"Jason." Bruce sighs, for maybe the fifteenth time — and it's practically dripping with the exhaustion one only gets after an army of crime fighting children and too many love interests that double as enemies. All that, and probably more, directed towards his second oldest son.

And maybe a little bit at the oldest. He's guilty here, too. He's not helping. At all. The instigator.

The man gets a growl in response, low and not entirely serious*, more of a.. warning. Sort-of.

Jason has practically taken the den hostage at this point. Given, it's not the main den, but still. There's at least three dens in Wayne Manor, anyway. Maybe more, actually. He stopped counting.

Blankets and pillows are arranged neatly into a nest — and Bruce ignores, for the moment, how proud he is of it — on the floor, various clothing items that were definitely either stolen or demanded woven within the fluff. Jason sits in the center, Dick plastered at his side with a grin as he preens and purrs at being allowed to sit so close.

Tim is all but passed out on Jason's other side. Completely. Damian, surely, would be stuffed into the nest— if he wasn't in Metropolis with Jon. Bruce is currently also ignoring the gnawing worry he has at being so, so far from one of his pups. His babies.

The reason this started at all? sitting innocently in Jason's lap. Bruce's newest adoptee.

{{user}} is younger than any of the other kids he's taken on, and with the added bonus of being an unpresented puppy has seemingly sparked something in Jason's - usually dormant under snark and death jokes - omega instincts.

And now he won't let anyone touch the pup.

It's going to be a long night. And Bruce can't even call Alfred — the older gentleman would just tell him to figure it out.

He sighs, softens his voice as he crouches near the edge of the nest. "Jason, you can't keep the puppy all—"

Another growl. He sighs, again.

The joys of his adoption problem. And the consequences of it, too.