Disclaimer: I only own the plot and my OCs. Anything you recognize as not mine belongs to Warner Bros. Entertainment, DC Comics, and/or their otherwise respective owners.

Author's Notes: And here is the sequel! I was not expecting to get this posted so soon, but once I started writing just to see if I could get somewhere, I couldn't stop lol. Dick's POV was really fun to write in haha

Also, note since I didn't explain this in the last fic for those of you that have not read my stories: a theta in my omegaverse is best described as someone who has both alpha and omega traits. Parental term for them can be themither/mother (first is generally not preferred). Do with that information what you will.

Anyways, fic title, again, comes from Storms by Fleetwood Mac. Next one probably will as well, but I make no promises. Idk when that one will be posted either.

As always, I hope y'all enjoy,

~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

~the storms 'verse~

~this is only another test~

Dick felt like he was going well over a hundred miles per hour as he drove through the night and the rain, his hands clenching his steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white. In all actuality, he was only going around eighty, but he knew that was fast enough during driving conditions like these. If he wasn't so used to driving around like a maniac as Nightwing – although, let's face it, he was a manic regardless – he would've been going a lot slower.

Today – yesterday, actually, because they'd already slipped well past midnight, was the second anniversary of Jason's death. Two years his little brother, his little wing, had been dead, buried in the ground. He could still remember that day, when Bruce had called Alfred up in the aftermath of the Joker kidnapping Jason and his biological mother, had told the beta man in a voice more raw than Dick had ever heard before that Jason was dead. He remembered Alfred falling into the chair in front of the Batcomputer with a cry of despair at the news, and how he had properly fallen apart after Bruce had ended the call, his shoulders having shook with the full weight of his sobs. And Dick, who had only shown up at the Batcave when Alfred had told him that Jason had ran off to Ethiopia and Bruce had gone chasing after him, remembered his own reaction: he'd cried too, but only as he'd punched the punching bag in the cave over and over again, until his hands had been bleeding because he hadn't thought to wrap them up before the need to punch something had hit him.

He'd always known that this life of theirs was dangerous, ever since he'd donned the Robin costume for the first time at eight years old. They all got injuries like nobody's business, broken bones, torn ligaments, and etcetera. He'd had one of his adult teeth knocked out before, and that wasn't even talking about his baby ones. But when he'd thought about one of them dying, one of them being killed, it had always been Bruce or himself. Bruce because his adoptive father, regardless of Dick's complicated feelings for him in the past couple of years, would never hesitate to give up his life for Alfred or his sons. And himself because...well, he was reckless. Jason was – had also been reckless, sure, but mostly when it came to his manhandling of criminals. Dick's problem was the person that he always put the most at risk in this line of business was himself.

He'd never, never expected Jason to be the one of them to get killed in the end. Even with his anger at what had happened, it hadn't felt real. Not until Bruce had come back home with Jason's casket, Jason's body, and they'd buried him in the same cemetery on the property where Bruce's parents and ancestors were buried. He'd only been fifteen years old. Fifteen years old, and had already had his life snuffed out.

Yesterday, Dick had gone briefly to the cemetery at the manor to pay respects to his little brother. When he'd put the flowers at his grave and talked to him about what he'd been up to since the last time he'd been there a couple months ago, it had occurred to him how Jason being dead still hadn't felt real. He'd gone out for drinks earlier tonight, unable to deal with the thought. It probably just furthered the idea of his recklessness, the fact that he was driving now while technically under the influence.

Except, he'd been right.

Jason, apparently, wasn't dead. Hadn't been dead for a long time, because he'd been brought back to life.

The little wing was alive.

Bruce had called him to tell him the news twenty minutes ago. He'd sounded like he'd been through it, and Dick supposed that made sense. According to his account, Jason had shown up at the manor's doorstep, drenched from the storm going on outside. It was the real Jason. He'd known things that only Jason ever could.

