Trigger Warning: Talks of Rape and Non-Concentual Mody Modification. It gets kind of graphic.

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

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?"

Bruce spares a glance at Jason, asleep and silent. Except he's not asleep, not really. His Jason slept on his side, curled into a little ball, stomach facing the wall. Most likely, this was to protect himself, something learned from years of sleeping in backward ways. His Jason snores and is never quite still, even in deep sleep. He sleeps light, ready to run at the first sign of danger.

Jason is still now, unnervingly so. He's on his back, the light shining down on him from the ceiling showing a battered and cut face, pale under its few freckles. He isn't snoring. Effects, likely of the sedation. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his small chest, and it is small, Jason always was tiny for is age' Bruce might think he was dead. He probably would be, Bruce thought, if he hadn't listened to Alfred and followed up on that lead. The thought makes his stomach lurch again.

He took a deep, steadying breath before turning to look at the doctor. It took every ounce of the Batman's training to keep his voice calm as he speaks, to not cry and rage as he thinks of Jason in that warehouse, of all he has seen. It's never been so hard to distance himself from a case before. He sighs and answers, voice quiet.

"He told me, Jason.." Bruce took a deep breath. "He told me he was bitched, and that he was raped." The words taste like ash in his mouth. As Batman he has come across a handful of bitching, attempted and successful. He's come across even more rapes. Gotham is, after all, a cesspool of violence and greed. He has, however, never seen it in his partner, in his son, in his Jaylad. Of all the dangers they faced and the immeasurable ways the boy who was Robin could have been hurt, this was not one Bruce had ever planned for.

The doctor nods solemnly. He folds his hands together and leans his chin on them. "Yes," he finally says, "heavily beaten as well. He has three broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and was heavily dehydrated when brought in. That is not all, of course." He was very clinical when he spoke, not an emotion, not an ounce of outrage or pity in his voice. Had it been Leslie, she would have been fuming. Then again, Leslie adored Jason. This man didn't even know him.

The doctor cleared his throat. "We've not been able to take a good look, but at a cursory glance, it looks as if sometime before or after the bitching, purfication occurred. It wasn't a clean job. We are going to treat with antibiotics, but Jason is still at very high risk for further sepsis."

Purification! It was somewhat out of a practice excerpt by religious fanatics and sexual deviants. It involved for male omegas and complete castration. Both male and female omegas had their labia removed, clitoral hoods and glads removed, and the closure of the vulva.

Both had been performed on betas of respective primary genders at one time, but it had fallen out of practice long before it had with omegas and even the people who were horrified at such a thing happening to a beta saw no issue with it happening to an omega; just did not follow the practice themselves. In fact, while there were laws protecting betas from purification rituals but laws sanctioned it in omegas.

Bruce himself had never really had an opinion one way or the other; just took it as a matter of choice on the part of the omega's guardian alpha or parent, so long as the procedure was done in a sterile environment. Now, the idea made him sick. No wonder there had been so much dried blood. The thought made Bruce dizzy, and he looked back at Jason.

His poor, poor boy.

He turned back to the doctor. He didn't want to hear anymore; he had already seen too much at the warehouse, heard too much. But he needed to hear more. After all, no detective dismisses evidence. If he had dismissed the warehouse…

"Please," he begged, "continue."

The doctor nodded. "We'll be monitoring him around the clock, blood draws every two hours. We'd like to perform a physical exam to get a better look at the area, with your permission of course. Bitched omegas are more likely to suffer from heart sickness. A cat scan and ultrasound are also needed as well to make sure his omega organs are developing properly, and so we can track when he may have his first heart."

Bruce clenched his fists at his sides, every muscle in his body tense. The thought of Jason—his bright, brave son—being reduced to this fragile, violated state felt like a physical blow. But he knew the doctor was right. They needed to monitor everything to ensure that Jason's body, despite the horrors it had endured, could still function and heal.

"Do what you have to," Bruce said finally, his voice low, barely controlled. "But I want updates. Constant updates. No decision gets made without me being informed."

"Of course Mr. Wayne. As his alpha, it is your right."

His right! Something else lurched in Bruce. Rights. Omegas didn't have rights, not like alphas or betas. It's one of the many reasons bitching was so horrifying. Bruce clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the wave of anger that rose in him—his right. The words twisted in his gut like a knife.

As Jason's alpha, it was his right. The reminder was sickening. In a world where omegas were often treated like property, the idea that Jason—his brilliant, fierce, and independent son—could be reduced to a thing someone else had rights over made Bruce's blood boil.

Jason had always fought against the constraints of his rank, even more so after Bruce had taken him in. He had grown into a strong alpha, a fighter, a protector—so much more than the twisted, archaic roles society tried to assign. But now, stripped of that autonomy, Jason had no rights of his own. He was just another omega in the eyes of the law, and Bruce hated that thought. If Jason had access to his higher functions, he was in his right mind. This would break him.

"Is there anything else?" He asked, voice low and desperate.

