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The air was heavy. Thick from the last storm that dumped more humidity on the dark city than it dispersed. It was already difficult to catch a breath through the fog and rain...the smoke only made it worse.
A soft scuff of leather on rock, a subtle change in the shadow before him, a whistle in the still air, it was all the warning Dick had that he needed move, and quick. Twisting out of the way of a...he thought it was a pipe, it was impossible to tell. The last storm had knocked out the city’s lights, leaving nothing the burning husks of distant warehouses and whatever else this new wave of villainy had decided to set aflame as his only source of light.
Then the storm picked up and the fires went out.
Whatever reprieve he had gotten from the rain letting up had been crushed with the near absolute darkness they were now in. The acrid smoke choking his senses, though he wouldn’t be able to scent his opponent even on a clear night. They hadn’t been so careless yet to not come at Dick with scent blockers, or muddlers. Anything to keep him from so easily picking up their trail.
They, a new group of ragtag trouble makers that had annoyingly fashioned themselves as The Nightingales. The only thing that keep them from being a two bit operation that Dick could snip out of the city in one go was their shear numbers. For every one Dick spotted, there were twenty others in the shadows.
He had thought to be proactive this time. He’d gotten wind that they were planning to migrate to Gotham, had followed the trail right outside of the city to a warehouse. Not quite ready to call in back up, he had gathered everything he needed for a stakeout mission. Just him, propped up in the hills with a monocular, some trail mix, and a canteen of coffee. Then the first warehouse in the city went up, lighting the night sky like the fourth of July. It wasn’t a minute later when the next explosion hit.
Then, with a crack of thunder, in rolled the storm.
The warehouse he had been staking out erupted with a flurry of motion and Dick lost track of things rather quickly after that. The warehouse cleared in the middle of the chaos, cars and motorbikes going off in several directions all at once, it had been impossible to single one out in the middle of the down pour. He had been ready to turn towards the Gotham and lend a hand in what must be pandemonium, between the storm and the explosions the Nightingales wouldn’t be the only villains out right now.
Then a loan figure had broken away from the warehouse, heading to a nearby abandoned lot. On foot!
It was the best shot Dick had to get one of them away from the swarm and bring them in for questioning. As far as plans that only took only half a second to form went, it wasn’t too bad. Until the blackout. And the smoke. And well...Dick was beginning to regret not calling for back up when he could.
The pipe whistled by his head again, missing by a mere inch. So close, but not quite. Maybe the Nightingale couldn’t see in the dark now either. Which...didn’t really help much. Dick at least had some training in fighting blind, but if the other was acting wildly....
Dick really needed to get this over with quick.
The shadow moved in a way that suggested it had taken a step back, and Dick took the opportunity to lung, his hand connecting with....possibly a shoulder, as something punched into his chest. It all happened so quickly, through the disorientation of not being able to see the attack and muffled sounds through fog and pattering of light rain, that Dick took several staggering step backwards before the pain even hit.
And hit it did.
The scent of rust hit his nose, coated his tongue. It was just the scent of the pipe, or the rusted out fence and cars from the lot. He was imagining it. But the pain was real. It lanced through his chest, up his shoulder and to his arm. Tentative fingers reached to trace the wound, only to make contact with cold metal.
Which was...not ideal.
Panic tried to pulled him down as, coughing, he fell to the ground. It was impossible to tell how much blood he might be losing thanks to the rain, so he pushed it away from his thoughts to worry about later. If he could reach his communicator he could send out an S.O.S by clicking the mic a few times. Gravel crunched, oddly loud, as a pair of black boots filled his vision, and, when had he hunched over?
It took a massive amount of effort for Dick to sit back on his haunches and face the Nightingale, but he would be damned if he went out with his face in the dirt. Something clicked above him, the pipe in his chest pulsed with every painful beat of his frantic heart, lightning cracked and for a second painted the night around him in stark relief. The Nightingale stood tall above him, brown jacket and grey trousers, bright orange mask covering most of his face, dull black gun pointed at Dick’s face. He took it all in in a single, blinding second before he was plunged into darkness once more.