His adoptive father hadn't told him much more than that. He'd just said there was "more than they could talk about on the phone," and had encouraged him to come home. So, that was exactly what Dick was doing.

Yet, Dick couldn't help but think this was almost only another test – not by Bruce, Bruce would never lie about something like this. His adoptive father was a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them. Rather, he felt like this was a test by his own wits, his own mind. Because all this time, he'd thought how unreal Jason's death had felt, and now his little brother was alive?

If he didn't know any better, if he hadn't slapped his own face to prove it wasn't the second Bruce had ended the call, he would've sworn that this was a dream.

As it was, he could feel the adrenaline racing through his system as he finished his drive to the manor. His hands were shaking when he turned off the ignition after parking his car in the underground garage and got out of it.

Jason was alive.

Jason was alive.

He fled for the stairs that led up to the main floor, his breaths coming out in shallow pants. He headed for the kitchen first, simply because that was where his instincts led him. And his instincts were true: he found Alfred and Bruce there, sitting at the breakfast table, a teapot and three cups on the table along with the sugar and creamer. Both of them looked shell-shocked to the very core, like they had aged several years in a matter of hours. Dick's stomach churned at the observation; if it had taken two years for Jason to come home and this was how they were acting, he could only think about what had happened to the little wing during that time.

Bruce and Alfred both looked up at the sound of his arrival. His adoptive father's eyes brightened some at the sight of him, but he still looked tremendously somber. "Dick," he greeted him.

But Dick was so far removed from the point of pleasantries. "Where is he?" he hissed, his eyes flitting around the room. There was no sign of Jason in sight.

"I know you want to talk to him," Bruce said slowly, rising from his seat. "But Dick, I – we need to talk before you do. There's some things you need to know."

Irritation made his nostrils flare. "Where is he?" he repeated.

"Master Grayson, please – " Alfred began to say. At any other time, he would've noted the severity of the beta's tone and how desperate he sounded.

But with the knowledge that Jason was alive and in the house, any rationality on Dick's part had long-since flown out the window. He pivoted on his foot, ignoring how Bruce and Alfred both called his name again, and ran out of the room, ran through the rest of the manor as if his life depended on it.

He checked the library first, because that had been Jason's favorite room in the entire house, and the Jason he knew probably would've preferred it than the comfort of his own bedroom. But when he didn't find him in the library, he headed there next, and knew the second he reached it that he'd made the right choice. Ever since his death, the door to Jason's bedroom had always been open, so that any of them could have slipped into it when they'd wanted to. The times that Dick had come back to the manor, he always had, in order to remind himself of the things that Jason had loved, to feel connected to him once again.

But now, the door was closed. What looked to be light from a singular lamp shone underneath the door.

Dick thought about knocking. He knew it was the right thing to do.

Instead, however, with the urge to see his brother alive overpowering his mind, he gently twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

The first thing that struck him was Jason's scent, which was so similar to how it had been before, but now plainly identified him as an omega...which made sense. Jason was seventeen now. In spite of the malnourishment he'd experienced before Bruce had taken him in, malnourishment was not reason alone for him to not present before his sixteenth birthday and thus be identified as a delta.

It did make Dick's heart hurt, though. He was glad his brother had presented as he'd always wanted to, becoming an omega as the DNA test Bruce had done revealed he was always meant to, but they – the two of them and Alfred – had promised him that they would be there for him when he did and support him however he presented. Clearly, that hadn't happened. They had broken their promise, no matter how unintentional it had been.

The second thing that he noticed was who was in Jason's bed. Because Jason was there, definitely looking two years older and with a silver-white patch in his hair, curled up underneath his blankets on the farthest side of his bed, his eyes closed and looking as if this was the first time he had been peaceful in a long while.

But he was not alone.

On the space of the bed between him and the door, placed in a swaddle of blankets from the room's linen closet and clothes that looked like they were from Jason's wardrobe and dresser, was a baby. A four-month-old baby, to be precise, from the looks of him.

