Work Text:
"Not this one," Jason decides, grimacing angrily at his reflection in the smudged vertical mirror. He doesn't know if it's just him, but it seems like mirrors in clothing stores are specifically designed to show you at your worst angle so nothing looks good. Seems a little counterproductive if the goal is to be selling clothes, but whatever the reason may be, Jason can't seem to find an attractive position no matter how he turns or poses. "The way it falls on my shoulders is all wrong. Too heavy."
Dick wanders up behind him and winds his arms loosely around Jason's waist, holding him in place so Dick can nuzzle into his neck. He turns his eyes up to the mirror, and Jason can't help but jealously notice that of course Dick would look good even in the world's shittiest mirror. Has he ever not looked good? The jury's still out.
"I like it," Dick argues, putting his hand on one of Jason's shoulders to feel it. It just makes the fabric feel even heavier. More restrictive.
"Nope," Jason declares, sidestepping away from Dick to shuck off the offending jacket. It lands draped across a rack, and Dick hurries over to put it back on its hanger like the good Samaritan he is. He replaces it among the other leather jackets, of which there are a wide variety--of which none have pleased Jason so far. So what? He's a man of standards. So far in his lifetime, he's run into exactly one leather jacket that suits his needs exactly. And that rare find is the one that is currently draped over Dick's shoulders, a little big on him but irritatingly attractive all the same. "All of these suck," Jason complains.
"They wouldn't if you would just let me buy you a good one," Dick reasons. "I could get you one that's really nice. We could even get it custom made. It'd be easier."
Jason curls a scornful lip. "You know how much that would cost?" he demands, sorting through yet another rack of unsatisfactory jackets with mounting frustration. Too flashy, wrong color, bad quality. "You could buy a used car for less money than those custom-made pieces of shit. The day I buy a jacket that expensive is the day you can march me back to the Joker and tell him to get the job done right this time." Jason will be the first to admit that he's being a tad dramatic, but his wardrobe is something he cares about immensely. Unfortunately, however, he cares about it just a little bit less than he cares about sticking it to Bruce by refusing to comply with his opulent culture of wealth. Growing up, Jason had done one hundred percent of his clothes shopping in second-hand stores. Why stop now? It seems wasteful to spend so much on an article of clothing when there are perfectly good ones available for much more reasonable prices. If you know where to look.
Dick has been privy to this particular tirade on no fewer than four prior occasions, and as such responds by rolling his eyes in fond, familiar exasperation. "Fine, but if you really are so dead set on finding your jacket at a thrift store, you have to stop complaining about the options here. You picked these options. This is on you."
Jason snorts, but much to his chagrin, Dick is correct. It was Jason's idea to come to Goodwill in search of a new leather jacket. Still, though, the blame cannot entirely be placed on Jason. He wouldn't even need a new jacket if it weren't for Dick's sudden, weird possessiveness over the old one.
It had begun after Dick's most recent heat. The one characterized by his sudden declaration of ownership over Jason's favorite (and only!) leather jacket on a rooftop during a stakeout. It has since taken up prime location in Dick's nest, the place of honor at the head by the pillows, and since has only left so that Dick can wear it when he and Jason go out, or when Jason's not visiting. Which is less and less often, lately. Jason visits so often he might as well live in Dick's place in Bludhaven. Dick's apartment is much nicer than most of Jason's safe houses, after all. Air conditioning and heating. Hot water. The fact that Dick is there.
"We wouldn't be doing this at all if you could give me back my jacket," Jason complains, selecting a jacket off the shelf that looks promising. Dark brown with soft, buttery leather. Hmm. Maybe.
"I tried," Dick whines dramatically, holding the jacket closer to himself as if worried Jason intends to take it away. Which, despite his complaints, Jason would never. If the jacket is what makes Dick feel safe and cared for and loved, then replacing it is a sacrifice Jason would make every single day. It's a true mark of his feelings for Dick--for no other omega would he ever make this allowance. And, true to his word, Dick had made a valiant attempt to relinquish the jacket's ownership back to Jason. But the moment it was off him and out of his nest, the scent of distress had risen up so strong, Jason would have to be nose-blind not to notice it. "My nesting instincts have been all over the place lately. I don't know what's up with them. I wish they'd cut it out."
All of Jason's annoyance melts away like magic. That's one of the things about Dick. No matter how much he riles Jason up, no matter that he can irritate Jason faster and more intensely than anyone else he's ever met, he also is a miracle worker when it comes to calming Jason down. He puts a hand on Dick's elbow and squeezes. "I know, baby."
Dick's eyes lock on the jacket in Jason's hands. "How about that one?" he asks, snatching it away from Jason to examine. It's pretty similar to Jason's old one. With a few modifications, like the addition of bulletproof protection and compartments to store weapons, it could be just as functional as the old one.