The shot rang out, gunpowder and smoke filled the air. And....
Nothing.
Until the Nightingale fell to the ground and didn’t move. It took a moment, through agonizingly labored breaths, for Dick to realize that something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t hear the approach of another, much larger figure, until they were right on him. A shift in the wind brought him the scent of leather, peat, and aged vanilla. So familiar, even after so long. His shaking limbs finally gave out as adrenaline faded and something close to relief took its place.
Some, impossible how, Slade had found him. His thoughts were too loose to really figure that one out, they kept slipping through his foggy grasp before he could really form them. Another flash of lightning limned the orange and black mask as Slade regarded him from above.
When had he fallen over?
“Don’t touch that!” Slade’s growl was laced with a command that had Dick’s hand dropping from the pipe immediately. Something about that tickled the back of his mind, something about it was simply wrong, but he couldn’t focus on why.
Suddenly, he couldn’t focus on very much at all. Everything was hazy and cold. So cold. But Slade was there, big and...well...not warm, but his presence filled Dick with some much needed security.
There was something wrong with that too.
He lost consciousness before he could remember why.
The ocean.
Dick could hear it. The gentle susurrus of the waves as they lapped the shore. Peace filled him. He floated in it. Everything was warm and distant and the ocean was so soothing.
Until a soft beep, beep, beep wormed its way into his hearing.
it wouldn’t go away. It fought with the waves, seemed to grow louder and louder, pulling Dick out of the fog of sleep, bringing aches and pains he’d rather leave behind along with the lucidity. But now that he was aware he couldn’t push it aside. It was as insistent at the odd tugging at his chest.
“Stop squirming around, kid.” Slade’s voice. A command. No. Another command? It was the last push Dick needed to regain himself. How it rankled, rubbed against his nerves in all the wrong ways.
He cracked his eyes open slowly. There was a bright spotlight right over his left peck but the rest of the room was dim. Slade hunched over him, maskless, intent on the process of stitching Dick up, his shoulder length white hair pulled back with a leather cord, deep lines etched around his eye in concentration. Dick just watched him for a bit before breaking the silence.
Likely plunging himself into a grade A fight while he was at.
“Since when do you use alpha commands?” His voice shook a little, his words slightly slurred. Whatever Slade had given him for the pain had at least left him mostly functional. Slade’s hands didn’t even pause in his stitching, he didn’t twitch or look up, or say anything. But Dick wasn’t going to let it rest.
“If I remember correctly,” Dick added, glaring at him, “you said that only weak alphas needed to resort to such things. That real Alphas commanded respect on their own.”
“When I told you that,” Slade finally grit out, snipping the thread on the stitches before reaching for a roll of bandaging, “I was training you as my apprentice, I thought-”
“That I would be an alpha.” Dick said sweetly, lips twisted in a grimace.
“It seemed a likelier possibility at the time.” There was something in Slade’s voice, his movements. A stiffness that had not been there the last time they had seen each. Some seven years previous, back before Dick presented. When he was just Robin, both with and without the mask. The name his mother had given as a place holder until he knew what he would present as.
Seven years ago Dick to slipped away from Slade, rejoined the Titans, and eventually went on to lead a bigger life elsewhere. Slade had fallen into the shadows. A dark memory. Dick had always figured that he was still out there, looking in on him from time to time. After his presentation Dick had let go of Robin, as the name was taken by another, and became Nightwing. By that time masked vigilantes were a little more common. The once Robin could have been any number of heroes racing around the Gothic rooftops. Genders, secondary or otherwise, were not always easy to identify under a costume. Helped by scent blockers and the fact that female alphas didn’t often have full, voluptuous figures.
Even if Slade had always known Dick was Nightwing, it was possible that he hadn’t known Dick had presented as an omega.