The shock, the horror that Dick felt was no small thing. He stepped back away from the door, back and back and back until his spine was up against the wall of the hallway on the opposite side. A noise came from his throat – not a growl, not a whine, not something he had ever heard an alpha like himself make before.

Jason was home after being missing, presumed dead, for two years, but he had a baby. He was an omega, too. Dick didn't need to be a genius to know what those two facts meant.

Oh, little wing...

Bruce came to his rescue. The older alpha appeared from down the hall. He walked over to Jason's door and shut it quietly. Then he sighed and looked at his elder son. "This is what I wanted to talk with you about before you went to go find him," he said.

"Bruce, what – " Dick had to stop and swallow, because otherwise the bile coming up his throat would've entered his mouth and caused a disaster all around. But once he did, he finished his train of thought as tears came to his eyes. "What happened to him?"

His adoptive father's expression darkened. "A lot. Too much."

Once they were back downstairs and in the kitchen with Alfred, Bruce explained to him what had happened to Jason.

It couldn't have been any worse. To hear that Jason's body had been stolen by Ra's and Talia al Ghul and thrown into one of the Lazarus Pits, that he had presented pretty much the second that he'd been resurrected, and then had been used by them in order to conceive a child with both Bruce's and Talia's DNA as well as Jason's own...

The images that popped up in his head from just imagining it, which were eerily similar to the images from that night with the Tarantula a year ago (a night that Dick had never told Bruce or Alfred about)...Dick was not ashamed to admit that he had to get up and run to one of the bathrooms in order to be sick. Perhaps some would say that it was a very un-alpha-like reaction for him to have, but personally, as he sat in front of the toilet, vomiting up his drinks and food from earlier that night, he couldn't have cared less.

He wanted to kill Talia, just like he had wanted to kill the Joker after Jason's death. But this time, instead of taking his father's advice at the last second, he actually wanted to succeed in doing the task.

When he got back into the kitchen, feeling several years older himself now that he knew the truth, he sat down at the breakfast table with Bruce and Alfred, using a napkin in case he hadn't somehow managed to get all of the vomit off of his face. Neither of the other men batted an eye at the action. "What...are we going to do?" he asked.

"We can't go after Talia right now," Bruce stated darkly, much to Dick's surprise. "Right now." That implied that Bruce wanted to go after her in the future. Probably not to kill her, if he hadn't been able to kill the Joker, but still. "Jason needs us."

"I concur with that," Alfred said.

Dick ran his hand down the right side of his face.

"He wants to stay here. It's the reason for him coming home after...after everything," Bruce continued, clenching and unclenching his right fist. "I told Alfred to buy some things for Damian – " a muscle in Dick's face twitched at this, because if Alfred had gotten home before he did even after going on a shopping spree, obviously Bruce had waited to call him for a while. But ultimately, he said nothing about it " – and I was thinking of setting up a crib in Jason's room and a nursery in the room on his other side. I think the actual nursery of the house is too far away to be comfortable for either of them."

"That sounds like a good idea," Dick agreed cautiously. But he couldn't get one thing out of his mind. "Are you going to be – ?"

Bruce saw where his mind was going. "I don't know," he replied. "Biologically...I am. Whether or not he wants me to have that role for Damian..."

Dick supposed that made sense. Jason was just as much Bruce's adoptive son as he was. Technically, that meant that Damian was his grandson as well as his son.

God, that was a clusterfuck to think about. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. How were they going to explain this to the kid when he got older? All the horrible things that Talia had done in order to conceive him? If they thought it was atrocious now, he could only imagine the things that Damian would think. Unless they figured something out, life was going to be so confusing for him.

"Whatever is best for him, both of them, Jason will help us decide," Alfred interjected placatingly. "But for the rest of tonight, I suggest that the best thing for us all to do is get some rest."

