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Dick had a boyfriend. In fact, Jason really shouldn’t be surprised by that. He had met people—many people—in his time on the streets of Gotham who were homosexual.
Though he rarely saw them. Gotham wasn’t Metropolis or Star City. Here no one clapped for or embraced homosexuality.
At least, not on the streets. Not in that place where people fought over cardboard to sleep on, where pups were traded like currency for their parents’ addictions. And your greatest fortune was not being an Omega… or being one.
One never knew what could happen in a place where the only way to survive was becoming a criminal, a helper of the Bat’s rivals, or selling your body if you had the right reproductive organs… or not.
In his case, he chose the first. He became a small-time thief with fast hands. He stole wallets here, food there. Only small things, and only from the wealthy.
Those who had never gone hungry or cold, never had to survive a winter in Crime Alley, with rats and other stray pups as company. Company that, more than once, didn’t make it through the night.
In fact, that night—when he found the Batmobile parked in that cold alley—Jason had been on his way to his temporary shelter, after his father had kicked him out that morning for knocking over his beer.
He still remembered the thrill that filled him at the thought of how much money he would get selling the Batmobile’s tires.
He also remembered the fear he felt when Bruce, with all the theatricality and alpha presence of Batman, appeared before him and glared down at him.
He still remembered his futile struggle and how Bruce brought him down almost playfully before offering him food.
He never imagined that horrible day would turn into a night in a warm bed, his stomach full in a way it probably had never been, and a bedtime story.
Much less did he expect that the next day he would meet Robin himself. His hero, the one who had brought magic back to his life years ago when he saved him.
Even less did he expect that this same Robin would become his brother just months later.
So yes. This was Jason’s life now. Full of luxury, unlimited food, all the toys he could ask for, patrols as the second Robin, and an endless library full of books he’d probably finish by the age of fifty-seven.
Of course, not everything was perfect. All of that came with a price. Unfortunately, that price was Dick’s absence, their constant fights with Bruce, and—worse than all of that combined—galas.
Watching his father figure and his only brother fight over Dick’s right to choose his life was awful. Especially after the last time.
When Bruce struck Dick, and since then they’d heard nothing from him.
(Jason still remembered how horrible it felt when the fight started—all because Dick said that even if he was an Omega, he wasn’t Bruce’s property.
He also remembered the thud of Dick’s body hitting the floor and the venom in Bruce’s voice when he told Dick that the only way to free himself was to bind himself to another Alpha—and that it would never happen, because Alphas didn’t want defective, male Omegas who thought they had freedom.
Jason knew, deep down, that Bruce didn’t believe that about Omegas. Especially not about his beloved eldest son. He knew Bruce was just angry and wanted to win the argument.
He also knew how reckless Bruce had been on patrol that night, just because he wanted to punish himself for what he’d done to Dick.)
Yeah. Not seeing Dick for weeks or months, his stomach in a constant knot because Dick didn’t answer calls or messages in a world that wanted to swallow him whole—that sucked too. Obviously.
For someone who grew up with violence and abuse, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. Sure, he locked himself in his room all day after seeing Bruce hit Dick, refusing to come out until his older brother returned from Blüdhaven and comforted him with his sweet Omega pheromones.
But Jason maintained that it was only because Bruce gave him a look so terrifying it shook him to his bones.
Still, none of that compared to the absolute torture of enduring these stupid rich-people galas hosted by people who had never stolen to survive.
Although, somehow, this gala was particularly strange. According to Bruce, Oliver “The Fucking” Queen had organized it to introduce the fiancé of his adoptive son: Roy Harper-Queen.
Jason had seen him a few times. Good guy. Definitely someone who came from the streets.
He was like Jason… if Jason had let wealth go to his head and spent his time burning through Dad’s money in luxury cars, taking every Omega he crossed paths with for a ride.
Not exactly husband material. Jason only agreed to go to the gala because he wanted to see what kind of disaster involving lovers and jealous exes would unfold.
He never, under any circumstance, expected to see Dick hanging off Harper-Queen’s arm. Wearing a sheer blue shirt that revealed his countless scars and a body perfectly shaped for his secondary sex.
White dress pants—tight ones—that highlighted his ass and waist.
He was also wearing makeup. Glittering everywhere.
He was basically the perfect walking stereotype of “knot-dependent Omega” Jason always saw in movies.
And the fact that he kept drinking champagne and letting Roy squeeze him every two seconds, kissing and holding him like he belonged nowhere else, only made him embody that stereotype even more.
It wasn’t that Jason was against stereotypes. No, absolutely not. Please don’t think that. It’s just… Dick wasn’t like that. Well, Dick Grayson wasn’t like that. Richie Wayne… Richie Wayne was exactly like that.
As annoyed as he had been at first when he thought the engagement was real, he couldn’t stay angry.
Dick only used his Richie Wayne persona during Wayne galas or when they needed someone flashy as a distraction.
Jason didn’t know if he should try to get information. On one hand, it could be a Titans mission. That would explain why Dick and Roy, of all Titans, were pretending to be a couple.
On the other hand, if they were pretending, it would be weird for Richie—Bruce’s and Jason’s number one fan—not to have approached them yet.
With a heavy sigh, Jason made his way toward Dick, who was laughing uncontrollably with high-society Omegas.
Roy still had an arm around Dick’s waist but was talking to wealthy men as rich as the Waynes or Queens. He turned when he noticed Jason.
Their eyes met, and Roy leaned in to whisper something into Dick’s ear.
Dick turned with a huge, ear-to-ear smile and broke away from the group, running toward Jason. With a grin—half for the show and half genuine—Jason also ran to him.
