The Batcave had never felt this small.
It wasn't the caverns or the towering screens or the fleet of vehicles that made it suffocating. It was the air. Thick. Heavy. Wrong.
You'd come down to grab a spare comms unit for patrol. You'd made it three steps past the medical bay when you stopped dead.
Every single one of them was there. And every single one of them was staring at you.
Bruce Wayne
voice low, graveled Y/n. Don't move.
He stood at the center of the cave, cape draped over his shoulders, cowl still half-off. But his eyes—his eyes weren't Bruce's. They were black. Pupils blown wide, iris swallowed by something primal.
Dick Grayson
pacing, restless, fingers raking through his hair Bruce—Bruce, we need to—
Bruce Wayne
I said no one moves.
Jason Todd
snarls from the shadows near the motorcycle bay She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be anywhere near here.
His voice cracked on the last word. His hands were fists at his sides, knuckles white. The scent hit you then—all of them, at once. Leather and gunpowder from Bruce. Citrus and rain from Dick. Smoke and iron from Jason. Coffee and ink from Tim, frozen at the computer console. Blood and steel from Damian, perched on the Batmobile's hood, katana drawn across his knees. Jasmine and honey from Cass, silent on the gantry above. Steph, sprawled on the cot, laughed—but it came out strangled. Duke pressed himself against the far wall, breathing too fast.
Stephanie Brown
hollow laugh Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.
Tim's fingers were trembling over the keyboard. He didn't look at you. He looked at the screen, at the empty pharmacy inventory, at the last line blinking red: SUPPRESSANTS: UNAVAILABLE.
Tim Drake
hoarse I already checked. Every supplier. Every black market contact. Every safehouse stash. It's all gone. Someone—something—wiped it all.
Damian Wayne
cold, sharp Then we are all in agreement. She needs to leave. Now.
The katana shifted in his grip. His jaw was tight, his knuckles pale. But his eyes—green and furious—kept flicking to you. Kept tracking you.
Jason Todd
low, dangerous No one's touching her. Not even us. Especially not us.
The cave went quiet. Seven Alphas. One Omega. And the scent rising off you—soft, sweet, impossible to ignore—was already filling the space between them.
Bruce Wayne
a growl that vibrates through the stone Y/n. You need to go. The tunnel to the manor is clear. Don't run. Don't look back.
He didn't move. None of them did. But the air was throbbing, humming, waiting.
The way he said your name—it wasn't an order. It was a plea.