Notes:
Trigger Warning: Underage, NonConsent and Body Modification. This is the darkest thing I have ever written.
Chapter Text
Bruce was seated in the Batmobile, his hands gripping the steering wheel as the city blurred past him in a haze of lights and shadows. His mind was still fixated on Jason, running through every possible scenario, every lead that might bring him closer to finding his son. He was about to pull up a map of potential hideouts when Alfred's voice crackled over the comms.
"Master Wayne," Alfred's calm, steady voice filled the car, cutting through Bruce's thoughts. "There's been some recent chatter about a potential lead related to the drug you've investigated. I know our search for Master Jason is of utmost concern but another omega was found dead, testing positive for the drug. She was a working girl, and her pimp claims she was last seen on CCTV footage about a mile from the Mills Warehouse District. I don't believe it's a coincidence, sir."
On the one hand, Bruce knew he should be thankful for the lead if not saddened by the omega's death. It wasn't illegal for alpha's to pimp out omega's in their care, and many had insurance policies on them for that reason. He should want to investigate further. It could be the key to solving the case and preventing a trafficking ring in Gotham. But, most out of character, he didn't give a flying fuck.
Bruce's jaw clenched as the mention of the drug case intruded on his thoughts. That case felt like a lifetime ago, something trivial compared to the importance of finding Jason. He couldn't believe Alfred was bringing it up now, not when time was slipping away.
"Alfred, I'm in the middle of something," Bruce snapped, barely keeping his voice in check. "I don't have time to chase after low-level dealers right now."
There was a pause on the other end, the silence heavy with unspoken tension. When Alfred spoke again, his voice was firmer, more insistent. "With all due respect, sir, you must make time. Ignoring this lead would be a mistake, especially considering the scope of the drug's impact on Gotham. And if I may be so bold, Master Jason would not want you to overlook the safety of the city for his sake."
Bruce felt a flash of anger at Alfred's words, but a wave of guilt quickly followed it. He knew Alfred was right. He knew that Jason wouldn't want him to abandon Gotham, even in his absence. As Robin, Jason was always kind to prostitutes, no matter if they were the legal omega kind or the illegal alpha or beta. He treated them all with respect and took their safety seriously. In return, they could be counted to dote upon Robin.
If he knew about the dead omega, Jason would want Bruce to drop everything to bring her murderers to justice. But the thought of spending even a moment away from his search for Jason felt unbearable.
"Alfred," Bruce began, his voice low and strained, "this isn't the time. I need to find him. That's all that matters right now."
"I understand your need, sir," Alfred replied, and Bruce could hear the concern in his voice, "but you're no good to anyone if you allow yourself to be consumed by this. Following up on this lead could clear your head, give you a fresh perspective. And if this drug is connected to the trafficking ring, it might even provide information that could lead to Master Jason."
Bruce exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "They're not connected, Alfred. We've been over this."
"Perhaps not," Alfred conceded, "but can you afford to ignore it? You taught me long ago, sir, that every lead is worth following, no matter how tenuous it may seem. If there's even a chance that this could provide some insight, however small, then you owe it to yourself and to Master Jason to pursue it."
Bruce was silent for a moment, his mind racing. He knew Alfred was right, but it felt like a betrayal to shift his focus, even for a moment. But he also knew that he wasn't thinking clearly, that his emotions were clouding his judgment.
Finally, he let out a slow breath. "I'll check it out," he said, his voice heavy with reluctance. "But if this turns out to be nothing…"
"Then you can return to your search with a clear conscience, knowing you didn't leave any stone unturned," Alfred finished for him, his tone softening. "Be careful, Master Wayne."
Bruce didn't respond, adjusting the Batmobile's course toward the East End warehouse district. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but now it was mixed with a cold determination. He would follow up on this lead but do it quickly and efficiently. Then he would get back to what mattered—finding Jason.
The drive to the warehouse district was tense, Bruce's thoughts bouncing between the potential lead and his overwhelming need to continue his search for Jason. He parked the Batmobile a few blocks away, slipping into the shadows as he approached the target. The area was quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He approached the warehouse with a calculated silence, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of life. He could hear the low murmur of voices inside, the scrape of crates being moved, and the unmistakable sound of a deal going down. His anger flared again, but he forced himself to stay focused. This was a lead, nothing more. He needed to deal with it and move on.
Batman entered the warehouse like a shadow, his movements swift and silent. The men inside didn't see him coming—one moment, they were conducting their business, the next, they were being taken down with a brutal efficiency that bordered on savagery. Bruce didn't hold back. Every punch and kick was fueled by the frustration and anger building since Jason's disappearance.
One of the thugs tried to pull a gun, but Bruce was on him before he could even raise it. A bone-cracking twist of the wrist sent the gun clattering to the ground, followed by a vicious backhand that knocked the thug out cold. Another came at him with a knife, but Bruce disarmed him with a swift strike to the arm and then slammed him into the concrete floor.
He didn't stop until every thug was down, either unconscious or writhing in pain on the ground. Bruce stood over them, breathing heavily, his fists still clenched. He was about to turn away, ready to leave and return to his search for Jason when something caught his attention—a scent in the air, sharp and sour.
Bruce paused, his senses sharpening. The unmistakable scent of an omega in distress cut through the stale air of the warehouse like a knife. His heart rate spiked, and without a second thought, he moved deeper into the warehouse, following the scent.