"Maybe," Jason allows, taking it back from Dick to remove the hanger. Stepping in front of the mirror he shrugs it on and examines himself with careful scrutiny.
"This one's hot," Dick informs him helpfully, adjusting it on Jason. "Is it comfy?"
"I guess," Jason grumbles reluctantly, moving his arms and flexing them to test the sleeves. They allow for a surprisingly decent range of motion, loathe as Jason is to admit it. And the leather seems like good quality. The sort of material that will last for years to come.
For a long minute, Jason scrutinizes it thoroughly. Checks the seams for quality, the material for durability and motion. He relies on Dick's judgement when it comes to style (and receives an eyebrow wiggle, a smirk, and a highly suggestive thumbs-up). Unfortunately, Jason can find no excuse to reject this jacket other than misplaced loyalty for his old one.
"It's perfect," Dick says in a winning tone, running his hands down Jason's chest appreciatively. "Almost better than your old one. Be careful or I might have to steal this one too."
"You will not," Jason snaps, pulling himself away from Dick defensively. One well-meaning jacket theft, Jason can handle. Two is just pushing the line. Any more than that, and Jason might just have to give up on clothing entirely. "You already have one. This one's mine."
Dick rolls his eyes but presses a kiss to Jason's cheek nonetheless. "So possessive," he teases, as if that isn't the most hypocritical statement ever uttered.
Jason swats him playfully as he pulls away, grabbing his arm to keep him close so Jason can give him a real kiss. "I mean it," he warns, pulling back until his lips are an inch from Dick's and he's glaring into Dick's eyes. "I'll get you everything you want for your nest, baby. Just no more of my jackets."
"Fine," Dick agrees, dragging out the word in an exaggerated show of reluctance. His grin is wide and bright, eyes crinkled up and sparkling. And Jason thinks, if Dick asked him for this jacket, he would probably give it to him. He would give him anything he ever asked for.
*
Dick grits his teeth, frustration welling up in his stomach and threatening to boil over. This is the third time he's completely stripped the bed, rearranged it, and found the results inexplicably unsatisfactory. His anxiety mounts with every failed attempt, and so does his frantic energy. He's got to make the nest perfect before Jason comes home. He's gotta make it perfect, and it's not. Why can't he do this? He's always been able to do this before. And tonight he doesn't have much time. Jason's gonna meet him at the apartment so they can get ready for patrol together, and that means the nest needs to be done before nightfall or else he won't have any more time to work on it until tomorrow. The thought is, for whatever reason, chilling.
Dick picks up his favorite pillow, grips it hard enough that the fabric protests beneath his fingers, and hurls it at the ground, where it lands with an unsatisfying swish of fabric. Damn it. That pillow is usually perfect. He doesn't know why today it's making him so angry.
Staring at its dejected form on the cluttered ground, Dick forces himself to take a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Counts to ten very slowly.
This is okay, he thinks. This is something he can deal with.
When he was Robin, around fifteen or sixteen years old, Alfred had decided it was a good idea to send him to therapy. Because, apparently, spending every night engaging in age-inappropriate violence while wearing an animal themed costume was the sort of thing that qualified a kid to speak to a professional. Necessitated it, even. At the time Dick had been outraged, although now, he'd give an arm and a leg to get Damian and Tim into some useful counseling.
Dick, insulted by the implication that he required professional help, refused to attend the sessions, and as a compromise, Alfred and Bruce made him fill out this annoying workbook instead. It was full of worksheets with exercises like, "Five Positive Thoughts!" and "Reasons to Stay Confident!"
Mostly worthless. Perhaps the sort of thing that would have been helpful for another kid, but for one as world-weary and free of innocence as Dick, it was a bit of a joke. All except for one worksheet.
Bold, black letters across the top: SO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM.
Step One: Identify the problem.
Step Two: Identify possible solutions.
Finally: Select the solution that makes the most sense.
Clenching his fingers, flexing them tensely, Dick goes back to the worksheet in his head.
So I have a problem, he thinks, forcing his fingers to unclench. Identify it.
Dick's nesting instincts are spiraling out of control. That's the issue. Nothing he does feels right, and the thought of Jason walking in to see an incomplete, subpar nest is mortifying.
Identify possible solutions.
Frustratedly, Dick thinks, just fix the damn nest. It should be as easy as that. It always has been before. But how to do that?
Maybe he needs new nesting materials. Maybe he needs ones that smell better. Maybe he needs a new bed. Or a new room. Or, screw it, a whole new apartment. Because, sure, a whole new unfamiliar space sounds like just the thing to put Dick's inner omega at ease. Really good thinking, Dick.