“Sorry if my presentation has somehow disappointed you.” Dick said, acid dripping from every word. Some people didn’t bother investing a lot into gammas. The chance that they would present as alpha was sometimes shadowed by the fear that they would just end up an omega. It was a very old fashioned idea. Or so Dick had always thought. Bruce had never held to such beliefs, he had adopted and invested enough energy in several gamma children. Dick was just the first.
Slade looked up from his work, single eyes piercing, though he said nothing to counter Dick’s statement, which, yeah, that was really disappointing. He had at least thought Slade had ‘not being prejudice against omegas’ gong for him.
Slade stepped away from the table, from Dick’s line of sight, for a moment, returning with a loaded syringe.
“Whoa! Hey, no, what the heck is that?” Dick tried to scrabble away, but his darn shoulder and chest were still numb and not obeying him. Slade just sighed, looking down at him like a errant child.
“It’s a tetanus shot. Unless you’d like to take your chances with lockjaw.” And, yeah, that was probably a really good idea. Getting impaled with a rusty pipe definitely warranted some preventative treatment. So he slumped back, useless arm and all, and let Slade stick him with the needle.
Tension was clear in the set of Slade’s jaw, the harsh line of his shoulders, but he did not push anything but calm focus through his scent as he placed the needle down and finished tidying his work area. Dick took the opportunity to rise when Slade turned away to return a few of the supplies to their rightful places. He closed his eyes for a time and imagined where they would go, seeing it all so clearly, from so long ago.
His uniform had been peeled down just enough to show his injuries. There hadn’t been anything below the belt. Thank god! It was going to be hard enough getting the top part back up as it was.
“Don’t think about it, kid!” Slade’s voice cut sharply through the silence, stopping Dick in his tracks, good arm paused in reaching for the hem of his suit. “Here,” Slade said just moments before a white piece of cloth hit Dick in the chest, “Put that on, carefully.”
It was a very...very, large shirt. White and cottony soft. And it smelled an awful lot like smooth whiskey and aged vanilla. He slipped it on as carefully as he could, though his arm twinged and the stitches pulled with uncomfortable nervy twitches. It had barely settled around his shoulders when Slade was back, and after a quick, “no arguing,” in a tone that in fact said he would put up with no arguments, started strapping Dick’s arm into a sling.
He didn’t complain, thank you very much! He knew when to be careful, no matter what people said. His dislike for slings came from how uncomfortable they were and the fact that Dick was very capable to keeping his limbs to himself and not exacerbating injuries, no matter what anyone else accused him of. He did not, flail around like an spasmatic octopus, and it was unfair of his whole dang family to agree when Jay had called him that!
And he wasn’t pouting, though the amused look Slade gave him said he was. He was just more than a little miffed at being under Slade’s bossy command. Again! Already he was running through his options on getting out of the labyrinthine passages that Slade liked to live in. It was most likely not the same compound it had been so long ago. It didn’t feel like he had been out long enough for them to leave Gotham. So the layout probably wasn’t exact, but he could work with what he remembered and what he knew of Slade’s preferences and with nothing else on the line, should be able to work his way out of the compound by morning at the very least.
When Slade growled at Dick to get up and follow, he took the opportunity to memorize as much of the layout as he could. Serpentine halls, non nondescript doors, and the constant drone of gears and static that kept all outside noise at bay, meant that his task wasn’t an easy one. But he had become very good at this game long ago.
He’d had to.
It was in the second corridor, third door on the left with the small dent on the bottom, two inches from the floor and three inches from the last hing, that Slade stopped in front of. He was expecting a cell like room when the door slid open, hinges silent, because even the hinges cowered at the thought of disobeying Slade.
