've been handling this very well for months."
Hal interrupted, annoyed, and Flash nodded, gesturing wildly.
"No, no, no! We're not working 'very well,' Spooky, we're working because you're ALWAYS about to tell us to get lost! This isn't teamwork!"
Bruce slowly turned his head toward him, grunting. Flash and Hal swallowed.
Then he felt it.
Diana's Alpha aura was impressive.
Even Kal seemed slightly tense beside her.
Bruce, however, remained impassive and resumed the initial conversation.
"I'm perfectly capable of controlling myself."
Arthur let out a small, joyless laugh.
"That's not the point."
J'onn tilted his head slightly.
"Batman... you've been stressed since you walked into this room. Much more so than usual." And, if I may… this leads me to believe that your secondary gender identity places you in a vulnerable position that you refuse to acknowledge.
A heavy silence answered him.
The Alphas exchanged a glance, then stared at him.
An exchange of instincts, without a word.
Bruce felt the hormonal tension coursing through the room and had to retreat behind his mental defenses.
He knew this kind of tension—a mix of territoriality and anxiety.
Usually, he knew how to soothe it.
But today, the atmosphere was too heavy.
Too heavy for him and the nightmares that haunted him.
Too heavy after the day he'd just lived through.
Bruce observed them one by one. Clark was tense, with that protective tension he hated feeling for Batman. He knew Batman didn't like him.
Flash and Hal were playing with their gloves. J'onn… stared at him with an almost intrusive gentleness.
His instinct compelled him to leave the room.
He remained motionless.
“Very well. What do you mean by ‘vulnerable situation’?”
Diana took a deep breath, weighing her words.
“We were exposed to experimental pheromones last week. An unidentified weapon.”
Bruce nodded coolly.
“I’ve recovered. So have you.”
Clark shook his head.
“Not… exactly.”
Bruce is a source.
Oliver, who hadn’t yet spoken, continued:
“The problem, Batman, is that everyone here reacted in one way or another. Everyone except you.”
Bruce sensed the danger before they even named it.
“I have better self-control than you do.”
“Or I have a different reaction,” Diana calmly corrected.
Bruce remained impassive.
“Where are you implying?”
“Nothing,” she replied immediately.
But her aura vibrated slightly, a sign that she wasn’t entirely sincere.
This subtle movement in the air stirred something in Bruce.
Just enough to send a rush of heat up his throat.
He suppressed it so quickly that no one should have noticed.
But Superman had.
Clark frowned, inclined his head. Not threatening. Rising from his chair, he took a step toward her, a purely instinctive gesture, protective without even realizing it.
Bruce stepped back slightly.
Mistake.
Clark took another step, an instinctive protective gesture—insignificant for a mere beta, but excessive for an omega.
Bruce took a quarter step back. A reflex too quick. An excess of zeal. Too precise.
It wasn't flight, nor submission, nor rebellion.
It was… something indefinable.
Flash let out an almost inaudible "oh."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. Diana froze. J'onn blinked, analyzing the situation.
"That," said Oliver, "was a reaction."
Bruce remained perfectly still.
"A reaction to what?" he asked in an icy voice.
No one answered. They simply watched him. Sensed him.
They simply observed him.
Sensed him.
The ambiguity put them all on high alert.
J'onn finally broke the silence:
"We don't know what you are, Batman. And that's not an accusation. But we need to understand how your body reacts to certain threats. Your secondary sex has something to do with it."
Bruce stared at him.
His expression, perfectly controlled, betrayed nothing.
Not a tremor.
Not a gasp of breath.
Not the slightest trace of scent.
Nothing.
Perfection.
Invisibility.
And that was precisely what worried the Alphas.
Hal sighed.
"It's not normal that you can mask your scent so well. Not all the time. Especially not under these circumstances."
He's as stiff as a board; of course they can't smell him. He always wears an odor mask when he's not with his pups.
Bruce replied.
"Just because you can't smell me doesn't mean anything."
Clark murmured.
"Batman... we're not trying to identify you. We're just trying to figure out how to protect you if we're targeted by a hormonal weapon again."
“I don’t need protection,” Bruce said, a little too quickly.
They sensed it.
A slight tension, almost instinctive.
Arthur exchanged a glance with Diana:
“He’s hiding something.”