A new angle might not be such a bad idea, though. Dick scoops up all of his favorite materials: a soft quilt, his two perfect pillows, the weighted blanket he got for his birthday one year, and of course, Jason's jacket. He piles all of those into a laundry basket along with some of Jason's other clothes, like a T-shirt he's left behind, and hauls them into the living room.
The couch. If the bed won't do, the couch will have to get the job done instead.
Feeling reinvigorated by a new burst of inspiration, Dick gets to work. Throws all the useless sofa pillows onto the floor (why does he even own those? What good are they doing anybody?) and replaces them with his own soft pillows. Lays down the quilt first, and the weighted blanket on top of that, because that way, when Dick crawls under the covers, he'll have all the comfort of the quilt with all the calming weight of the weighted blanket on top. Jason's jacket finds a home at the head, by the pillows like usual, and his other clothes are scattered throughout so no one spot is too far away from anything of Jason's. It means the whole nest is appropriately saturated with his scent, which is soothing to Dick's aggravated omega.
Finally satisfied, Dick carefully peels back the covers and makes himself comfortable among them. He's purposefully left an empty spot beside him--that's where Jason belongs, once he arrives. And now that Dick's got a nest that's up to scratch, he can hardly wait.
It feels good to be snuggled up in a good nest like this. Lately Dick's been feeling... out of sorts. Nothing glaringly or obviously wrong, but his nesting instincts have been dialed up to level ten and his desire to claim and safeguard Jason has reached new levels of intensity. On top of that, his stomach has been uneasy. Probably something he ate. What's weird is that usually these are symptoms he'd attribute to preheat, but he'd just had his heat a couple weeks ago. So he's not really sure what could be causing all this.
Well--that's a lie. He has a slight, niggling suspicion of what could be going on. But there's no way it could be that. Just no way.
The door creaks open, and the sound of Jason's heavy footfalls fill the apartment. "Honey, I'm home," he announces. He makes that joke every day. Dick loves it even more than it annoys him, mostly because it's coming from Jason.
"In the living room, dear," Dick calls back, and Jason troops in from the hallway to join him. He looks surprised at the sight that meets him on the couch: Dick, comfortably snuggled up in a fully-blown nest. On the sofa. In the living room. For some reason.
"What's all this?" he asks, eyes darting back and forth to take it in.
"A nest, clearly," Dick explains with an eye-roll. He looks at Jason expectantly and Jason stares right back, utterly nonplussed. "Well?" Dick demands, waving an arm around emphatically. "You waiting for a cordial invitation?"
Jason, if possible, looks even more surprised. Awkwardly, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and uses it to check the time. "Baby, we have to go on patrol," he says, showing Dick the time on the screen. "You said you wanted to go as soon as I arrived, right?"
Suddenly feeling more stupid than he's ever felt in his life, Dick stares at the phone screen and swallows against the rising shame and embarrassment. Jason is right. They don't have time to waste, lounging around in Dick's nest like two dumb teenagers who can't keep their hands off of each other. "You're right," he says, turning his eyes away. He can't meet Jason's gaze right now.
Why did he think this was a good idea? Why couldn't he just be satisfied with the perfectly good nest he already had? He was being so stupid.
Dick prays that Jason won't notice his abrupt shift in mood, but much to his unsurprised chagrin, Jason is vigilant as ever. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asks, rushing over to put a hand on Dick's cheek. Meeting Jason's worried gaze makes a lump rise in Dick's throat, and he doesn't know how to explain it. "You do still want to go on patrol, right? We don't have to."
"Of course I still want to go on fucking patrol," Dick snaps, tearing his face away from Jason's gentle hand, and to his complete horror, hears his voice break.
The worst part, the part that makes this whole thing more excruciating, is that Dick doesn't know why he's so emotional all of a sudden. Just that Jason's rejection upset him, made him angry, and his easy display of affection and concern makes him feel devastated. Something hot and painful burns behind his eyes, but he refuses to cry. He will not.
Suddenly despising his perfect nest more than he's ever hated anything before, Dick throws the covers off and lets them pool on the floor. He stalks into his room, arms crossed defensively across his chest. "I'm getting ready," he snaps in a clipped, angry voice.
Jason just stares at him, eyes reading utter, bemused befuddlement. "That was a fucking mood swing," he mutters under his breath. "Goddamn."
"I heard that!"
*
Dick manages to calm himself down by the time he's squeezed into his Nightwing suit and is ready for patrol. Jason, amusingly, seems incredibly relieved that his abrupt fit of anger is not destined to last. "We good?" he asks as he opens up the window for them to depart through.
