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2023-12-17
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2023-12-29
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Abomination

Summary:

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you"—he did. He wants to throw up. And it has nothing to do with the stink of rot covering the kid. Rot, no emotions. But the kid's breathes are hitching, he's sobbing— hands pressed to his face. Curled up in a tiny ball. Looking deceptively small for someone with an estimated kill count in double-digits.

 

The kid makes no indication he's heard what he's saying. He cautiously reaches out and places a hand in his matted hair. Stroking it. The hitching subdues. The kid starts curling into the touch.

 

Or Alternatively,

 

Nightwing finds a monster. Dick finds a new addition to the pack.

Notes:

Gentle reminder to drink water.

Chapter 1: I

Chapter Text

Dick kneeled infront of the cage. Monster jerked back, it's back hitting the metal bars. And growled. Something that would've been more threatening if the growl hadn't been punctuated by bouts of coughing. Rattling against the metal muzzle. Dick felt a twinge of disgust. The captors clearly hadn't considered hygiene as a priority and it would've bit them in the ass if they hadn't been arrested. Monster was sick. It would most probably be put down.

 

Most of the mutated abominations were. It was the kindest thing to do. The mutations weren't exactly the most stable way of modifying DNA. It was either euthanasia or a slow, painful death. Body swelling and contorting beyond recognition once the half-life of the DNA-stabilizing enzymes was over. Monster's eyes were blood-shot, vessels clearly visible despite the entire iris and sclera being a dull teal. The eyes had a glossy sheen. Possibly drugged. The skin was infected and peeling around the muzzle. But Monster's expression was foreboding. It wasn't going to go down without a fight. He felt a prickle of grief. Monster didn't have any say in what had become of it. It didn't ask to be made into a twisted mockery of nature. It didn't ask to come into being just to fight to survive each day for sick amusement.

 

It didn't deserve this. Monster was looking at him—there was something akin to wariness in it's gaze. There were no scents indicating it's emotional state but the reek of misery. Maybe Monster was more sentinent than they thought. And he decided to try. 

 

"I'm Nightwing", he made sure to telegraph his moves as he took a step backwards. Settling a few feet away from the cage. Far enough to be seemingly non-threatening and close enough to subdue it.

 

Monster's eyes were passive, staring at him. The sound had caught it's attention, but it gave no indication it had understood what he was saying. Dick tries again. 

 

"I'm not going to hurt you"—the lie sits acidic on his tongue—"You're hurt, you need to come out"—not a lie, he had to. Monster's potential sentience complicated things. Most of the mutts were mindless abominations. 

 

 

Monster just stares at him. Impassively. He feels as if talking to a brick wall would make him sound less stupid," Can you even understand me?" 

 

 

Monster finally moved, cocking his head exactly three degrees to the right. But not anything else. But it's progress. He responded to a change in tone. 

 

"Nod or tap in the ground if you understand what I'm saying", he nods, as if to demonstrate. 

 

 

Monster keeps staring and he wants to tear his hair out. Why is he even trying to coax it out. The cops could be here any moment. A dart would've been easier. Damn him and his bleeding heart. 

 

 

"Monster, if you're fucking with me, I will fucking kill you", the monster freezes, it looks as if it's stopped breathing. Dick hadn't realized he had raised his voice. But he has a response. He doesn't stop, despite bile rising in throat at Monster's distress. Distress that he's causing. "You're going to be killed in here, just like the other mindless mutts, if you can understand me .fucking. nod"

 

 

Monster looks as if it's muscles have locked up. But it slowly moves. Dropping it's head just a fraction, and Dick exhales in relief. His hunch wasn't wrong then. 

 

 

"Okay, now you need to get out so I can see your wounds, unless you fancy dying in the tiny cage", Monster responds to aggression better than anything else. And Dick takes advantage of that fact. Despite the fact that it makes him want to claw his own tongue out. 

 

 

Monster hunches over, and starts crawling on his fours, lopsided. And that's when Dick sees the broken leg and wrist.

 

Oh no. Guilt churns violently in his gut. 

 

 

"Okay, okay, stop, new plan", Monster actually stops. It's panting from the exertion. It's eyes are glassy under the sheen of—tears. The monster's crying. It's skeletal ribcage gives a stutter. And a hitched sound emanates from the muzzle, muted from beneath the metal. Dick really does tear out his hair this time. 

