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Bruce and Alfred used to do spot checks on his room.
It’s…Dick has mixed feelings about it. Especially in retrospect. The point was to make sure he hadn’t brought any incriminating Robin stuff upstairs, which made sense when he was a little kid who sometimes forgot or even deliberately squirrelled away weapons and pieces of his Robin uniform. But, though the checks decreased as he got older, they never stopped. Not until he was kicked out.
This isn’t even the same room. The new kid, Jason, has his old one now. But Dick’s still standing frozen with the first layer of nesting supplies in his hands, because he doesn’t trust that anything he builds won’t be invaded, rifled through and dismantled on a whim.
It’s stupid. Dick hadn’t even realised this could be an issue, though now he’s thinking about nest boundaries it makes sense. But he came back specifically to yell at Bruce and Alfred about the ways they fucked up in handling his heats so they know not to repeat those mistakes with the new kid if he presents omega - or frankly any other kid they interact with, but Jason’s the one in Bruce’s custody and therefore of immediate concern - and agreed to stay the night, and the nesting supplies are a peace offering. Freshly bought and laundered by Alfred this afternoon, in soft textures and colours Dick likes.
He just…can’t bring himself to build it.
“You need to not touch the nest without my permission.”
Bruce is brooding in the cave, legalese spread across the screens; it takes him a moment to register the words, shake his head slightly, and focus on Dick. “Chum, what?”
It’s uncharacteristically subdued. The result of Dick figuring out in two weeks the solution to the horrible, dangerous heats that Bruce had been unable to help his ward with for half a decade; Bruce went straight through his usual defensiveness to horror and self-loathing. It’s… less exhausting to deal with, but still not helpful.
Still. It means he’s listening to Dick, for once.
“Nests are a cue it’s safe. That it’s your space, and no one can intrude without permission.” At least in theory. Turns out, overwrought romantic tropes about asking permission to enter, the narrative weight afforded to emergency-nest-sharing, the devastation of a desecrated nest, and so on, have a basis in reality. Dick keeps finding more things that’s true of, and has an uncomfortable feeling that’s going to be the case for a while. It’s amazing how much there is to find, once you’re not dismissing lived experience as a source, Bruce. “Think if someone appeared unexpectedly and without warning in your bedroom. While you were asleep.“ It's not the best comparison, he knows as he says it, because there’s at least one person Bruce wouldn’t mind that from, but it’s the one he can think of in the moment to get his point across.
Bruce goes still in the way that means he’s suppressing a flinch. Dick stomps on the urge to feel bad for him. He knows Bruce. Relent now, and Bruce will file Dick’s point away as something negotiable, to be disregarded when he feels like it. “So you need to not touch it without my permission.”
The usual phrase that came up in a quick titans group call and internet search was “don’t disturb the nest,”, but again, Dick knows Bruce. Use the word disturb, and Bruce will figure it’s fine so long as he puts everything back where he finds it.
“Alfred will need to clean the linens after you leave,” Bruce points out, frowning faintly, and Dick rolls his eyes so hard it hurts.
“While I’m here, B. Obviously I’ll dismantle it and strip the bed before I go.” And it’ll go back to being a guest space. But right now it’s Dick’s.
“I…suppose?” Bruce still looks faintly confused and aggrieved, but that’s his usual look when Dick sets any kind of boundary, so he ignores it and takes the agreement.
Take two. Dick manages to get the base set up before stalling out again, distracted by the sound of light footsteps approaching, and the whiff of bitter-pup-smell.
He’d not made the best first impression on Jason. The first time they met, he’d walked in on Bruce and Dick having a screaming match about Robin. The second, earlier today, Dick had deliberately set out to confront Bruce and Alfred while Jason was present.
Not the kindest approach, but he hadn’t been sure how the confrontation was going to go, and if he was kicked out again he wouldn’t have a chance to talk to Jason later. And this was information the kid needed to have.
(Turns out, the kid was horrified, because he’d seen nest deprivation be used as torture in his time on the streets. Dick’s trying not to be bitter that Bruce immediately took Jason’s feelings seriously, in contrast to how he’d instantly started trying to argue Dick out of his.)
The footsteps pause, and retreat. Dick sighs and turns back to the nest.
He’s getting rapidly better at this. Even with the unfamiliar supplies it takes him less time to get the lining cushions arranged the way he’s finding he likes, with bigger cushions piled along where his back will be when he gets in and curls up, scented items tucked partially under his pillows, heavy comforter folded at the bottom where he can tuck his feet under its weight, and pull it up easily to cover the whole nest if it gets cold enough the sheet and thin quilt aren’t enough.
He takes a few deep breaths, looking back as he braces to head down to dinner - and pauses.
Outside the door is another small pile of scented items, the specialist fancy kind that look like hand towels but absorb scent fast and release it slowly over months, with a note on top. Cautiously, Dick takes a sniff; Bruce, Alfred and Jason. The handwriting’s unfamiliar, so he knows it’s Jason’s even before he reads the words and sees the signature.
Bruce and Alfie were being dumb and waffling about whether or not you’d want these, so here. They got one for me too, though you can leave it if you want, since you don’t know me and all. J.
Folded between two of the scent-holding towels are sandwich bags, the perfect size to hold a towel each to keep the scent fresh for longer.
Dick stares at them for a long time.
It’s not permanent. But it is more of a tie between them than there’s been in nearly a year now, and even before this he knew it was unspeakably rude to take back a scented item and waffling or not they very clearly scented these for him, so now they’ve been given what he decides to do with these is entirely in Dick’s hands.
Carefully, he puts them in the bags and seals them. The whole manor smells vaguely of the three, he doesn’t need them here.
After he gets home, though…he’ll see. Depends rather on if they make it through dinner without more shouting.
Bruce isn’t there when he arrives at the table, but Jason is, absorbed in a book.
”I’m keeping all three,” Dick tells him, taking a seat; Jason jumps a little at the unexpected voice. It’s heartening. Even with the briefness of their first interaction, he’d noticed how closed off and hyper-vigilant the kid was, keeping his back to the wall and alternating between making himself small and puffing up to try and seem threatening. “Thanks, pup.”
There’s a little burst of startled-pleased in Jason’s scent, and he buries his nose further into his book. Dick has mercy and doesn’t say anything further, getting his secured phone out to check the titans chat - they got the whole sorry story out of him after his last heat, and only stopped threatening to follow him to Wayne manor once he he promised them regular updates - and wait for Alfred to finish cooking.
Dick feels some of the tension in his back loosening.
Things aren’t fixed. But. It’s a start.
Now to see how dinner goes.