Dick manages a small, soft grin. "We're good," he confirms. "Sorry. I don't know why I was like that. Sorry."
Jason just exhales a sigh of relief. "All good, baby," he reassures easily. "Let's kick some asses."
Thus commences ass-kicking hour. Dick and Jason make their way via rooftops across the city to the harbor, where one of the casinos is suspected to be a front for money laundering. Money that ten percent of was supposed to go to the Bludhaven school district. The underfunded, falling-apart schools with almost criminally underpaid teachers are a testimony that that is not what's happening.
Tonight's mission is easy. Dick and Jason are planting recording devices all throughout the casino in hopes that the names and information behind the operation will be revealed. Technically speaking, they don't even have any ass-kicking on the agenda. They're supposed to be in and out, silent and discreet as can possibly be.
Jason is outfitted in his brand new, custom-modified leather jacket, which in Dick's opinion, is almost hotter than the last. Dick himself is wearing the Nightwing suit as usual, having miraculously managed to tear himself away from the jacket he'd stolen from Jason. He wishes he hadn't needed to, though. The Nightwing suit tonight feels horribly uncomfortable, rubbing against his chest and chafing in ways it never did before.
"You take the main floor," Dick whispers, indicating the inside of the casino where tourists at varying levels of drunkness gamble amongst bright lights and decor. "I'll get the upstairs office and stuff."
"Can do," Jason agrees, removing his helmet. It would stick out like a sore thumb among the other patrons in the casino. The domino mask below, not so much. Casinos in Bludhaven are used to some pretty unusual clientele, many of whom are partial to anonymity. "Meet you back here in an hour?"
"See you then." Dick pulls a tool from his suit and gets to work removing the grate from a vent. While Jason can just walk into the casino and plant their recording devices under the guise of a dudebro gambling the night away, Dick will need to be very discreet sneaking around the private upstairs portion of the building. He's slender enough to fit in most vents, luckily, so those will be his secret mode of transport.
When the grate is off, Dick climbs into the vent and then places the grate, unscrewed, back atop the hole. He'll be able to escape through this tunnel quickly if need be, but someone walking by wouldn't be able to tell anything was different about this particular vent.
The microphones, at least, should be easy to plant. He will hardly need to reach an arm out from the vent before he can plant the device and be back in his hiding spot. The cameras might pose a little more of a challenge, if they want to get a good angle. But that shouldn't be too hard either. This is the sort of mission Nightwing has completed hundreds of times, in much more difficult circumstances, with success.
He's wired a couple of rooms without being detected when he hears it, coming from the main floor of the casino: gunshots. Before he has even consciously decided what to do, Nightwing is bursting out of the vents and into the office he'd been wiring, and then dashing out the door, through the hallway, and down the stairs into the main room where he knows Jason is supposed to be. His heart is threatening to pound right out of his chest. Jason could be in danger. He needs to go help his alpha. His alpha needs him. More gunshots echoing through the halls spur him on.
The scene he is met with on the gambling floor fills his chest with hot, heavy rage. Several guards, all huge, hulking alphas with protective vests and visors, are firing at Jason. He, of course, is dodging easily and firing back effortlessly, but the civilians cowering behind the bar and tables are not so skilled and could be in danger. Dick manages to tamp down his protective urges for Jason to hurry over to the nearest group of civilians.
"I'll get you guys out," he promises over the deafening sound of gunfire. "When I say go, run for the emergency exit. I'll cover you. Okay?"
Fearfully, the half-drunk gamblers agree, and on Dick's call of, "Go!" they're scrambling for the exit. The guards aren't aiming at the civilians, of course, but stray gunfire could easily kill someone who isn't careful. Dick keeps an eye on it, ready to throw someone out of the way if necessary.
Turns out, it isn't. The entire group makes it out safely, as Jason takes out one of the aggressors with a devastating shot to the kneecap.
Dick moves on to another group of people, and Jason continues the gunfight. He hasn't been shot yet, but Dick is hyperaware that every second that goes by is another second of risk. Another opportunity for a guard to land that one lucky shot. Jason is holding his own admirably well, which isn't really surprising--he's good at what he does. But for some reason, Dick can't seem to squash down the anxiety in his chest. Jason could get hurt. And that--that can't happen.
Because--the thing is. Dick thinks he might know why he's been feeling so weird lately. He has a tiny, niggling suspicion in the back of his mind. Omega always knows, after all. And if Jason gets hurt--or, God forbid, if Jason dies--
He can't, if what Dick suspects is correct. He absolutely cannot.
There's another shot, ringing out above the sounds of chaos, and Dick's head snaps around to follow the source. A guard has shot at Jason--and finally hit his mark. Jason's down. Jason's hurt.