 

 

"It's okay, just stop, sit down, you're just hurting yourself now" 

 

 

Monster does as it's told. And tries to kneel on it's broken leg. But it doesn't hold and it collapses on it's side. And that's when Dick sees the bites poking from beneath the shaggy mess of hair. And suddenly he forgets to breathe.

 

Monster's a hybrid. The captors have successfully managed to insert the human genome into their mutations. He has to tell Bruce. 

 

He slowly reaches out to unlock the locks of the muzzle. Despite the fatigue, Monster flinches.

 

"Hey, hey, I'm not going to hurt you"—he means it this time. 

 

 

Monster squeezes it's eye shut. It's breathing grows ragged and Dick works the locks. And then he pulls the muzzle away. And it's not just a mouth lock. It protrudes deeper. Reaching all the way to his throat. And Dick feels a twinge of anger. It's slick with blood and saliva and bile. He looks up from where he's staring at the muzzle to the monster. And almost throws up.

 

The monster—looks like a kid. A really young kid. Barely out of his teens. The skin is red and bruised around his mouth, removing the muzzle has reopened sores and it's sluggishly leaking blood and pus. His lips are red and cracked. But what makes Dick feel like the worst human alive are the tears steadily dripping down his cheeks. His chest stutters once more and suddenly monster's throwing up. All over his shoes, and Dick scrambles back. There's bile and blood. And teeth. He keeps on going for a while until it's just acid. He heaves one last time, he's shakily wiping his mouth before he looks up at Dick's ruined shoe and freezes and starts making himself smaller to protect himself from blows.

 

The small pained sound he makes, jolts Dick out of his head and he rushes to kneel beside the kid. But it scares him even more and he topples to his side. Into the pool of vomit. Drenching himself with filth in the process. And continues to curl up even smaller. Whimpering as the motion aggravates his injuries. Dick slowly telegraphs his moves and kneels next to him.

 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you"—he did. He wants to throw up. And it has nothing to do with the stink of rot covering the kid. Rot, no emotions. But the kid's breathes are hitching, he's sobbing— hands pressed to his face. Curled up in a tiny ball. Looking deceptively small for someone with an estimated kill count in double-digits.

 

The kid makes no indication he's heard what he's saying. He cautiously reaches out and places a hand in his matted hair. Stroking it. The hitching subdues. The kid starts curling into the touch.

 

He strokes his hair as the hitching becomes less pronounced. And in the process, brushes a few stray locks from behind his neck. And sees the scent glands. The scent glands that have been burnt beyond use. It's a kid. It's a fucking kid.

 

This time he can't hold it in anymore and he barely makes it a few steps away before hurling. Until nothing's left. He wipes his face as shakily makes the way to where the kid's lying. He's quiet now. Most probably passed out.

 

Okay. He can do this. He needs to get the kid medical help. And call Bruce. 

 

He places a hand on the kid's nape and gently grabs it, experimentally scruffing the kid. His suspicions are confirmed when the kid melts under the touch, turning into putty under his hand. He slides a hand under the kid's arms, and then his knees, scooping him up. His suit is ruined now. There's a sharp intake of breath as the movement jostles his injuries. He feels the kid's shallow breath against his neck. The kid couldn't bite even if he could. He's too weak to even hold his head up. But he presses against the warmth.

 

Dick considers for a moment, walking towards where he can find a car to hotwire. And lets a small, low alpha rumble in his chest. Meant to soothe pups. And after a moment the kid lets out a small purr. Or tries too. It comes out as a low wheeze. As the air gets stuck in his sick lungs. But it's unmistakably a purr nonetheless.

 

He was about to put down a pup.

 

He gently shifts some of the kid's weight to his shoulder. And reaches to his other hand to peel off the scent-blocker. Trying his best to channel care-reassurance-protectiveness in his scent. He thinks the kid's too out of it to pick it up until he feels a wet patch growing on his shoulder. And his heart clenches painfully in his chest. He gently brings his hand up to rub the scent over the kid's neck.

 

The little bit of tension that was in his body melts away. And he lets out a tiny purr. It reverbates in his thin chest. And despite the dreary situation, he can't help but smile a little. He puts a hand in his hair, rubbing at his scalp. There's patches of hair missing from injuries. The kid lets out another purr, louder than the last. He's getting bolder.

