Chapter 1: MissingChapter Text
It's not one of the more taxing missions. Corto Maltese is hostile but far less so than other places they could be. It's warm, but he's not roasting in his heavy armor. There are no space aliens or supervillains to be dealt with. It's all very straightforward. Someone's been smuggling illegal weapons into the country, and he and Diana have been sent to scope things out.
By League standards, it's routine—nothing he can't handle even in his sleep. Weapons smuggling is so commonplace in Gotham that he barely blinks at it anymore. It's just another day at the office. But as he scans the crystal clear waters past the docks for any signs of traffic, his mind isn't in this foreign land. It's back home, in Gotham, where things are spiraling out of control.
There's a case that's been eating away at him for weeks now. A new drug has hit Gotham's streets, a terrifyingly potent one. Four people are already dead, and thirteen more are in the hospital, reduced to nothing more than their most primal instincts, running on nothing but their hindbrain. It's not just the death toll that's gnawing at him—it's who the victims are.
Ten of them are omegas, which sets off alarm bells in his mind. Gotham's underworld is a twisted maze; when something like this surfaces, it usually means something darker lurks beneath. He can't shake the feeling that a trafficking ring might be involved, using this drug to control and exploit the most vulnerable.
There's been no uptake in missing person reports at police headquarters. Jim would let him know if there were, but that doesn't mean omegas have not gone missing. Not every alpha cares enough to bother; not every cop will file, even if one does. Not unless the alpha is essential enough to warrant it. It has been gnawing at his instincts.
Dick always used to joke that he might as well have marked all of Gotham as his territory, as possessive as he is of the city. But here he is, half a world away, waiting in the shadows of Corto Maltese while Gotham festers. He's dealt with drugs and traffickers before.
He and Diana had been surveilling the docks for two hours now, and nothing suspicious had crossed their path. Either their intel was bad, or the smugglers were biding their time, waiting for nightfall. The ocean breeze carries the scent of salt and rust; the only sounds are the distant hum of machinery and the occasional seabird call. Diana stands beside him, ever vigilant, her gaze scanning the horizon with the sharpness of a hawk.
"You're restless," she says, her voice low, almost lost in the wind.
Bruce doesn't respond immediately. It's not his style to make small talk. But there's no point in denying it—she knows him too well. "Gotham," he finally says, the word heavy with unspoken concerns.
She nods, understanding. "The new drug?"
It's not a secret. News broadcasts have been all over it since one of the alphas, one of the unlucky four victims to die, was a big-time lawyer's son. All the news stations and papers have focused on that angle. Like the drug is some new party drug and not a malicious attack on omegas. The omega's names have hardly been mentioned, only their alphas.
One alpha had even been so bold as to say he liked his omega better this way. Much easier to deal with and much more eager to please. That is what first had rung the alarm bells in his head.
He does not answer momentarily, eyeing the docks for any sign of the smugglers. There's nothing. So he grunts and replies.
"Yes," he replies, his voice tight. "The bodies are piling up, and none of the living ones haven't begun to recover. It feels like the start of something bigger, something worse."
Diana's expression darkens slightly. "You think someone's targeting them?"
"It wouldn't be the first time," Bruce says grimly. "If a trafficking ring is involved, this could be just the beginning." He might think someone wanted to start a fighting ring if it was just alpha victims.
Even with the omegas, he might have thought it was a new way alphas tried to control them or spice things up in the bedroom. But he couldn't get that alpha's words out of his mind. This drug was precisely the kind of thing a trafficker would use. An omega that can't fight back or tell their alpha what happened was, after all, the perfect victim.
She places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "We'll finish this quickly. Then you can get back to Gotham."
He appreciates the sentiment, but he knows it's not that simple. Even if they wrap this up tonight, every moment spent here is a moment Gotham slips further into chaos. But he nods because there's no use in dwelling on it now. He's gotten excellent at capartamentlizing
Minutes tick by, stretching into what feels like hours. The sun dips below the horizon, and the docks are bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. Shadows stretch long and deep, the perfect cover for illicit activity. But still, nothing. No movement, no sign of the smugglers they're supposed to catch. He flexes his fingers, feeling the impatience building up like a coiled spring in his chest.
"Maybe the intel was wrong," Diana suggests, though there's doubt in her voice. In their line of work, lousy intel can mean the difference between life and death, even if not their own.
"Maybe," Bruce replies, though he's not convinced either. His instincts are screaming at him that something's off, but there's nothing concrete to latch onto—just the quiet, the waiting, and the gnawing anxiety that he should be elsewhere.
Finally, as the night entirely takes hold, he hears a faint clatter of metal, the scrape of a crate being dragged across the concrete. He tenses; every muscle, coiled and ready. No ship in sight, but there is some activity.
Diana catches the sound, too, and her eyes narrow. "Looks like our patience is paying off."
Bruce's response is a curt nod. "Let's make this quick."
They move in unison, silent as the night, slipping through the shadows toward the source of the noise. As they approach, the outline of figures comes into view—four men loading crates into a truck. It's the moment they've been waiting for, but all Bruce can think about is Gotham, the ticking clock in his head counting down the seconds until he can return.
The confrontation is swift and brutal, over almost as soon as it begins. The smugglers never stood a chance. Diana disarms them with the grace of a dancer while Bruce blows land with precision, each one calculated to incapacitate without unnecessary harm. Within minutes, the men are on the ground, the crates open to reveal their deadly cargo—assault rifles, grenades, and enough firepower to arm a small militia.
