Chapter Text
Team Year 1 - July 2011
Pack Bonds were largely a misunderstood thing in places like the United States where the “nuclear” family was the norm and “pack” family was seen as something abnormal or entirely foreign. But to Dick Grayson, who spent most of his formative years in the circus and knew firsthand the strength and appeal of Pack, nothing could be more natural.
Perhaps that was why he adapted so quickly to living with Bruce Wayne, who took him in after the deaths of his parents. The stoic alpha took him in and gave him a home – safety, security – and trained him to fight against the very thing that stole his parents and Pack away from him. And with Bruce came the beta Alfred Pennyworth, the household butler who Dick rapidly came to see as a surrogate grandfather.
They weren't family, exactly, but they were Pack and Dick flourished under the guidance of an alpha who cared.
That wasn't to say Bruce was the perfect Pack alpha. He was so closed off and reserved the vast majority of the time in a way that looked cold to outsiders, but Dick didn't mind. He was there in other ways, allowing his actions to speak when his words could not. (Alfred once mentioned something about trauma, but had then swept Dick off to learn how to make the perfect cup of tea and take his mind off of the blanket of grief that Bruce liked to wrap himself up in.)
It was that aloofness which made Dick's presentation both easier and harder than it needed to be.
Because Dick Grayson was an omega.
And that changed everything.
There was a spark of bright light behind his eyelids, so intense that Dick whimpered and tried to press his face into his pillow to block it out, except something was holding him still. There was a voice – someone was speaking but they sounded too far away for Dick to understand – and then something cold pressed against his forehead, causing him to flinch away.
There was another light, but it was a softer green, slowly swirling in and nudging out the brightness of the other.
“Master Richard, can you hear me?”
Alfie, Dick tried to open his mouth to speak, but could only manage a low whine.
A weight settled on the bed next to him and, at the same time, the remainder of the intense light filtered away and left only the soft green, paired with the faint scent of tea. Tension drained from Dick's small shoulders.
Alfred didn't ask him to speak again, instead gently patting his face with what must have been a damp cloth, chasing away the heat that Dick was becoming more and more aware of, and all the while the old beta spoke in a soft voice.
He wasn't aware of time passing, only of Alfred's voice and the light show playing against his eyelids. Eventually, Dick's fever receded enough that he could be helped into a sitting position, his pillows fluffed behind him for support. His eyes slowly fluttered open and he smiled at Alfred.
“Here now, lad. Let's get some water into you.”
Dick obediently drank from the offered glass, taking small sips until he felt his thirst was sufficiently sated. He slumped back once he was done and closed his eyes again.
The swirling green light returned.
He opened his eyes with a slight frown and it wasn't gone, per-say. It was no longer visible to him, but he could still feel it. It was difficult to describe. Something new and unknown and yet... familiar. He wanted to reach out and take it in his hands, figure out what it was and where it came from.
As if responding to his desire, a new light appeared. It wasn't the impossibly bright one from before, but one that was deep blue, threading out to greet the green.
And suddenly Alfred sat up a little straighter, his brown eyes widening in surprise in a way Dick hadn't seen before. It was distracting enough that he momentarily forgot about the colors.
“What's wrong?”
Alfred recovered quickly and gently said: “Nothing is wrong, master Richard. It would seem that you have presented as an omega and have been instinctively reaching out to form family Bonds.”
Most young men would have immediately rebelled against the idea of being an omega – his best friend Wally West had always sounded uncomfortable with the thought, right up until he presented as a beta – but Dick was pleased with the news. It felt right.
“So that's what those colors are,” Dick said, a little in awe.
And then a glimmer of worry struck him.
Bruce and Alfred had always been very kind about trying to understand his views about Pack, but being understanding was very different from accepting that sort of Bond. He wouldn't really blame them if it wasn't something they were comfortable with. And there was also the Team to consider. There were many who found it invasive for someone who wasn't blood to reach out and ask for a Bond like that and considering how easy Dick found it to try and do so, he knew it would be a while before he could be around them again.
Wally's going to drive everyone nuts, he thought with a small grin. Imagining the Team reacting to news of him stepping away for a week or two was a welcome distraction from his current situation, though he couldn't indulge in it for long. He spent an extra moment to silently wish Kaldur good luck and then focused back on Alfred.
“So, what now?” Dick asked.
“Now you rest, Master Richard,” Alfred said, rising from his spot on the edge of the bed. “I will prepare a meal and find some appropriate literature to help you through this.”
And things proceeded pretty much exactly as Dick expected, with Alfred spending several days fussing over him and Bruce's presence nearly non-existent, appearing only when he thought Dick was asleep or just to stand outside the door and hear a progress report from Alfred. (Dick had woken once in time to see Bruce's retreating back and felt that familiar fluttering of love and exasperation for the alpha who had taken him in.)
Dick hated resting.
It made him feel more restless than anything and no amount of books or pamphlets written to help newly presented omegas were going to distract him or quell that itch beneath his skin that demanded he get up and move and do something.
By day three he had perfectly timed Alfred's comings and goings. Whenever the beta was away, Dick would slip out of bed and run through some basic stretches (or what he considered basic) and then slip back beneath the covers with enough time to steady his breathing so Alfred was non-the-wiser to his activities.
Except, of course, Alfred did catch on to what he was doing and Dick earned himself a stern warning to not overtax himself while his body adapted.
“I have read that meditation is an excellent aid in controlling your instincts,” Alfred said, handing over yet another book to the sulking teen.
“Or B could teach me,” Dick suggested, not for the first time. “C'mon, Alfred, he hasn't even been in to see me!”
Never let it be said that Dick Grayson was above a little bit of manipulation if it meant getting what he wanted.
Guilt.
Crushing guilt.
Sparks of agonizing blue-gray-white popped across Dick's vision, like welding light splattering off of metal, and he groaned, lifting one hand to press against his head as if it could stymie the sudden pain.
Heavy footsteps hurried away from the door.
Alfred sighed, rose from his chair, and returned moments later with a cool, damp rag. “Control first, Master Richard.”