 

 

He's not a monster, he's just a pup.

 

 

 

The kid is pliant as he scrubs the dirt off his thin body. Staring blearily at him from under the haze of submission. He's an omega. The glands were burnt beyond recognition so the spectators couldn't tell it was an omega besting well-grown alphas. And Dick has to push down the rage he's feeling at the cruelty inflicted on the pup. Incase it leaks into his scent. He's done enough damage already.

 

He has a feeling he would've been put down then. The prejudice against omegas were deplorable. The people would be more accepting of unnatural mutations than the natural designations.

 

The kid closes his eyes and starts purring again as he starts shampooing his hair, completely lost in bliss. And almost topples into the water. He'd had to drain and refill the tub twice to get rid of the rapidly-dirtying water. But atleast the kid's getting cleaner. He grabs the kid's head before he can face-plant into the water. And rinses off his hand to get rid of the soap. And then transfers the kid's head to the clean one. The kid nuzzles against his hand. And feels another twinge of guilt. He's a literal kid. From a terrible, terrible background. Why had he assumed anything different. 

 

 

The kid's conked out by the time he's done rinsing off the mess for the third, and thankfully last time. The kid's skin is deathly pale without the grime. And the warm water had disguised the fact that the kid's body temperature is elevated. Either his basal metabolic rate is enhanced. Or he's about to begin his heat. Or he's running a fever. He towels the kid's limp form and scoops him up. Carrying him to bed.

 

Without the reek of filth. The kid does have a light scent. Of citrus and undeniable onset of heat. Huh, explained how desperately the kid had leaned into the touch. But Dick had an ugly feeling that the kid would be as touch-starved post-heat too, just too scared and angry to let himself be helped, most likely. But the kid curls into the touch now, despite the sting the antiseptic Dick's dabbing on his bruises must be causing. There's just so many.

 

The men who did this deserved death. Bruce was just slapping band-aids on problems that needed a long-term solution. 

 

The kid whines and he realises he's stopped petting his hair.

 

He chuckles and resumes ruffling it.

 

"Okay, okay, buddy, no need to get so worked up over it"

 

He lightly flick's the kid's cute little button-nose. He hisses, but starts purring half-way as Dick rubs his thumb over his sunken cheeks. The kid's going to need a meal plan. And medical tests. He wasn't thinking of anything other than his own guilt when he'd brought the kid into his safehouse. 

 

The kid whines again, and Dick realised he's stopped petting his hair again. Something tells him that the kid's going to be a spit-fire when he's recovered. Not if, when. Because he will. Dick would make sure of it. 

 

 

He disposes off the contaminated cotton and moves to get up. And feels a tug at his shirt. The kid's grabbed it, and whines as Dick tries to gently free it from his grip. 

 

 

"I'll be back buddy, I promise, you need to let go", the kid releases a sound which sounds like protest. As if he can hear and perfectly understand what he's saying. And he doesn't like it.

 

He gently pries it from his weak grip. And feels guilty as the kid releases a small distressed sound. And a scent of fear-dread-grief-loneliness pervading the air, now that Dick can pick it up.

 

The poor kid didn't have any pack. Whoever had claimed him was most probably in jail. And right when the kid was in heat. The kid had no one.

 

Bruce would take him in. For the sake of security and running tests most probably. And determining if he was a threat. 

 

He gently reaches behind the kid's neck and scruffs lightly. The kid hums contently, but the sound is congested .And Dick's reminded of the fact that he needs to get some food and medicine into the kid.

 

 

 

 

 

He's dressed the kid into some of his own clothes. His frame is deceptively frail. He drowns in them. Looking more like a pup than ever. And Dick has to withhold the urge to claim him as his own. The kid curls up in the scent. And lets out a small keen. Asking for pack. 