Bruce steps away as the authorities are called in to clean up the mess, pulling out his communicator. He needs an update on Gotham, the drug, and anything that might have happened while he was away. His fingers hover over the device, a rare moment of hesitation. Before he can push himself to press the button, the communicator beeps. Someone is calling him. Alfred's voice comes through
"Agent A," he grunts. "Any updates on the situation in Gotham?"
There is a pause before Alfred speaks again. "The situation in Gotham is… escalating."
Bruce's heart sinks a little, though his voice remains as steady as stone. "Tell me."
"There have been two more deaths since you left. Both were omega victims, and the circumstances were identical to the previous cases.
Bruce clenches his jaw, and every muscle in his body tightens. He can almost hear the screams of the city in his mind, the cries for help that he's not there to answer. He shouldn't have left. He should have stayed, kept digging, kept hunting down the source of this new threat. But he knows there's no point in regret now—only action.
"Has there been any progress on identifying the source of the drug?" he asks, his tone clipped and efficient.
"None yet," Alfred pauses again, "but I am afraid that is not why I've called you, sir."
Bruce raises an eyebrow. He hopes it's not an Arkham breakout. He can handle one, sure enough, but it's the last thing he wants. "Tell me," he grunts.
"It's Master Jason. I'm afraid he never came home from school yesterday, and the school called to inform me he did not attend homeroom or first period."
Bruce's breath catches in his throat for a split second, though his exterior remains as hard as the armor he wears. Jason. Of all the possible developments, he hadn't accounted for this. Jason wasn't one to skip school. Had something happened? A fight with another student, something said by one of the teachers? Jason's temper was nothing like Dick's, but he was a teenage alpha in the throws of puberty. Incidents like that were bound to happen. But he genuinely liked Gotham Academy and even missed patrol more than once to catch up on homework.
"Have you checked the usual places?" he asks, knowing Alfred had likely done this. He usually didn't call about domestic situations over the comms, excepting that time, 9-year-old Dick had broken the chandelier by trying to swing from it and had sprained his wrist.
"Yes, sir," Alfred replies, his tone measured, though there's an unmistakable undertone of worry. "I've checked the Cave, his room, and all his known haunts. There's no sign of him. I even made sure to call some of his friends from the old neighborhood—none of them have seen him as of late."
Bruce's mind races, cataloging possibilities, running through scenarios. Jason's disappearance could be unrelated—a teenage rebellion, perhaps. He's run off before, driven by the fiery independence that Bruce admires but also fears.
It wouldn't be the first time Jason has taken it upon himself to investigate something on his own, donning the Robin costume and plunging headfirst into danger. It's a trait they've fought about more than once, Jason's reckless determination clashing with Bruce's need for caution and control.
"Could he be working on the case?" Bruce asked. He'd specifically asked Jason to stay away from it. One of the victims was a working girl, and his Robin was very protective of them. He didn't want to connect the two, and he didn't want to believe that Jason could be caught up in this. But the fear was there, lurking in the back of his mind.
"His suit is still in the case, and the Robin cycle is in the cave," Alfred replied. It was among the first things I checked." Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want his Robin taking it on alone. If the worst should happen and Jason was to get drugged, the last thing he needed was a pubescent alpha running on nothing but his hindbrain. And if Jason were to die, Bruce quickly shook the thought out of his head.
"Bruce," Diana began, but he shook his head and held out his hand. He needed to think.
Bruce gritted his teeth, his thoughts circling back to their most recent interactions. They'd been arguing more frequently, Jason's defiance growing daily, par for the course with teenagers. Dick had been a holy terror.
He tried to remember if they'd fought recently and if there was something he said that might have driven Jason away. The tension between them has been simmering for weeks since Jason started pushing back harder, questioning Bruce's methods and rules.
Their last argument, what was it about? Bruce struggled to recall the specifics, but he remembers the anger in Jason's eyes and how he stormed out of the Cave. Was it about training? The boundaries Bruce had set for him? Or maybe it was about the new drug case after all, the one Jason had shown an interest in but Bruce had firmly shut him down on, insisting it was too dangerous.
"Have you checked his trackers?" Bruce asked Alfred.
"Of course, sir. They have been offline since as of yesterday."
Bruce had to see for himself. He pressed a button on his left gauntlet and typed in the password to pull up Jason's trackers. They were all offline. Every single one had last been online at the exact last location. Cosas Buenas, the Puerto Rican mom-and-pop restaurant Jason loved. It was nowhere in the vicinity of any of the drugging victims. Nothing had happened in that area short of a purse snatching in weeks. Something else was afoot.
"I'll call you back," Bruce said. He doesn't wait for Alfred's response. Instead, he cuts the call and turns to Diana, who's been watching him silently, her eyes full of concern.
"Trouble?" she asks, already knowing the answer.
"Robin," he replies curtly. "He's missing."
Diana's eyes widen. Wonder Woman has a soft spot for all children, but she is especially fond of Jason, probably because he adored her. She'd always been careful not to let on about his crush on her when he was 12.
"I need to get back to Gotham," he says, voice steely, "now!"
Diana doesn't argue. "I'll handle cleanup. You go find Robin." She says. He nods and immediately heads for the Batplane.
He sets it for autopilot and sits back. He tries to feel for the pack bonds between him and Jason, but there is nothing. He tries to write it off as the distance between them, but the alpha in him positively glowers at the thought.
No distance should keep him from his pup! He and Dick were on the outs, and even at this distance, he could still feel his oldest. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. He'd have to put drug trafficking on the back burner. Jason was his number-one priority!