The doctor nodded. "He was attached to an IV and feeding tube when we arrived. If it is any consultation, it looks as if the bitching was all done chemically. We won't ever be sure, but the rape likely occurred after. He would have already been an omega by the time it started. They didn't touch your alpha son."

A comfort? A comfort! That was supposed to be a comfort! Bruce cieved with rage. Rape was rape. It didn't matter if the person was an alpha, an omega, or even a beta. He should be comforted because the rape happened when Jason was an omega and not when he was an alpha! Most people would say that.

The law would say that. That an omega's rape only mattered in terms of loss to the alpha who possessed them. But Jason was Jason. It didn't matter when it occurred, just that it had. Nobody, nobody had the right to touch his son like that, to touch any child like that. But to touch his son! His anger flared.

"If you're quite finished," he said cooly, "I think I would like some time alone with my son."

The doctor gave Bruce a final nod, not realizing the weight of his words or the fury they had stoked, and quietly left the room. Once the door clicked shut, the room fell into a tense silence. Only the faint hum of the medical equipment and the soft, steady rhythm of Jason's breathing filled the space.

Bruce sank back into the chair beside Jason's bed, resting his head in his hands. He hadn't felt this powerless in years. Despite all the training, all the planning, and all the precautions he took to protect those he cared about, Jason had still been hurt in the most unimaginable way. And now, as much as he wanted to punch through walls and rip the world apart to find those responsible, he was left sitting here, waiting for updates like some helpless bystander.

His hand found Jason's again, his thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. Jason was pale, his face still marked by bruises, cuts, and the raw evidence of the hell he had been through. Bruce couldn't get the image of Jason's terrified face out of his mind, the way his body had reacted in the warehouse, operating purely on instinct. Jason had been robbed of everything that made him who he was.

I failed you," Bruce whispered, the guilt heavy in his voice. He had never expected to say those words, not in this context. He had trained Jason, fought beside him, and saved him countless times—but in the one way that mattered most, he had failed.

Bruce closed his eyes, trying to push back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. There was no time for self-pity or regret. Not when Jason needed him now more than ever. He had to be strong, not just as Batman but as a father—as Jason's alpha, whether he liked it or not. He hated the word, hated the weight it carried, but he had to protect Jason in every sense of the word.

After what felt like hours, there was a soft knock at the door. Bruce didn't look up at first, too lost in his own thoughts. The door creaked open, and the familiar sound of Alfred's footsteps entered the room. Bruce sighed, his grip on Jason's hand tightening slightly as he prepared to face the older man.

Draped over his arm was a long, blue blanket. Bruce knew it well. It sat draped on the couch in the library. Walking by Jason, reading or asleep with a book, he and Alfred often pick up the blanket and lay it on him. Sometimes, Jason carried it around with him around the house or down below in the cave. It wasn't unusual to see Jason, dressed as Robin, with the blanket wrapped around himself, sipping hot cocoa after a long patrol.

"I've taken the liberty of bringing Master Jason's blanket sir."

Bruce glanced up, his eyes meeting Alfred's for a brief moment before returning to Jason's still form. The gesture, so simple yet so profoundly caring, nearly undid him. Alfred, as always, had known exactly what Jason would need—the comfort of something familiar in a world that had been stripped of everything recognizable.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He took the blanket from Alfred's hands, gently unfolding it before laying it over Jason's body, the soft fabric draping across his small frame. Jason didn't stir, sedated and lost in the quiet void of unconsciousness, but Bruce hoped that somewhere deep down, the presence of the blanket, smelling so much of himself and of home, might bring him a small measure of peace.

Alfred stood by the bedside, his hands clasped in front of him, his usual calm demeanor now laced with visible sorrow. "I have always believed, sir, that there is no pain greater than the one felt by a parent when their child suffers."

Bruce swallowed hard, fighting back the wave of emotions threatening to crash over him. "I wasn't there," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should have been there. I should have known something was wrong."

Alfred's expression softened. "Sir, you cannot blame yourself for this. You have given Master Jason everything—a home, a family, and love. The monsters who did this to him… they are the ones at fault. Not you."

Bruce's hands clenched into fists. He knew Alfred was right, but the guilt was still there, gnawing at him. He was Batman, the one person who was supposed to be able to stop this kind of thing from happening. And yet here Jason was, lying in a hospital bed, broken in ways Bruce could barely comprehend.

Bruce stayed by Jason's side, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Despite the doctor's words, the confirmation of just how brutal and inhumane the assault on Jason had been, Bruce's mind kept circling back to the facts he knew, the realities of what had happened.

And one reality burned brighter than the rest: the thugs. The ones Bruce had captured in the warehouse were in custody now, being processed by the police. But that wasn't enough—not nearly enough.

He could still see their faces, their eyes wide with fear as he tore into them, dragging the truth out of their mouths about what had been done to Jason. Bruce clenched his fists at the memory.