J’onn added:
“But you’re hiding it perfectly. Which simply means you don’t want to talk about it. And that’s your right.”
Barry nodded vigorously.
“Yes! We just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to… blow up on a mission or something.”
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
When he spoke, his voice was clear:
“I won’t confirm or deny anything. My gender identity has no bearing on my ability to be Batman. Or on my loyalty. Or on my place here.
If that’s a problem for you… then maybe I don’t belong in this league.”
Diana buried her face in her hands.
"It's not a problem. It's a concern. It's different."
Clark added softly,
"We're not rejecting you. We're trying to include you. We're a pack of Batmans..."
Bruce opened his eyes.
And looked at them all.
They were all staring at his face.
They were all trying to understand him.
They were all wondering: Alpha, Beta, Omega?
Without ever being able to define him.
He took a deep breath, calmly, precisely, in full control of his faculties.
"I'm not part of your pack, or anything like that."
He paused.
"I'm Batman. And that's all you need to know."
Silence.
But they couldn't talk.
Because in his posture, his breathing, his gaze…
nothing betrayed anything.
Nothing.
And perhaps that was what troubled them most.
Bruce rubbed his temple, exhausted. This wasn't the meeting he'd envisioned, and all he wanted now was to go home and cuddle his puppy.
"This meeting is a point of no return, and I don't want to hear anything more about this subject until further notice."
He spoke coldly, methodically, leaving no room for discussion.
His cape leaves the taut floor as he storms out of the meeting room and heads straight for the Zeta Tube. Without even looking back, with a coldness worthy of Batman.
~
The muffled rustle of Batman's cape still echoes in the meeting room as the door closes behind him. For a moment, silence falls. Clark sighs, and J'onn lowers his eyelids slightly, as if to dispel the palpable tension.
Clark is the first to compose himself.
"I'm going to... go see if he's alright," he says, already taking a step forward.
No one stops him.
He strides across the metal corridor, his footsteps echoing with the icy authority Batman had just displayed. He knows Batman better than anyone and can recognize the signs: a mixture of fatigue, irritation, and something indefinable—a palpable tension around him, as if his usual self-control has reached its limit.
Clark turns the corner and catches sight of Batman's dark silhouette in front of the Zeta tubes. He pauses for a moment. Just long enough for his shoulders to stiffen slightly. It's not hesitation. Bruce ignores that. It's… overwork. Or exasperation. Or both.
"B, wait…" Clark murmurs.
The Dark Knight doesn't turn around immediately.
“I hope you didn’t come here to continue this conversation.” His voice was lower, veiled by a carefully suppressed weariness.
“No.” Clark approached slowly, as one might approach a wounded animal, the way he had learned to approach wild cats on the farm. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine,” Batman replied, too quickly, too curtly.
Clark offered a brief smile. “You know that sounds exactly like the voice of someone who isn’t feeling well?”
Batman finally pivots, just enough for Clark to catch a glimpse of his profile: the shadow of his clenched jaw, the tired glint in his eyes.
"Kal." His name, his real name, spoken like a warning. "I'm not going to play this game. Not now."
"You don't have to play this game." Clark takes another step. They're close, but not too close; Bruce wouldn't tolerate too much physical contact in this state. "I just want to understand what happened in this room."
Bruce sighs, a hoarse sigh that betrays his exasperation.
"Nothing happened in this room. I had a busy day and I didn't know how to handle the situation."
Clark frowned, instinctively leaning forward.
"You didn't have to handle this situation. We're concerned, sure, but... that wasn't the right way to approach it."
Batman didn't reply. He never did.
"I just want to say you should trust us... if you have problems, you should be able to..."
Batman cut him off.
"My problems aren't information the League needs."
"I'm not with the League," Clark replied simply. He involuntarily released his pheromones, perhaps in an attempt to comfort Batman.
Bruce closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, then activates the Zeta Tube console.
"Zeta Tube, destination: Gotham."
Before the light comes on, Clark speaks: "If you ever want to talk about it... or if you want me to help calm things down... I can do that. Just ask."
Batman finally looks at him. Outside.
It's brief. Intense. And heavy with meaning, carefully chosen.
Then he says, very softly:
"I know."