And suddenly Dick cannot think above the red hot rage that clouds his vision. As if in a dream, or a druggy haze, or an out-of-body experience, Dick feels himself unholster both escrima sticks from his back. Rounds on the guard that shot Jason. And unleashes that fury.
His vision is narrowed into a foggy little tunnel of rage as he lands blow after blow on the criminal's body. Head. Ribs. Knee. He hears the cracking of bone, sharp over the pained grunts and yells, but it's like he's listening to them through thick earplugs. He's not processing the sounds, let alone their meanings. All he knows is he has to protect his alpha, protect his mate, he needs his mate almost as much as their pup will--he cannot ever let anyone hurt them. Never never never.
A voice he knows is suddenly cutting through the static--Jason, yelling his name. A hand on his arm, but it's not a violent one--it's a strong, firm grip from a hand he loves to hold. Familiar. Calming.
Frantic.
"Nightwing! Nightwing, stop!"
Dick has to hear the words a few times and think about them for an uncomprehending moment before he finally slows his movements. Unclenches his tense muscles, and feels his shoulders lower. "You're--okay?" he whispers, turning to look at Jason.
Jason is there, in front of him, gripping Dick's arm strong and steady. His face is scrunched in a painful grimace, but he is standing, and there is no spreading bloodstain or broken bone that Dick can see. "Bullet resistant armor, baby," he murmurs. "Just a bruise. A fucking painful one, but--"
"Oh my God," Dick hears himself say, and runs his hand over Jason's face. He's okay.
And suddenly the reality of what he's done comes crashing into him. "Oh my God," he repeats, taking a stumbling step back. "The guard. Is he--"
"Alive," Jason confirms, standing over the injured guard. "I'm calling the police to get the rest of these guys, and paramedics for him."
Dick doesn't respond. He's staring at the bloody mess of a man on the floor, the stains on his hands and escrima, and thinking, I did this.
More than that, he's thinking, this could have been Jason.
Shuddering, he wraps protective arms around his stomach. It could have been Jason. Could have been Dick, and then what would have happened to--
"Come on," Jason says gently, putting an arm around Dick's waist gently. "Dude's gonna be okay, I'm gonna be okay, everything's fine. You did nothing wrong. You know how I feel about killing, I wouldn't have stopped you if I thought you'd be okay with doing it. You finish your part of the job?"
Numbly, Dick nods.
"I finished mine, too, before they caught me. So let's go."
*
They go home, and though Jason had been truthful when speaking to Dick, he can't help the worry that swirls around in his gut. That had been... very out of character, for Dick to do. Sure, omegas are always protective, but to this extreme? When Jason wasn't even really hurt?
It's odd, for sure.
Come to think of it, though, plenty has been odd with Dick lately. Mood swings about as subtle as a swinging pendulum, or a wrecking ball. Jason would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice them, and even then, he probably would have. Going from affectionate, to angry, to devastated, all in the blink of an eye. The nesting thing, too. Dick has always been very meticulous about creating and maintaining his perfect nest, but lately, he's been out of control with it, snatching all of Jason's favorite belongings and refusing to give them up. Despairing when his nest even ever so slightly fails to meet his standards. Jason never notices the flaws--to him, a nest is a nest. But to Dick, this sort of thing matters. More than usual, lately.
So something is up with Dick. Jason wonders what. If his omega will trust him enough to share.
Back at the apartment, Dick strips off his Nightwing suit like it's personally offended him, and sighs in relief when it's off. He puts on a comfortable pair of boxers and his most well-loved sweatpants, but leaves his chest bare. That's not super unusual for Dick. Like most male omegas, his chest is pretty flat most of the time, with only the most subtle hint of breasts. Lately, Jason notices that is not strictly the case. His chest has swelled a little, forming two perfect, tiny breasts. And Jason loves Dick no matter what his body looks like, but--okay. That's a sight that he can shamelessly admire. So cute and perfect and precious.
Not that he think's Dick's in the mood for anything of that nature tonight, what with his whole over-protective freakout earlier. Jason will want to talk to him about that.
"Babe?" he tries, stepping up to Dick in the doorway of the bedroom. "What's up?"
Instantly, Dick is peeling Jason's jacket and top off of him. "Are you okay?" he asks, running his fingers very, very gently over the bruised skin over Jason's ribs.
"I'm okay," Jason says, feeling goosebumps rise beneath Dick's soft touch. He shivers. Dick's touch is so light, it doesn't hurt even where the bruising is most severe. That's something he loves about Dick. Usually, he is so careful. So loving and gentle with Jason. Stereotypically, such softness would be the alpha's role. Nurture the omega. Protect them. Keep them safe. He does love to do those things for Dick, but what feels even more special is when Dick returns the favor. It sets them on equal ground. Jason likes that. Likes that, around Dick, he doesn't always need to be the big strong alpha.