He had been one heartbeat away from crossing a line—a line he had sworn never to cross. But the thought of what they had done to Jason, the horror they had subjected his son to, made him wish he had done more.

Bruce's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. No. He couldn't lose control. Not now. He had to stay focused, stay clear-headed for Jason. That was the only way he would be able to see this through and find everyone responsible.

As he sat there, watching over Jason, his mind went back to the words of the thugs in the warehouse. They had talked about Willis Todd—Jason's biological father—as if he were still alive. That couldn't be right.

Willis had been dead for years; his death was confirmed when Bruce took Jason in. But the way the thugs had spoken, the certainty in their voices, suggested that maybe… just maybe, there was something more to the story. Something Bruce had missed.

His mind raced with possibilities. If Willis Todd were alive, why hadn't he come forward? Why hadn't he reached out to Jason? Or was this just some elaborate lie to cover up the real motive for what had been done to Jason?

There was only one way to find out. He needed to interrogate those men further, to push them until he had every last piece of information they could give him. But he couldn't do that right now. Not yet.

Bruce leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Jason's forehead. He could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, but for the first time since this nightmare had begun, he allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, they would get through this. Together.

"We will fix this, Jaylad," Bruce whispered. "We will find a way." Bruce hoped that somewhere deep inside, his son could hear him.

Bruce didn't move. His eyes remained on Jason, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the only sign that his son was still with him. He couldn't bring himself to leave—not yet. The thought of stepping out of that room, even for a moment, felt like abandoning Jason all over again.

He swallowed hard and turned to Alfred, his voice low but firm. "Alfred, I need you to look into something for me while I stay here with Jason."

Alfred nodded, sensing Bruce's resolve. "Of course, Master Wayne. What do you need?"

"Willis Todd," Bruce said, his tone heavy. "The men at the warehouse mentioned him. They spoke as if he's still alive."

Alfred's eyes flickered with surprise, but his expression quickly returned to its usual calm. "Willis Todd… I was under the impression he passed away years ago, sir."

"So was I," Bruce replied, his voice tight. "But the thugs were certain. I don't know if it's just a rumor or if there's more to it, but I need to know. I need to find out if there's any truth to it. If Willis Todd is alive, if he's involved in what happened to Jason…"

He trailed off, his fists clenching again as he fought the anger rising within him.
Alfred's gaze softened, understanding the storm of emotions Bruce was grappling with. "I'll look into it immediately, sir," Alfred said gently. "I'll gather all the information I can on Willis Todd, and I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Thank you," Bruce muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned back to Jason, his hand resting gently on his son's arm. "I'm not leaving him, Alfred. Not until I know he's safe."

Alfred gave a slight bow of his head, the silent promise hanging in the air between them. "Take care of him, sir. I will handle the rest."

With that, Alfred left the room, his steps quiet as he set off to uncover whatever secrets may lie in Willis Todd's shadowed past. Bruce remained by Jason's side, his heart heavy with guilt and determination.

No matter what it took, he would get to the bottom of this.

Notes:

Know the Facts About FGM! Sadly, It's Not a Work of Fiction!

More than 230 million girls and women alive today have undergone female genital mutilation (FGM) in 30 countries in Africa, the Middle East and Asia where FGM is practiced.

FGM is mostly carried out on young girls between infancy and age 15.

FGM is a violation of the human rights of girls and women.

Treatment of the health complications of FGM is estimated to cost health systems US$ 1.4 billion per year, a number expected to rise unless urgent action is taken towards its abandonment.

FGM has no health benefits, and it harms girls and women in many ways. It involves removing and damaging healthy and normal female genital tissue, and it interferes with the natural functions of girls' and women's bodies. Although all forms of FGM are associated with increased risk of health complications, the risk is greater with more severe forms of FGM.

Immediate complications of FGM can include:

Severe Pain
Excessive Bleeding (Haemorrhage)
Genital Tissue Swelling
Fever
Infections E.G., Tetanus
Urinary Problems
Wound Healing Problems
Injury To Surrounding Genital Tissue
Shock
Death.

Long-term complications can include:

Urinary Problems (painful urination, urinary tract infections);

Vaginal Problems (discharge, itching, bacterial vaginosis and other infections);

Menstrual Problems (painful menstruations, difficulty in passing menstrual blood, etc.);
scar tissue and keloid;

Sexual Problems (pain during intercourse, decreased satisfaction, etc.);
Increased Risk of Childbirth Complications (difficult delivery, excessive bleeding, cesarean section, need to resuscitate the baby, etc.) and newborn deaths;

Need for Later Surgeries: For example, the sealing or narrowing of the vaginal opening (type 3) may lead to the practice of cutting open the sealed vagina later to allow for sexual intercourse and childbirth (deinfibulation).

Sometimes genital tissue is stitched again several times, including after childbirth; hence the woman goes through repeated opening and closing procedures, further increasing both immediate and long-term risks and

Psychological Problems (depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-esteem, etc.).