But the door didn’t open to dark cement room, with it’s little bed and thin blanket. Instead there was nothing but a metal rung ladder that led up, up, up into darkness. Dick had a few thoughts all at once. What the ever loving frick! Being the first followed quickly by wondering what fresh hell Slade had concocted up there for him. Probably something like having to run some sort of obstacle course, one handed, in order to win the privilege of rest.
He’d done things like that before, and now that Dick was older, more experienced, he’d probably want to test out what all he’d learned.
What all he might have forgotten.
Suddenly he was just so very tired. It had been a trying night. A trying few weeks, honestly. He hadn’t rested as he should have, he didn’t call for back up when he should have. He was injured and hungry, and exhausted. He could not put up with whatever new torture disguised as training Slade was planning.
“Go on up,” Slade said, simple, clear. No command this time.
Dick sighed, “Slade,” he said, shoulders slumping, ready to tell him he wasn’t in the mood for any games.
He didn’t get the chance as Slade grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him up the first few rungs, following close behind him. There wasn’t much he do could except hobble his way up. As Slade would most likely just carry him if he didn’t move.
At the top was a large, circular door, no handle, no visible hinges, nothing but a sunken impression in the stone and a fine threadlike seam to distinguish it from the rest of the stone wall. What the heck? Slade had forced him to climb to a door that he couldn’t even open?
Without a word, or warning, Slade pushed up close to Dick’s back, and for a single, frightful moment, Dick had no idea what was happening. Why the heck Slade was so effing close! But other than a casual brush against Dick’s back and arm, Slade did nothing more than press his hand against a seemingly smooth stretch of wall. A panel slid opened where he had touched, there was no key pad, no place for a card or key to be placed, just a hand scanner that Slade pressed his bare palm to.
The door came open slowly with a soft hiss, filling the small space with the scent of rain and dead leaves that traveled on a gust of humid air. Dick climbed out the rest of the way in a daze, unbelieving when he stepped out into the dark night.
They were on a cliff, close enough to the city that the lights were visible through the haze of fog. They must have been restored while he was out... Yet they were far enough away that the smoke from the warehouses did not linger on the breeze. The entrance to Slade’s lair was hidden among a few scattered bounders, probably invisible once the door closed. Slade didn’t get out after Dick. He was allowed to walk away from the door, away from Slade. Into the night. Knowing where to find the lair again.
Nothing was making any sense anymore. Maybe it was the blood loss, or fatigue from too many nights spent tracking alone, but things just weren’t adding up right now.
“Slade?” He tried to ask, What the hell? Or something along those lines, but once again he was interrupted. This time by Slade throwing something at him. It pulled his stitches to grab for it, and man, he forgot how annoying stitches were. Everything pulled them! Everything! He still manged to catch what Slade threw at him. No flinching, all grace. But boy did it hurt!
He quickly forgot about his discomfort as he got a look at what Slade had thrown. His utility belt.... “What the-”
“Be careful out there, Grayson,” Slade’s voice growled across the rocky cliff, “I might not be around next time to patch you up.” And with that he turned to head back inside.
“That’s it?” Dick yelled, his voice not carrying as well in the wind as Slade’s had.
Slade looked back, eyebrow raised at Dick’s out burst, “that’s it, kid. Call a bat to come pick you up.” He didn’t stick around for Dick’s reply, the door closed behind him with another little hiss, leaving Dick alone on the edge of a cliff.
He had been right, as soon the as the door was closed, if Dick hadn’t known where to look, he wouldn’t have been able to see where it was. So perfectly hidden, tucked into the natural terrain. And so very, very close to Gotham.
Dick walked a good distance away from the door before punching in an S.O.S on his com, only a little surprised that everything was still in his belt. And, other than the com having been shut off, nothing had been messed with. There was no way the night could get weirder.
Or well, no. Best not to jinx it.
He hoped the night wouldn’t get weirder as he leaned against a bolder, waiting for his ride. For all he knew the sky could open up any minute, unleashing a massive alien invasion.