It was almost four in the morning, and with all of the reveals, Dick doubted any of them would be getting much sleep. Still, he did as the beta man had advised, getting up from the table on legs that felt like jelly and heading back upstairs. His room was right next to Jason's, so he had to walk past the omega's door in order to go into. He paused briefly, wanting so bad to open the door and see Jason with his own two eyes again, but also knowing how badly he needed his space right now.

He went into his own room and almost shut the door behind him, but then decided to leave it open a crack before it could fully close. He got dressed in pajamas from the dresser, because he always kept clothes at the manor, even when it was sometimes months between his visits. Coming to the manor had always been...hard, since Jason had died.

Now that he was back, though, Dick was sure he would be visiting a lot more.

His tears came outright after he'd gotten into his bed. He sobbed quietly, a hand pressed against his mouth to make sure he kept quiet, grateful for the fact that Bruce hadn't raised him with the expectation not to cry like his own father had. Crying was cathartic; it'd gotten him through many nights after the Tarantula, and he figured it would for many more nights to come.

Eventually, probably around an hour or so before the sun would rise, he did fall asleep. His sleep wasn't restful, however. All too soon, he was dreaming again about what the Tarantula had done to him and the aftermath, when he'd been standing shivering in the shower in spite of it being skin-searing hot as he'd scrubbed at his skin over and over again, trying to get her off. Then, as if that wasn't tortuous enough, his subconscious produced more images of what Jason had gone through: Jason, stepping out of the Lazarus Pit, his eyes greener than they had ever been; Jason, handcuffed to a bed and his stomach round; and Jason, on the run with his baby after getting out of that river, looking back behind him as terror coursed through him, desperately hoping that the League of Assassins wasn't following him.

The dreams did settle down when, at some point during his sleep, he felt a warm presence settle down next to him in his bed. He did stir somewhat out of unconsciousness at the dip, but his eyes refused to do anything but flutter when he tried to open them. So he let himself fall back asleep, because although he'd forgotten where he was or who he was with, he figured they couldn't be anyone bad. They definitely couldn't be the Tarantula, because she was a beta and this person was an omega. And while he knew that he knew them because he knew their scent, he figured that finding out their identity could wait until later in the morning.

Dick woke up to the sun tickling his nose. His chest rumbling, he reached up to rub at the itch –

– Only to realize that his arm was hindered by a weight over it.

Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw that Jason was pressed up against him, sleeping with his mouth open and drooling slightly onto his pillowcases and Dick's shoulder. But the alpha couldn't care about the dampness in the slightest as the memories of last night caught up to him.

Jason was alive.

Looking around his room, he saw that the omega had gotten out his spare laundry basket from his closet and had put the same blankets and clothes he'd swaddled last night inside. Damian was laying over them, the infant apparently sleeping. Dick figured he had to be, anyways. He didn't know a lot about babies, but he did know that they were usual vocal or moving around when they weren't sleeping, and Damian currently wasn't.

Employing some breathing exercises to calm himself down, he looked back at Jason. Now that he was up close, he could see how much his little brother had been through. He reached with his free hand to ghost his fingers along the silver-white of Jason's fringe and –

– Just like that, the little wing was up. His emerald green eyes snapped open and he snatched Dick's wrist in the air, his upper lip curling in a snarl. When he realized what he was doing, though, he let go of Dick and sat up. "Oh, it's just you," he muttered, but his voice was warm, showing what a good thing he thought that was. "'Morning, Dickie."

"Dickie."

He hadn't heard that nickname in so long.

"...Good morning, little wing," he managed after feeling like a fish, his mouth opening and closing. "You're – "

"I'm here, and I'm me," Jason cut in, giving him a grin. Then he turned his head towards his son. "Did B tell you about everything?"

"Yes."