Because he suspects Dick might be needing some reassurance right about now, he adds gratefully, "Thank you for keeping me safe, baby." He grips both of Dick's hands in his own, careful but strong.
Dick looks away. "You could have handled yourself," he admits, removing his hands from Jason's. "I just..."
"Is everything okay with you?" Jason is quick to ask, reaching up a hand to brush some of Dick's unruly hair out of his face and tucking it behind an ear. "That was... unusual."
Dick takes a deep breath. "Let's go to the couch," he suggests. "I think I need to... tell you something."
Stomach uneasy with sudden nerves, Jason agrees, "Of course," and leads Dick over to the couch. It's still in ultimate nest form, but Dick permits him to sit atop the blankets, and then settles down himself a few feet from Jason. The sight of that feels like a stone dropping into Jason's gut. Is Dick about to break up with him, or something? Why else would he be sitting away?
Jason will be okay with anything Dick tells him. He'll support him no matter what. But God. If Dick breaks up with him, it'll hurt more than anything else. There's plenty of fish in the sea, he knows. But there's only one Dick Grayson. Which means, really, there's only one fish in the sea for him.
"I... have been feeling weird lately," Dick begins, looking anywhere but Jason. "My stomach hurts, I can't stop nesting the fuck out of this place, and I feel. Weirdly possessive over you and all your stuff. Which, sorry about that, by the way."
"All good," Jason says weakly. He... he does not know if he likes where this is going. Does not know what this might mean.
"Other things, too. Mood swings. I know you noticed them. Thanks for, uh, sticking around through those. I know it can't be easy. Also, my tits hurt. And there's another thing! I have tits! I don't usually, really."
Jason nods attentively. Technically speaking, Jason is processing all of this information, but for whatever reason, they are failing to add up in a way that makes sense. These are symptoms that happen to omegas, sometimes, but why would they be happening to this omega? It's odd. Jason can't make any sense of it.
Dick's not wrong, though. The mood swings, he has weathered stoically, but they're incredibly confusing. Not to mention, Jason has visual evidence of aforementioned tits right in front of him. If they weren't having such a serious conversation, he'd probably want to be all over them. Unfortunately, the serious nature of this chat has ruined any chance of that happening any time soon.
Dick says something, but Jason's ears are ringing, so he doesn't really hear it. Or, he thinks he does, but he can't have heard correctly. "What," he says, peering at Dick with wide eyes. "What was that?"
"I said I think I'm pregnant," Dick repeats, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. "You know, like... expecting? With child? Got a bun in the oven?"
Jason stares. Yes, he and Dick had shared a heat, and yes, he may have promised to... breed Dick (it was the heat of the moment, alright, the words had just come out) but he had never anticipated it would actually happen. But why hadn't he? He promised to breed Dick, and he did. They'd enjoyed it. Jason daydreams about it, like, eight times a day. Why did neither of them anticipate that the breeding would... well... stick?
"Earth to Jason?" Dick tries, beginning to look annoyed. "Anyone home?"
"Yes," Jason says, snapping suddenly to attention. "That's me. Jason. And I am home."
"Good," says Dick, not looking like he means it. His posture reads irritation, but his eyes are full of rare vulnerability.
Okay. Dick needs Jason to step up. To be the alpha he promised he would be. Jason will get his dad game on in good time and he'll play it to the best of his abilities, but first, he needs to hone his mate game. And an A-game it must be. Dick deserves nothing less.
"Okay, uh, have you... gotten a test?" Seems like an important measure to take, not that Jason knows from experience.
"No," says Dick, "I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I still don't. It could be nothing. But I should get one, probably."
"I'll go buy one!" Jason exclaims, jumping up off the sofa like his ass is on fire. He's eager to get his omega anything he needs, but also, he needs a little bit of time to think. To process. To decide how he feels about this. And taking a slow, leisurely trip to the farthest pharmacy in town seems like just the way to go.
"Um, okay," Dick says, looking up at Jason from where he's still seated. "Are you--"
"Back soon!" Jason is out the door like a flash, but not before he remembers to double back to where Dick sits on the couch, and gives his forehead a reassuring kiss.
Dick watches him go.
*
The door swings shut behind Jason, and Dick exhales. His heart feels like its sunk right through his chest and into a dark pit. He... doesn't know how he feels.
Jason was okay with the news. He kissed Dick on the forehead--he can still feel the gentle touch lingering like smoke. But then he left.
And Dick gets it. He probably needs time to process. Jason is younger than Dick, and they've only been together a few weeks. This is big news. Like, big news. Dick would probably want some time to process, too.