 

Dick gently brushes a few strands out of his eyes. He'd have to call Bruce soon. And run medical and cognitive tests to see how much of the kid was human and how much of it was a mutt. But right now he curls next to the newest addition to his pack. And the kid headbutts into his stomach in haste to cuddle. And Dick can't help but chuckle over the grunt of pain. He brings his hand over the kid's back and starts rubbing circles. The kid's body goes lax and lets out a small purr. And the scent of content-safe mixes with safe-reassure-protect. He doesn't stop purring until he falls asleep. Bundled in the nest of Dick's clothes and all the blankets Dick could find.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: II

Notes:

Hello! Hope you're all doing well! Mind the updated tags please.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Monster wakes in a bed, surrounded by scent of alpha. But it's the first time it's not reeked of lust-greed-mirth. It's the first time it's woken up bundled in softness and warmth and the scent of care-reassure-protect.

 

It doesn't open it's eyes. It doesn't want the dream to end. It can't hear anyone else in the room and he discretely rubs it's face against the softness-care-warmth, it's been so long since it's felt anything that soft. Or anything that doesn't reek of grief.

 

It stays for a while like that. Before it's stomach starts cramping from hunger. It's always hungry. But it didn't get to eat before it was thrown in the ring. With the anger-hurt-hate. It feels a sharp spike of pain in it's abdomen, and with a jolt realises it's probably in heat.

 

The entire thing feels too real to be a dream. And it opens it's eyes. Light assaults it's delicate senses immediately. Making it's head hurt. And it brings up a hand to rub it's eyes. Something soft and padded touches it's face and it realises it's hand is bandaged and suddenly it remembers. The fight. The strength-anger-grace in black and blue. And being shut in a cage. And the black and blue alpha ordering it out. And it being unable to resist in it's pain and heat-muddled mind.

 

It doesn't realise it's started trembling. It curls up in a small ball. It can go hungry for long. It's been hungry for longer. It can soak a few more moments of safe-warm-soft before the alpha forces it's heat-soaked body on it's knees and—

 

No, it has some warmth and it's going to enjoy it while it lasts. It tries to bury itself in the mound of safe-warm. But the scent has soured from it's own stink of scared-sweat-heat. It's stomach gives another cramp and it has to push it's fist into it's mouth. The padded cloth hits it's cracked lips and a burst of pain erupts in it's mouth and it tastes blood. And suddenly remembers that it's hand is wrapped. It's leg feels heavy too.

 

For the first time, it shuffles out of the blankets. Ripping away the only barrier between safe-soft-coaxing scent and pain.

 

It's leg is wrapped. Somebody has bandaged it's wounds. It feels it's face. It has small lines of adhesive too. Somebody took monster and brought it here and wrapped up it's wounds. It's been sold. It's been bought by an alpha.

 

It tries to be happy. It's new master is letting it rest without making it earn it. Even though it knows it means that it'll have to pay later. It's too weak to fight. And it's in heat. And it can only mean one thing for the creature that runs with an omega's body and an omega's face and an omega's thoughts and—it stuffs it's good fist into it's mouth to muffle the sounds that are starting to tear out of it's throat. It doesn't remember the last time it cried. The heat is making it's mind muddled up. And the hunger and the pain and the alpha who wrapped him in safe-soft-warm only to fuck it later.

 

But it ends up coughing and tries to muffle the sound, but it just makes it choke. And suddenly it hears footsteps heading towards itself, it can't move.

 

It's the alpha, standing in the doorway. It scrambles backwards. Trying to get away from anger-strength-possessiveness. And it jars it's injuries and it can't hold back the whimper. It can handle pain without a sound. It's had worse. The heat and the hunger and the thirst is making it's mind slow and it's going to be fucked. It's entire body aches from the lack of pack. And it's stomach starts cramping painfully. With the heat and the hunger, it can't stop the tears anymore.

 

The alpha stands frozen in the doorway. The air is reeking with anger and it wants to curl up in it's cage and pretend it's with it's pack. The alpha is coming closer. Taking slow steps. It's stomach gives another cramp and it's entire being aches with loneliness. There's a large abyss in it's stomach. It wants it's pack so badly. It wants anyone to make the hot-agony stop. It's too desperate to hold itself and it lets out a pathetic keen.

 

It's leg throbs as it gets on it's knees. Bracing itself for the pain that it can withstand. Instead of the aching emptiness in it's stomach and the burning agony in it's veins.

 

The alpha is crouched next to it, saying something, but the buzzing in it's head is too loud to hear what he's saying. It'll pay for that, but it can't bring itself to pick the scents. Or the words.