The light engulfs him and he disappears.
Clark remains there, alone, breathless from this simple confession—rare, precious, and offered without defense.
He manages a smile, despite the growing frustration within him.
~
The Zeta tube lights up as Bruce enters the Batcave.
He sighs and removes his mask; he can finally breathe. No more alpha pheromones, just clean air and the comforting scent of home.
Back at the mansion and free of his costume, Bruce leaves the cave and heads toward his room.
"You're back, Master Bruce?"
Bruce turns around; he's barely inside the mansion when he already hears Alfred's voice. Despite his efforts to be discreet, the old butler always manages to find him.
“How did the meeting go, sir?” Alfred asked calmly, but curiously.
“Great.” Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes. The meeting was anything but great.
Alfred stepped forward slowly, frowning worriedly. “I imagine it wasn’t exactly… relaxing?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.
Bruce put his head in his hands but said nothing more.
Alfred nodded, as if he understood better than anyone. There was no point in forcing Bruce to talk; sometimes, silence was enough.
At that precise moment, a small, hurried footstep sounded behind Bruce. Before he could turn around, a little ball of energy jumped onto him and snuggled up to him.
"Mommy!" Young Jason, still a rambunctious seven-year-old puppy, was squirming against him, his bright blue eyes pleading. "I've had a long day too, and you promised me cuddles back at the nest..."
"Jay... what did they tell you about listening to other people's conversations at the door?" he said firmly.
Jason pouted. "How rude, but... there's no door in the hall, Mom..."
Despite his tiredness and annoyance, Bruce couldn't help but smile. "That little puppy is really clever!" He knelt down, welcoming the warm, wriggling little body. "Okay, okay... let's go to the nest..." he murmured, stroking Jason's soft fur.
Jason snuggled against him, almost purring, and Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the rare calm that reigned in the manor. Even heroes needed rest... and cuddles now and then.
"Alfred... go prepare the nest..."
The butler nodded and left; he had never shared the nest, but he enjoyed preparing their blankets.
Bruce gently lifted Jason into his arms, feeling his small, warm, and fragile body press against his own. The boy squirmed slightly, but didn't resist, too happy to be with his mother after his long day.
Once in the nest's bedroom, Bruce was careful not to drop the blankets, a veritable cocoon of softness with cushions of all sizes and plush throws carefully arranged by Alfred.
“There…” Bruce murmured, placing Jason in the center of the nest. The blankets sank under the little boy’s weight, enveloping him like a sea of warm cotton. Jason giggled, sinking deeper, his small hands gripping the edges of the pillows. “It’s perfect!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining.
Bruce knelt beside him and ran his hands through his soft hair, inhaling the familiar scent of baby shampoo that still lingered. “So… do you want cuddles or stories?” he asked, a small smile on his tired but genuine face.
Jason squirmed and nestled against Bruce's chest, his arms around his neck. "Hugs... lots of hugs..." he murmured, his voice already softer and dreamier.
Bruce held him tight, wrapping them in blankets as much as possible to create an even warmer cocoon. The boy's body immediately stretched against him, his breathing calm and steady as Bruce intoxicated him with his scent.
Bruce felt his heart swell gently, a mixture of tiredness and peaceful happiness. He rested his cheek against the top of Jason's head and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring this rare moment of peace.
Outside, the manor seemed silent, as if respecting this fragile little world. Even the walls appeared to fade away, leaving only the warmth of the nest and the gentle beating of their hearts. Jason let out a small yawn, burying his face even deeper in Bruce's shoulder.
Jason smiled, still sleepy. "...Mom..." he murmured before closing his eyes, completely enveloped in this cocoon of warmth and security. His small eyes closed.
"Goodnight, my little Jaybird..."
Bruce remained still for a long moment, watching him drift peacefully to sleep, each breath washing away the day's tensions. He placed a light kiss on his temple, then gently leaned down to lie beside him, wrapping him in his protective bras. The outside world could wait. Here, in this improvised nest, there was only Jason, him, and the rare and precious tranquility of a moment stolen from the night.
He can think about responsibility later...
He can think about the Justice League later...
He can think about the meaning of his dream later...
He rubs his nose in Jason's hair, holding his sleeping body close.
Good song...
Why does he have such a bad feeling?..