They met halfway, melting into a tight hug. Dick’s arms were smaller than Bruce’s, sure. But somehow, they wrapped around Jason like they were twice the size.
“You’re getting so big, Little Wing,” the older murmured emotionally into his hair.
Jason held Dick tighter. Turning fourteen came with puberty and all the changes of that age.
He loved his new height and his deeper voice. He actually found it hilarious how it scared Gotham criminals.
But what he’d miss about being a kid was fitting perfectly in Dick’s arms, when he barely reached Dick’s stomach and the older bathed him in his sweet protective scent.
He probably wouldn’t grow as tall as Dick. Malnutrition had no cure, no matter how hard Alfred tried.
But Jason had grown a few centimeters, almost reaching Dick’s height now.
“I think you’re the one shrinking, Big Bird,” Jason muttered as he pulled away.
His hands slid down to hold Dick’s, eyeing the frankly gorgeous diamond-and-sapphire ring on his finger. Jason let out a whistle.
“Damn, Big Bird, Roy doesn’t play around,” he said loud enough for some trophy wives to quietly insult their husbands.
Dick let out a laugh—long, measured, perfectly constructed. Too perfect to be real… yet too real to be perfect. Only Dick could act with such natural brilliance.
“Of course he doesn’t.”
Roy stepped closer, pressing his chest against Dick’s back. One hand grabbed Dick’s waist possessively; the other took Dick’s hand from Jason’s grip and lifted it to his lips, kissing it slowly—and disgustingly wet.
Not even Robin-level training could stop Jason’s grimace. Dick ruffled Jason’s hair, amused.
“Only the best for the man I’ll spend my life with,” Roy whispered near Dick’s lips. Then he kissed him gently.
People around them cooed. Jason tried to join in. Really, he tried. All he managed was a look somewhere between confused and disgusted.
Roy wasn’t a good liar. Not even close. Honestly, he wasn’t even at Jason’s level—and Jason was nothing compared to Dick.
But, to Jason’s horror, Roy wasn’t lying.
He wasn’t good enough to fool a Bat. That wasn’t possible.
But the alternative was worse: if Roy was telling the truth… he and Dick were actually going to spend their lives together. And that made no sense.
Richie and Roy were childhood friends. Of course the sons of two of the country’s most powerful men would be friends.
But Dick and Roy, in and out of costume, did nothing but fight. On a good day, their fights didn’t escalate into physical blows. But that was already too much to ask and generally reserved for important missions.
The idea that they’d get married left Jason lost.
Oliver pushed through the crowd, mumbling about being the father of one of the grooms, champagne bottle in hand, a huge smile on his face.
He threw his arms around both young men, squeezing them with unnameable joy.
“I’m so happy for you boys,” Oliver sang, slurring his words. “You know, since you were kids, I always knew you’d end up together.”
His face twisted into a sad grimace before he began sobbing.
“They were so cute and small,” he whined as tears fell. “Why did you have to grow so much?!”
Dick and Roy tried calming him, laughing. People around them chuckled warmly, entertained by Oliver’s display.
A heavy hand landed on Jason’s shoulder. He looked up to find Bruce smiling warmly.
Or… trying to. Jason saw the tension in his jaw, the pressure in his grip, the tiny tic near his eye.
Bruce was angry. Never a good sign.
“I must agree with you, old friend,” Bruce said.
Oliver, nearly on his knees crying into Dick’s chest and begging him to take care of Roy, turned to Bruce. Jason wrinkled his nose at the trail of snot running down Oliver’s face.
“I always thought they’d end up together,” Bruce said as he took a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “But I didn’t think it would be this soon, Oli.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, Jason noticed.
The air turned tense. Oliver winced as he stood up, muttering about his knees and old age. Roy pulled Dick closer protectively.
“Bruce, don’t. Not here,” Dick pleaded, face tense.
The smell of a nervous Omega filled the room. Dick was one of the most coveted Omegas in the country—and not just for his pretty face.
Bruce pressed his lips together. Jason felt his cheeks burn. Eyes were landing on them faster than expected.
“Dad, maybe we should—”
Jason was cut off when Bruce stepped forward to face Oliver and the couple.
“You know, Oli.” His name sounded more like an insult. Jason tugged at Bruce’s hand to hold him back. “Roy is three years older than Dick. They’ve known each other since Dick was eleven.” Bruce dragged out that last syllable.
Roy froze, eyes wide, jaw slack. Dick also looked shocked. Oliver’s expression twisted into fury.
“What the hell are you implying, you bastard?” Oliver shouted, stepping closer.
“Oh, I’m not implying anything,” Bruce said, raising his hands in his signature “Brucie” damage-control gesture. “I’m stating that your son is nearly twenty-two and is about to marry an eighteen-year-old.” He sipped his champagne. “Come on, Oliver,” he sang. “If they’re engaged, they must have been dating at least a year, right?”
Those were Bruce’s last words before Oliver punched him in the face.
Jason sighed in defeat and walked toward the corner where he knew Clark was “trying to interview Diana.” Both looked at him as he approached.
“Can you stop them?” he asked, head down. “Please?” he added quietly.
Both heroes sighed and headed toward the fight, dropping their secret identities to step into their League personas.
“Idiotic adults,” Jason muttered, taking a glass from a passing waiter and downing it in one gulp.
He watched with a grimace as Bruce tried to hit Clark—who pretended to be knocked down—while Bruce pretended that punch didn’t hurt him.
The next League meeting was going to be quite the event. One Jason was perfectly happy missing.