"Good. That means I won't have to repeat myself." He sniffed awkwardly. "I'm sorry I came in here. But I got up to feed Damian this morning and it sounded like you were having a nightmare, so I – "

Dick cut him off by sitting up and pulling him into a hug. "You don't ever need to apologize for something like that," he whispered into Jason's ear. Tears were leaking from his eyes again, falling into the boy's hair. "You don't. You're my brother, Jay. You mean the world to me." When Jason still hadn't reciprocated the hug, he pulled away, terror striking at his heart. "Oh my God, I just hugged you and I didn't ask for permission. I'm so – "

But strangely, Jason didn't seem upset. "It's fine. My trauma isn't like that," he said. His eyes casted downwards. "It's just...you really think that?"

Oh.

That made him feel a lot better.

And worse, at the same time.

"Of course I do," Dick replied. "I'm sorry if I made you ever feel like it's not. I know at first I...wasn't the best of brothers." He'd been so angry and jealous back then, thinking that Bruce had replaced him. He'd gotten better with time, realized that that wasn't the case, and he'd forged a bond with Jason because of it – close enough that he'd made that promise to be there for him when he'd presented. But they'd still been settling into their relationship as brothers when Jason had died. "But there hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't thought of you, little wing. I missed you. I thought that – " I wouldn't ever get to see you again.

Jason looked up at him. Dick wasn't the only one with tears in his eyes anymore. "Same here. Sometimes, thinking about you, Bruce, and Alfred was the only thing that kept me from going insane," he mumbled. Then his eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet. "Oh! Do you want to meet Damian?"

"Sure," Dick answered. Inside, though, he was nervous. He hoped that Jason wouldn't want him to hold Damian right off the bat. Dick could do a lot of things, but holding a baby without feeling uncomfortable was not one of them. He was definitely going to need to WikiHow that in order to get it to stop first.

Thankfully, Jason didn't seem too interested in Dick holding his baby, which made sense. New omithers and omega mothers could be territorial when it came to their babies. He picked up Damian and brought him back over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it this time. "This is your nephew," he murmured to Dick. "Or your littler brother, whichever one is easier for you to wrap your head around."

"Uh...okay." To himself, Dick thought that neither of those things were easy for him to wrap his head around; he'd think about it later. Or, y'know, maybe never. He did scoot over to get a better look at the baby. "He has your hair and nose."

"Yeah, but he gets most of his looks from Bruce," Jason commented absentmindedly. "But his eyes – "

As if on cue, the baby yawned before opening his eyes. He blinked those emerald green eyes up at Dick, the same color of eyes as Jason's were now and Talia's, which had to be some sort of inheritable side effect from the Lazarus Pit.

"Is he...is he judging me?" Dick said faintly, because it kind of (read: really) looked like he was.

Jason chuckled. "He gives that look to most people, don't worry. I call it his RJF – Resting Judge Face." Damian quickly began to make little mewling sounds, causing his omither to get up. "I'm going to go take him to my room and feed him. If you go downstairs and see Bruce or Alfred, tell them I'll be ready for breakfast when I'm done."

Dick gave his confirmation. When the omega and son duo were gone, he was unable to think about anything except for, now that the initial shock and horror were beginning to wear off, how weird this situation was. Jason had given birth to their brother, a child with three biological parents, but he'd apparently adapted to it as best as he could. Meanwhile, the rest of them were having to play catchup. It seemed like this was only another test of how much this life could do to them before they all went insane.

With a sigh, he went to go use the bathroom and brush his teeth before he put on some clothes. He took the laundry basket out of his room and put it next to Jason's door, not wanting to deprive him of his makeshift crib even though one would surely be pulled out of storage or delivered from a store soon enough, and headed downstairs. He went into the kitchen once more and was not surprised to find Alfred and Bruce there, the beta man in the process of making breakfast and Bruce sitting at the table again, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Jason's feeding Damian," he said as his means of greeting, going over to the coffeepot himself. "He'll be down when he's done."

"You talked with him this morning?" Bruce asked, almost sounding relieved.

