Bruce changed quickly, wiping the traces of vomit from his face, and headed from the cave to the parlor, where he knew Alfred would have taken Jim. He reminded himself that while Batman knew Jason had been found and had been found so utterly violated, Bruce Wayne did not. All he knew was that his son was missing. So, with less ease than normal, he schooled his face and walked into the parlor.

Jim was there in his trench coat, face tight and grim. He held out his hand. "Mr. Wayne," he said.

Bruce gave his hand a shake. "Jim," he said flatly. "Any word on Jason?" Bruce let a hint of desperation fall into his voice. " Any news about my son?"

Jim sighed heavily, his eyes full of sympathy. He nodded gravely. "We got the call a few hours ago. Batman rescued Jason."

"Where is he then? Do you have him?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Bruce."

Of course, he wasn't. Bruce already knew that. Not when Jason looked like he had acted like he had at the warehouse. "Where is he?" he asked, his voice cracking just enough to sell the concern of a desperate father. Inside, though, the storm of emotions threatened to consume him. All he could think about was the condition he had found his son in. The blood flowed down his thighs. How terrified he had been.

Gordon glanced at the floor as if gathering the strength to say the next part. "He's alive, but… he's in bad shape. We found him in the Mills Warehouse District, drugged and beaten. The doctors are with him now, but Bruce…" Jim paused, searching for the right words. "It's serious."

Bruce's breath hitched slightly, his eyes downcast for a moment. "Can I see him?" he asked, a voice thick with emotion he didn't need to fake.

Jim nodded. "He's at Gotham General. I can take you there now, but there's something you need to know." Jim's voice cracked. "I think it best if you have a seat. He indicated the large chair nearby. Bruce thought with a twinge that Jason loved that chair. 'Perfect for reading,' he always said.

"Jim…"

Jim ran a hand through his hair. "Please, Bruce," he begged.

Bruce complied. He already knew what Jim might tell him, and he had seen everything with his own eyes. He'd probably be seeing it in his nightmares for years to come. He hadn't anticipated how hard the words would be to hear secondhand.

Jim was grimacing and looked almost to tears. Bruce had only seen that expression on Jim's face one other time. When Barbara had been shot, knowing what he knew about how Jason had been found it made Bruce sick.

"This isn't easy, Bruce," Jim began, "Jason's not in good condition. There is evidence," he paused, looking a little green.," Evidence of rape and.." he paused again, running a hand through his grey hair. "He was bitched, Bruce. Jason's not an alpha any longer."

Bruce knew that of course. He had seen it with his own eyes. He could still see the evidence with his eyes closed. Perfect memory was a gift for a detective but a curse for a father.

Bruce sat there, gripping the arms of the chair, willing himself to maintain control as Jim's words hung in the air. "Evidence of rap… He was bitched," the phrases cut through him like a blade. Though he had already seen the evidence with his own eyes, hearing it spoken aloud made it feel more final, more real.

He couldn't let himself react. Bruce Wayne was devastated—grieving, confused, and shattered. Batman, on the other hand, was already calculating the following steps, planning out how to make every last person responsible pay for what had been done to Jason. But here and now, Bruce had to be a father.

"I…" Bruce's voice faltered, and he took a steadying breath. "Is he conscious? Does he know what's happened?" His words came out as though he was pulling them from a deep well of anguish. Jim, who had seen more than his own fair share of Gotham's horrors, looked like he wished he could shield Bruce from this.

"No, Bruce," Jim said softly, shaking his head. "He's not. I'm sure you've seen the news stories about that new drug milling about."

Bruce nodded, gripping the chair. "I have," he replied gruffly, not trusting himself;f to say more.

Jim sighed. "We don't know how long it's been in his system, but he's not there, Bruce. He's..."

All hindbrain. Bruce had seen it for himself. The lack of intelligence in his brilliant son's blue eyes; smelt the fear on him, heard the wailing.

He forced himself to stand, the need to see Jason in person overpowering everything else. "Take me to him," Bruce said, his voice hoarse.

Jim nodded, standing and leading Bruce toward the door. "He's in the intensive care unit. They've got him under observation. The police are stationed nearby, keeping things quiet. No press, no questions. Just family, Bruce."

Bruce gave a tight nod, grateful for Jim's discretion. As they made their way to Gotham General, Bruce remained quiet, his thoughts spiraling in countless directions. When they arrived at the hospital, the sterile smell hit him first—antiseptic and faint traces of blood, the typical scent of a place where too many lives were lost.

The elevator ride to the ICU felt like it stretched on forever, each floor they passed, bringing him closer to the son he had failed to protect. When the doors finally slid open, Jim led him down a dimly lit hallway, past quiet rooms where patients lay in states of recovery or suffering.

At last, they reached Jason's room. Two uniformed officers stood guard outside, nodding at Jim and Bruce as they passed.

Bruce paused for just a moment outside the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He could already smell the fear and pain radiating from the room, thick and suffocating. A knot formed in his stomach, his instincts telling him that this was worse than anything he'd been prepared for.

Steeling himself, he pushed open the door, and the sound hit him first—Jason's terrified screams echoing through the sterile hospital room.

Jason was thrashing wildly on the bed, his arms flailing as a doctor tried to approach him, attempting to calm him down or administer something. His son's face was twisted in pure, raw terror, his blue eyes wide and unrecognizing. He fought against the restraints, his body trembling, drenched in sweat. Bruce could see that Jason's mind wasn't there; he wasn't seeing the doctor, the room, or even recognizing his father. All Jason saw was more threat, more danger.