Actually....that would be almost be normal in comparison. What he should be concerned with is Slade coming out with a full tea set and finger sandwiches. Because THAT was the sort of night he was having.
The thought of Slade in a pink flowered apron serving him earl grey and scones kept him giggling until the family hum of the batjet filtered into his hearing. And, okay, maybe he was a little loopy from blood loss, or whatever pain meds Slade had given him, because he was feeling preeeetyy good. That and only that is the reason the jet was almost right in front of him before he even realized it.
No...not the jet. It was the gyro, and wasn’t that just the cherry on the weird night? The gyro was an antique. Bruce’s baby! The only time it wasn’t behind glass was when Bruce took it out to rub it down with only the softest microfibre cloths and his expensive imported waxes. He hadn’t taken it out for a spin in Dick’s living memory, so when it stopped to hover just off the cliff face he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating.
If he turned around and knocked on Slade’s door, assuming he could find again, would he let Dick back in and check him for a concussion?
The world righted itself just a little when the door slid open and Jason, not Bruce, greeted him with a large smile. He was dressed in his usual leather and red, though he had forgone the hood for a simple mask. Small miracles. His masked gazed rolled over Dick to his scuffed boots, his suit rolled halfway down so that the limp arms brushed the ground, to the shirt that was about five sizes too big and the sling. And whatever his hair might be doing. Oh god! He had forgotten about his hair!
Jason snorted, “what the fuck happened to you, Dickie? Get jumped by the omega scouts?”
Dick snatched his hand away from his hair. His dirty, flat, hair! “That what?”
“Nothing,” Jason said with a shake of his head, still laughing, “Get in, cupcake, we’re getting milkshakes!”
With a small smile Dick hopped off the ledge, over the short distance to the gyro. Because yeah....yeah, milkshakes with his brother sounded like the best idea.
Forty five minutes later and the world was nearly completely to rights. Something about standing in the Batcave, sucking down the last of his double chocolate and mint brownie shake, under Bruce’s unamused glare while Jason tried to explain his latest joy ride, was really setting in the deepest of ways.
“An S.O.S. from a unknown location that turned out to be on the edge of a fucking cliff, so yeah, Bruce, I took the gyro,” Jason had his arms crossed over his chest, doing a pretty good job of trying turn this situation into him being a responsible brother and hero, and not the wayward son who stole his dad’s car. “What, was I supposed to take the jet? Alert everyone in the area that Batman was running off? What with all the fires and robberies going down by the warehouses, I didn’t want-”
“Enough, Jason, we’ll pick this up later,” Bruce’s voice was gruff, he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before turning to Dick, “you’re hurt.” It, of course, was not a question. Dick’s arm was in a sling, he wasn’t walking with nearly as much grace as he should have been. Therefore there was no use in fighting when he was motioned over to an exam table and helped out of the sling and his borrowed shirt.
“This reeks,” Jason said holding the shirt at arms reach. Which, rude! You don’t say that sort of thing about other people’s clothes and scents...except Dick just remembered that it wasn’t, in fact, his shirt. He bit down on the straw, ducking his head to hide his suddenly warm cheeks.
He had thought the scent was nice.
“These are well done,” Bruce said lowly, ignoring Jason as he ran a finger over the threads of Dick’s stitches.
“Yeah, what badge do you think you need for that? Sewing? Do the O Scouts have badges just for quilting or-”
“Jason,” Bruce cut him off with a near growl, “go to your room.”
“I don’t live here anymore!” He yelled back, his tone was a little more normal when turned to Dick and asked, “so, who patched you up, princess?”
Dick crushed the plastic straw between his teeth until it cracked. A friend, was on the tip of his tongue...neither of them were going to like the truth. Bruce decided to give Jay a little leeway and wait out Dick’s answer as well.
Fudgenuggets.
Dick sat his mostly empty cup aside, gave a little cough and mumbled, “Deathstroke.”
“I’m sorry, did you say, Deathstroke!” Jason’s voice was nearly a roar, “What the fuck, Dick?”