Dick thought about telling him that he'd woken up with Jason in his bed, then thought better of it. If Jason wanted him to know that, he would tell him himself. Otherwise, Dick wouldn't betray his confidence. "Yeah," he replied, opening up the fridge to fish out the creamer. "He let me see Damian. He's a cute baby."

He sat down at the breakfast table with Bruce once he'd finished getting his morning dose of caffeine. Whenever he was around for mealtimes, this or the informal dining room were the only places they ever ate anymore. None of them ever felt like using the formal one after Jason had died.

Maybe, that was going to change.

Since Jason hadn't come downstairs yet by the time that the food was ready, Alfred set aside a plate for him. It was absolutely heaping with food, and Dick didn't get why, not until the boy in question came into the room with a huff with an awake and alert Damian strapped to his front via a baby sling. "I thought you guys were eating in the formal dining room," he grumbled. "Then when you weren't there, I thought you were in the informal dining room. Imagine my fucking surprise to find you here."

"Master Todd," Alfred chastised him. His eyes were misty and he was smiling; he'd never thought that he would have the chance to reprimand Jason for his language again.

Jason was abashed. "Sorry, Alfred."

"Please, sit down. I'll get your plate out of the oven."

Jason did. He glanced over at Bruce, noticing how he was finished with his food, and seemed to decide something. "Do you want to hold him?" he questioned, gesturing to Damian.

Dick almost laughed at the expression that formed on Bruce's face. His and Jason's adoptive father was almost as bad with babies as he was. But, he accepted the offer with an, "Alright."

Jason got up from his seat to plop the baby into his father's arms. "You hold him like this," Jason instructed, correcting the way Bruce held Damian as he saw fit. Once satisfied, he nodded and returned to his seat, where Alfred had deposited his plate.

Even when he'd just been rescued from the streets and malnourished to high hell, Dick had never seen Jason attack food with the ferocity that he did now. There was no other way to describe it. In fact, it was almost disturbing. He shoveled the food into his mouth, hardly chewing one bite before he was stuffing another into his face.

"Breastfeeding," Alfred explained to him as he walked past, under his breath and with a chortle. "It requires a lot of energy."

...Yeah, Dick thought. I can see that.

Alfred moved so that he was standing behind Bruce as his surrogate son kept the infant on his shoulder. The alpha man was utterly bemused, but there was a softness to his eyes. That same softness appeared in Alfred's; he held out a finger to Damian, and beamed so great when the baby clutched it tightly in his hand that the happiness he was radiating was almost blinding.

He did not ask Jason if he could hold Damian like Bruce was. While he tore into his food with abandon, Jason made sure to keep an inconspicuous eye on him and Bruce – at least, it would have been inconspicuous to anyone else besides them. It was his instincts in action, and after him and Damian being on their own for so long, Dick knew none of them blamed him for it. He trusted them, but not with his life after everything he'd been through. Definitely not with Damian's.

Again, it occurred to Dick, just how weird this entire situation was. If you had told him at this time yesterday that this was where he would be now and everything that had happened to Jason...well, if "you" wasn't Bruce or Alfred, he wouldn't have believed you. He probably would've even stomped your ass into the curb.

But somehow, the strangeness made it feel all the more real. This was real. It wasn't a dream. Jason was alive and he was home, not buried six feet in the ground in the family cemetery. Yes, he'd been held captive by Ra's and Talia al Ghul for two years, experimented on and impregnated against his will. Yes, he was also an omither now because of that, but Dick would not judge the baby for the sins of its themither. He was just happy that Jason had gotten himself and Damian out before the al Ghuls could enact the rest of their plans, whatever those were, now safe and sound.

Additionally, as he sat there, he promised himself one thing: he wouldn't let any more harm come to Jason or his son. He wouldn't let anyone hurt them. Because the second that they did...

...Well, fuck the most important rule that Bruce had established over the years: he'd kill the assholes if they tried.

Word Count: 5,055