"Get away from him!" Bruce's voice cut through the chaos, low and commanding. It was an order, not a request.

The doctor, startled, stepped back immediately, holding his hands up placatingly. "Mr. Wayne, he's disoriented—he doesn't know where he is. We're trying to sedate him for his safety."

Bruce barely heard the explanation. His focus was on Jason, who was still trying to free himself, his screams hoarse and frantic. Bruce crossed the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed, just out of Jason's immediate reach.

"Jay…" Bruce whispered, his voice soft but firm, starkly contrasting the chaos around him. He knew better than to reach for Jason immediately. An alpha coming so close would be terrifying to an omega pup, especially after what Jason had been through. Bruce was not sure if Jason could even recognize his scent anymore.

He tried to calm his own scent. Radiate calm, father, love, just as he had so many times when his boys had been exposed to fear toxin or to joker gas. But Jason didn't respond like he normally would. He continued to thrash, his wrists pulling against the restraints so hard that the skin was beginning to bleed. Bruce felt the burn of helplessness again, stronger this time, as he watched his son fight with everything he had against the invisible demons that still haunted him.

Bruce took a step back and turned to the doctor. "He doesn't like needles or drugs," he said. How many times had Jason refused painkillers even though he'd been severely injured as Robin? Too scared to end up like his mother.

The logical part of his brain knew that Jason did not now have enough higher functioning for this line of thinking. He was likely more scared of the strange alpha, instincts telling him that the last time he'd been faced with a needle, something horrible had happened. It didn't help, Bruce noted, that the doctor smelt of agitation. It made Bruce angry. Jason couldn't help his reactions even if he had a higher brain function. He'd likely be terrified with all that had happened. The alpha in Bruce felt protective and didn't like a strange alpha upsetting his already traumatized pup.

Bruce forced himself to keep calm, fighting the surge of emotions threatening to take over. The scene in front of him was worse than he'd imagined. He had been prepared for pain and trauma and knew it was coming, but he hadn't been prepared for what it would do to him to see Jason like this once more, knowing what had happened to reduce him so low.

He thought he could handle anything. Batman could handle anything thrown at him, but Bruce Wayne? Not this — not the sight of his once-strong, sharp as a-tack, alpha son reduced to an instinctual, terrified omega pup, unable to even recognize the world around him. He reached for their bonds, but they were so distant from each other.

Bruce closed his eyes and walked forward once more. "Jason…" Bruce whispered again, softer this time, his voice carrying the weight of years of fatherhood, of every battle they had fought together. "I'm here. It's Dad." Not that Jason ever called him that unless he wanted something or tried to worm his way out of trouble.

He tried again, placing a hand on Jason's shoulders. Jason tried to pull away. He was crying. Everything about him smelt of fear. Bruce pulled back again, pushing up his sleeve. He touched his wrist to Jason's swollen, bruised scent gland, once again trying to portray a calm scent. "Jason," he whispered. "Come on, pup. You know me. It's…" He took a deep breath. "It's B. You know me." He rubbed gently at the glands, trying to picture everything Jason was to him and let it flow through the scent—partner, friend, son. "You know me, Jay Lad." he hadn't realized he was crying.

Jason's body shuddered slightly as Bruce's calming scent enveloped him, but his eyes showed no hint of recognition. No words. Only fear. His gaze, though somewhat more focused, was still distant, clouded by the trauma and the effects of the drug. But he stopped fighting him, at least, and just cried softly.

"There's my boy," Bruce gulped back a sob and put his hand to Jason's cheek, moving it so that Jason's unfocused eyes were on him... He nodded to the doctor, who filled the IV with a sedative. Bruce had no idea how they could get the IV in the first place. It wasn't the same one from the warehouse. Then again, when paramedics live in a city exposed to fear toxin regularly, they must get pretty good with a needle. That or Jason had passed out sometime between there and the hospital.

"There, should take effect any minute now," the doctor said. He nodded, but Bruce focused on Jason, knowing he could only be there to give Jason whatever comfort his presence could provide. His son couldn't speak or tell him what he had gone through, but Bruce knew, deep down, that words wouldn't be enough to convey the horror anyway.

"You're safe now," Bruce murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promise you, you're safe. No one's. I'm going to get you through this. I promise you, I won't stop until you're safe. Until you're home with your pack." He ran his fingers through Jay's dark curls, just as he had so many times before.

Jason's trembling slowed as Bruce's scent and touch soothed him, though the fear still lingered in his unfocused gaze. The sedative was beginning to take effect, gradually pulling Jason into a calmer, unconscious state, but the heartbreak of seeing his son like this lingered in Bruce's chest like a heavyweight he couldn't shake.

Bruce kept his hand on Jason's cheek, gently running his fingers through the boy's dark curls as he'd done countless times before—during moments of peace, laughter, and even quiet comfort after difficult nights. But now, that simple gesture seemed like a desperate attempt to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping away.

Jason's eyes fluttered closed as the sedative took full hold, his body going limp in the hospital bed. The tension in the room eased, but the air remained thick with unspoken grief. Bruce stared down at his son, his heart aching with the knowledge of what Jason had endured, of the innocence that had been taken from him in ways no child should ever experience.

The doctor approached quietly, checking the monitors and IV lines. "He should sleep for a while now, Mr. Wayne," he said gently. "This will help him rest, for now. But you and I need to talk. There's a private room just down the hall…"

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it right here. I'm not leaving my son."

"Very well." The doctor took a deep breath. "How much did the Commissioner tell you?"