And yet. Watching Jason's form retreating through the door, it had felt like he was taking a part of Dick with him. A part of his heart. What if Jason never comes back? What if he doesn't want to? Dick wouldn't blame him. Wouldn't blame him at all, but would mourn the loss no less, not only the loss of Jason but of the part of Dick's heart he took with him.
So you have a problem, Dick thinks, tries to reassure himself with his calming exercise. It's gonna be okay, he tries to tell himself. He can fix this. It's just a problem, just a little problem, and he can make it better. Problems are temporary.
I have a problem.
I have--
And all of a sudden tears are rolling down his cheeks in shameful little streaks. It's not working. It's just not working.
Problems, as he often reassures himself, are temporary.
Children--children are decidedly permanent.
He's got his whole life ahead of him, here at this impossible fork in the road.
*
Jason doesn't know how to classify the intense emotion that rises inside him as he searches through the aisles at the pharmacy for a pregnancy test. It's like when you're so happy, you just have to cry, and it almost feels as devastating as real sorrow. It's like that. Jason feels that bubble of intense, all-encompassing feeling, lets it expand inside him, and doesn't know if, when it eventually bursts out, it will be joy and excitement or something else.
Then, it's possible to feel both. Jason can be happy and excited and nervous at the same time. And he is. Very, very nervous, that is.
He grabs the pregnancy test and strolls through the shop, wondering if he should get something else. It would probably be the nice alpha thing to do, to bring Dick a gift when he's in need of support. Then again, this is a pharmacy. Not a lot of gifts worth giving to be found.
In the end, all he gets is the test and a cute congratulations card that says, "It's a Pup!" Like the gender-neutral equivalent of "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!" He thinks Dick might appreciate the humor, if nothing else.
It's as he's paying for his purchases that he is finally able to categorize his feelings. The cashier, another alpha, takes a look at the merchandise, raises an eyebrow, and says, "This for your omega?"
Maybe the question is a little nosy, but Jason finds himself nodding.
"First time?" asks the alpha, bagging up the items for him in a small paper bag.
Jason nods again.
"How you feeling?" The cashier hands Jason the bag with an understanding smile and curious eyes.
Jason takes the bag. Tucks it very carefully into the pocket of his leather jacket. And whispers, "So fucking proud." And suddenly he feels like he's battling back tears.
Because Dick might be pregnant. With Jason's child. A pup they created together, together as one, because they love each other. They love each other, Jason loves Dick so much, and yes. Jason is so. Fucking. Proud.
He might not be ready for fatherhood yet. But he's got nine months to fucking get ready. There's never been a task he's more excited to rise to.
*
Jason, riding the wave of his elation as he drives home at breakneck speeds, is hardly able to contain his excitement as he hurdles back into their apartment and swings the door shut behind him. "Honey, I'm home," he announces like he always does. He wonders if, when the pup is born, he'll need to adjust the greeting to include both of them. Honey and baby, Dad's come home.
No response from Dick, which is not how the ritual usually goes. Jason, concerned, steps into the living room and sees him, sitting right where Jason left him atop the couch-nest. One look at his vulnerable, tear-streaked face, and Jason wants to run to him, pull him into his arms and kiss those stains away. He's about to do it, reaching out open arms to pull Dick in, but Dick scoots away.
"Did you buy it," he asks. He's put a shirt on, but not Jason's leather jacket. He always loves to wear that jacket. It's his favorite.
Jason hands the test to him, and is about to whip out his congratulatory card as well, but it occurs to him then that Dick might not want this child. He would have to give up Nightwing-ing for at least a year, maybe more, and Jason knows how much he'd hate that. And raising a kid is a lifetime commitment. He can't just have the kid now, and then decide later that parenthood is not for him. They are at a crossroads. Two roads diverge in a yellow wood--
Whichever they pick will define their lives. That's a lot of pressure. And not every omega wants to have a kid. Maybe Dick would prefer not to.
The thought crushes down on Jason's hopeful heart, but he knows that if Dick tells him he wants an abortion or to put their child up for adoption, he'll support that decision. It's Dick's body. Dick's pup. And more than anything else in the entire world, Jason wants Dick to be happy. He would give up anything to make that happen, his own arm or leg or heart or, need be, pup.
Dick takes it, murmurs, "Thanks," and stands up to head into the bathroom. He closes the door softly behind him, and Jason does not invite himself in. Dick will come out when he wants to.
Waiting feels like an hours-long endeavor. It's like every time he checks the clock, it's slowed down. He wonders if it's even possible for minutes to take this long, and checks his phone as well to make sure the clock isn't actually broken like he suspects. It's not. Maybe the clock's not what's broken. Maybe something else is. Maybe something else is about to be.