He pushed open a door at the far end of the warehouse, and the scene before him made his blood run cold. There were more thugs—half a dozen, maybe more—standing in a loose circle around someone huddled on the floor. The air was thick with the scent of fear and something darker and more sinister. It smelled heavily of sex.
Batman didn't hesitate. He launched himself into the fray; his fury reignited as he tore into the men surrounding the omega. He was relentless, his blows landing with a brutal efficiency that left no room for mercy. Bones cracked under his fists, and the thugs fell one by one, their groans of pain echoing in the darkened room.
Within moments, it was over. The men lay scattered around the room, some unconscious, others too broken to move. Bruce stood over them, breathing heavily, his eyes burning with a cold, fierce anger.
Then he turned his attention to the omega. The figure on the floor was trembling, their scent thick with fear and humiliation. Bruce's heart twisted at the sight, the hard shell of Batman cracking just a little. The poor thing was sobbing.
He approached slowly, carefully, trying to rein in the anger still burning in his veins. That anger soon turned to ice. The figure on the floor was small and fragile, wrapped in nothing more than a flimsy paper gown that barely offered any coverage or warmth.
The gown was torn and crumpled, clinging to the omega's body in a way that highlighted the thinness of their frame, the bones jutting out starkly against pale, bruised skin.
The omega's wrists were red and raw, marked by the cruel impression of restraints that had likely been removed only moments before. Their arms were hooked up to multiple IVs, the thin tubes snaking out from beneath the gown, dripping fluids into their veins. The tubes looked haphazardly inserted, the skin around them swollen and irritated, as though the procedure had been done quickly, without care or compassion.
A feeding tube extended from their nose, taped hastily to their face, feeding some thick white liquid into their stomach. The sight of it made Bruce's stomach turn.
The omega looked more like a patient in a war-torn, underfunded hospital than someone deserving of care and dignity. There was dried blood all over its legs and thighs.
As Bruce knelt beside the omega, he quickly realized something was wrong. The faint light in their eyes was dim, almost nonexistent as if any semblance of awareness or consciousness had been stripped away. The omega wasn't just terrified—they were unresponsive in a way that sent a chill down Bruce's spine. It was as if the person before him had been reduced to nothing more than a shell, operating on the most basic, primal instincts.
The omega's eyes, unfocused and glassy, flickered briefly toward Bruce, but there was no recognition, no understanding—only a primal fear of the unknown. It curled in on itself and whimpered.
The overwhelming scent of fear and fresh sex clung to them. The poor thing was fringed; everything in its sent begged him not to hurt it. Bruce felt a surge of anger so intense it nearly overwhelmed him. This was more than cruelty—this was monstrous. The drug hadn't just stolen the omega's freedom or autonomy; it had ripped away their very identity, leaving behind only the most basic, instinctual parts of their mind.
He reached out carefully, knowing that any sudden movement could trigger a panic response. His gloved hand hovered over their shoulder for a moment before gently resting it there, trying to convey some sense of safety, though he knew it was likely futile.
But it soon ran cold. It couldn't be, he told himself. It was impossible. Despite their lack of intelligence, he knew those eyes. He knew the freckles underneath caked blood and the scars on the left shoulder. He wanted to hurl. He had stitched up the wound that had made that scar. But it was impossible. Jason, Jason was an alpha.
Unless…
His anger flared again. His scent began to sour, to pure possessive fury. He stood up and stalked over to the nearest conscious thug he had tied up. He lifted him by the neck. "What," he growled, "the fuck did you do?"
The thug, an alpha himself, looked ready to piss his pants as he dangled from the floor. His hands grasped at Bruce's gauntlets. "Ah… Ah.." he choked.
Bruce threw him heavily to the ground. "Start talking," he growled, even as Jason whimpered in the background.
The man shook with fear. "I said, start talking. I won't ask again."
The man took a deep breath. "We.. we found him on 5th street. His pops double-crossed the boss a while back. So we wanted to teach him a lesson."
"Bruce Wayne doesn't deal with criminals," he growled.
The man shook his head. "Not Wayne, Todd, Willis Todd. He was Todd's kid first. He used to brag about how he had himself a baby alpha. So we bitched him. Tried out this new drug on him. Now all Willis has got is a whore of an omega."
Bruce pulled the man up again. "Willis Todd is dead," he grunted and punched him square in the gut. The man wreteched.
"Hh..heard he might be alive," the man said, clutching his gut.
They had done this to Jason. To his son, HIS son, on the off chance Willis Todd might be alive. They had; Bruce couldn't say it or allow himself even to think the words. He leaned over and whispered in the man's ear. "You better damn well be glad Batman doesn't kill." And then he tased him.
Bruce ran to Jason, still whimpering, trying to push himself far away from the alpha. Bruce took a deep breath and tried to calm his scent. He held out his hands. "Shhh," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you." But Jason didn't seem to comprehend what he just said, just like those other victims.
Bruce took off his cape and lay it on top of Jason, scared to remove any medical equipment. Jason shivered, still whimpering. Bruce ran a hand through his hair. He leaned over and whispered in Jason's ear, "It's alright, Jay Lad. I've got you. It's going to be okay." Except Bruce knew it wasn't going to be okay. Nothing would, not ever again.
He opened his gauntlet and called for Gordon and an ambulance. It was going to be a long night.