 

The alpha places a hand on it's shoulder. Warmth spreads from where he's touching. But it feels itself growing colder and colder. And the monster lets the abyss consume it whole. Drifting away where it won't feel it's body being torn. 

 

 

Monster comes awake curled up in something  soft. It's entire body is sore and it's stomach hurts. With a jolt it realises, it's not heat cramps. Or the pain-cramps from greed-lust-possessiveness.

 

" Hey, pup, that must've been so scary, right?"

 

A voice is talking. Soft and gentle. The air reeks of care-protect-affection, and it can't withhold a whine. It wishes it was for it. 

 

It feels fingers in it's hair. Rubbing against it's scalp and it tears it's salt-clumped eyelashes apart. 

 

 

"Good morning, pup", it's the alpha. It's on the alpha's lap. But it can't make itself move. The burning in it's veins is quiet now. It dares to look up. The alpha's looking at him. But his gaze is not filled with anger-greed-lust. But with care-kind instead. The fingers scratch it's ragged scalp and it waits for them to dig into the skin and pull and hurt and punish it for being greedy and useless. But the fingers keep being gentle and it feels itself melt into the touch. It can't help the purr that tears out of it's throat. The kind-soft-gentle voice chuckles. And it realises with a jolt that it's directed at it. The alpha is stroking it's hair. Meticulously avoiding the bruises. It's not being fucked. It feels the fingers travel to the back of it's neck and knead skin. And it can't help but let out a choked sob over how gentle and good it feels. Staining the fabric with it's tears. 

 

"Oh, pup"

 

The air is sad now. Filled with care and protect and affection. The alpha rubs the scent on it's neck. Not yet scruffing it and it feels good and no one's done that for it before and it should be happy but it can't stop the tears that keep leaking out of it's eyes.

 

"It's okay, puppy, you're safe now, I'm not going to hurt you" 

 

 

Monster doesn't understand. It understands the words. And the air doesn't smell of deception-lie but it doesn't understand. But it's tired, so tired. It presses it's face into the soft-warm alpha. But the alpha doesn't backhand it or pinch it for ruining the cloth with snot and tears.

 

"Oh, honey"

 

 

There are arms around it. It expects them to wrench it away from the safe-warm-soft-care. And it latches on to the warmth with all it's might. The alpha grunts and it realises it's dug it's claws into skin. But the hands don't wander or punish or hurt. They just hold it as it falls apart. Shushing it gently and rocking it. As if it's a person and not a thing to fuck and fight. It has to pay later. It must have to pay for all the care later. But it can't stop whining when the fingers stop stroking it's hair and kneading the back of it's neck.

 

 

"You're safe puppy, I won't let anyone hurt you ever again"

 

Monster wants to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. It was never a pup. It didn't have a mama. It didn't have a papa. It was made to fight and be fucked. The voice is telling him kind things and the air doesn't smell of deception. It's like one of the nice dreams Monster has sometimes. But the hand in it's hair feels so real. And it's too tired to be scared anymore. So it curls and dozes off to the soft alpha rumbles. Not bothering to muffle it's purrs. It'll be hurt when it'll be hurt. Right now, it basks in the gentleness and pretends it's real. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Alright, so turns out I don't have the mental capacity to make it any longer, I really wanted to explore their relationship, ah well, here an epilogue of sorts,

Dick becomes absolutely obsessed with the new pup and promptly forgets to tell Bruce about the newly acquired enhanced killing machine slash baby brother. ( He's just soooo flaky ) and aggressively showers him with love and care and tenderness, something he doesn't stop doing even when the pup grows up into a 6'4 284 lbs Omega, this leads to some Incidents such as :

Jason : * gets a paper cut that starts healing immediately*
Dick : * glaring at the book, aggressively * Hasn't he suffered enough

And Ethiopia doesn't happen cus Jason never becomes Robin, when things have settled a bit between Bruce and Dick, he brings Tim to meet his " baby brother ", said baby brother who can punt him across Gotham and beyond but chooses to treat his elder brother as portable moral support and is equally batshit crazy about him. Obsessively following his brother on patrols and thus, has run into baby-stalker Tim on the way and has semi-adopted him already. And they both have to keep their cool as Dick introduces them to each other as if they weren't compiling Dick's Top Ten Fails two hours ago. And they end up being a big happy family and live happily ever after. The End.