Twenty minutes later and Jason cannot wait another second or his heart will burst. He makes the executive decision to stand up and knock softly on the door. "Dick?" he asks, trying not to let his worry seep through into his voice. "Can I come in?"
It's a moment of tense silence before Jason hears Dick's quiet, "Okay." If possible, Jason's heart beats faster. He swallows down a liquid rush of anxiety and takes a deep breath in. There's nothing to be nervous about. It's just Dick.
Yeah. Just Dick.
Jason opens the door and steps through. Dick is sitting on his knees on the cold, white tile floor, pregnancy test grasped in one hand. He looks up, wide-eyed, at Jason when he steps in.
Positive. So it's true, then. Dick is pregnant.
It's really happening. It's real.
Jason drops to his knees beside Dick, trying to contain the giant smile that threatens to spread across his face. He needs to get a read on how Dick's feeling about this. He would love more than anything to pull Dick into his arms and kiss him for hours, hold him for hours, but he'll wait until Dick gives him the okay. Space. Maybe Dick needs space.
Jason waits a moment for Dick to speak, but when silence prevails for long moments, Jason starts the conversation. "So... you're pregnant," he says.
"Evidently," Dick agrees with one numb nod and a side eye towards Jason. His expression is unreadable, and Jason is furiously debating whether it's time to bust out the tissues or the congratulations. He can't decide.
"I'm sorry," Dick whispers, words harsh in the quiet bathroom. He wraps protective arms around his stomach, as if to keep safe the tiny pup inside, and it breaks Jason's heart, because all Jason wants to do is protect that little baby, too.
"Sorry for what?" Jason demands, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice. "Getting pregnant? Pretty sure that was a joint effort, babe."
Dick shakes his head minutely. "You're--do you even want a pup? Are you ready for one? I don't want you to be stuck with one."
Jason's mouth drops open. "Dick," he exclaims, too shocked and appalled to be gentle. "This is your pup. A tiny little Grayson. I--I couldn't picture a pup I want more." He leans forward and, finally, puts his arms around Dick. Dick trembles very slightly in his hold. "It'll be the most perfect baby," he whispers, "if it turns out even a little bit like you." It's so hard to keep his emotion contained when all he wants to do is hug Dick so tight he can never let go, wants to announce it to the entire universe. Rub it in everyone's faces. Look at Jason, with his perfect omega and their perfect pup. There is no better family anywhere. God. He loves Dick so much. And already he loves their pup--whoever they may turn out to become.
"Do you mean that?" Dick whispers. "Please don't--you have to mean it."
Jason pulls back just enough to take the card out of his pocket. He hands it to Dick, and with anxious fingers, Dick takes it.
His face is unreadable as he takes it in. Soundlessly, his lips trace the words. It's a Pup. He opens the card.
Handwritten in messy blue ballpoint pen, a note from Jason. Boy, girl, or otherwise, it reads, I am in love with our pup already, just as much as I am in love with you.
Jason isn't really one for romantic gestures, and his stomach feels squirmy and vulnerable as he watches Dick read the card. Had he laid it on too thick? Is Dick not ready for this level of commitment? Even so, the gesture feels necessary today. And he's willing to be a little vulnerable if it means showing his support. A few weeks ago, he might not have been, but Dick--changes him. Makes him the best version of himself.
He watches with bated breath as Dick flips the card over to read the front again, and spends several long moments staring at the note. Anxiety claws up Jason's chest. Why isn't he responding?
Finally, a little grin forms at the corner of Dick's lips, and Jason's heart almost stops.
Dick flicks soft, warm blue eyes up at him. "You cheesy asshole," he accuses quietly. The grin spreads until it can be classified as a smile. A small one, but still. Dick's smiles are always beautiful, no matter the size. "What would you have done if I didn't want the pup? Or if I wasn't pregnant after all?"
"Burned it," Jason says promptly. His chest is still tight with nerves, like there's a band wrapped around it that his heart is threatening to break down with the force of its fast-paced beating.
But now Dick is laughing, and nothing has ever sounded better to Jason's ears. Suddenly he's throwing himself into Jason's arms and hugging him tight. Jason breathes in his scent and feels his worries melt away. Feels his own lips tug up in a grin.
God. They're going to be parents. Isn't that the most incredible thing. Suddenly Jason's chest feels light instead of restricted, like it's full of fluttering butterflies. Elation. His heart broke through the barrier, everything is okay, everything is going to be alright. Better than that. Everything could be wonderful.
And from the soft, sweet scent of joy rising up from Dick's scent glands, discernible even mingling with the new, gentle scent of pregnancy Jason can now identify, Jason knows Dick can feel it too.