“Jason! Room. Now!” Bruce followed the statement up with an actual growl, eliciting a straight up hiss from Jay.
If Slade was having a hard time coming to terms with Dick being an omega, his mind would be completely blown in realizing that Jay was one as well. No one. Not ever. Guessed correctly when it came to Jason. He was large, and loud, and almost all muscle. He had rigged his helmet to make a very believable alpha growl, and instead of just wearing scent blockers, had actually implanted his uniforms with a homemade false alpha scent.
And he was going to go head to head with Bruce over something that wasn’t even mildly important, because Bruce had almost used his alpha tone, and....Dick was just too tired for all that.
“Jay, please,” Dick said on a sigh. Soft as it was they both turned to him, quickly he put on his saddest, ‘I’m hurt, take care of me’ face that he could. “I’m fine, really. We can talk about it later, okay?”
Jay looked, for just moment, as though he were going to complain, until the telltale tapping on the stairs harked another in their midst. The cadence of a certain child Jay was never in the mood to entertain. It was a true sign of growth, and yes, love, though Dick would never say it, that Jay turned and headed up the stairs instead of jumping on his bike and fleeing outright.
“I’m fine, really.” Dick said when Bruce turned back to him. And he was fine. Really. It had been a hell of a night. A weird one, on top of it all. But he was fine.
“What was it?”
Dick blinked at him for a several seconds before understanding hit, “oh! You mean the wound.” He laughed, “a rusty pipe.”
“I’ll get a shot and some-” Bruce had already turned to do just that when Dick cut him off.
“No need. It’s been taken care of.”
Bruce didn’t get a chance to comment on that little tidbit as Damian had finally made it to their part of the cave. “Grayson,” he said in greeting, before fully taking him in. His eyes roving over the spots that were clearly bruised or scraped, landing at last on the wound on his shoulder. “Those are not, Pennyworth’s stitches.”
“No, they aren’t.” Dick rubbed a tired hand across his eyes, “a friend helped me out before I got here.”
“Not, Todd!” Damian scoffed, “it’s a wonder he can tie his shoes, let alone make an adequate stitch.”
“No, Dami, it wasn’t Jason.” Dick couldn’t help smile, even bone tired and ready to fall over, Damian and Jason’s little spatting always left him feeling light and warm. They fought like brothers now, very little real heat in their words or actions.
Not that could, or would, ever say it to their faces.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Bruce said, his face still grim, but at least he was willing to let it go in front of Damian. “I want a report.”
“Sure, sure. Go away already, so I can change.” Dick said with a smile, accepting the ruffle Bruce gave his hair with a grimace before he walked off, leaving Dick and Damian alone.
“You look tired.” Damian said matter of factly.
“I am.” He said simply, careful to control his facial expressions as Damian inched towards him. Much like a skittish cat, if one made a wrong move Damian would flee. If, however, left to make his own choices, with a great amount of patience and no sudden movements on Dick’s part, Damain would reward him with the closeness that they both craved.
Even if one of them was loath to admit out loud.
Which was how, fifteen minutes later found Damian seated in Dick’s lap. After having discarded Dick’s thoroughly mangled straw along with the lid, Damian was finishing the last of the milkshake as Dick, arms loosely wrapped around Damian’s middle, stared off into the dark part of the cave, lost in thought.
“Did you hit your head?”
Dick’s lips twitched, he had been too lost to realize Damian had turned his attention away from gooey brownie goodness to focus on Dick, “No, my head it fine. I’m just thinking.”
“About this friend, who is not Todd, who helped you.”
“Yes, about them.” Dick sighed, his arms tightening around Damian, just a bit. “He’s not...the nicest guy. He does a lot of really bad things, has done a lot of bad things to me before, but tonight...” Tonight he had saved Dick’s life. Patched him up. And if he had acted weird upon realizing that Dick as an omega he had at least not tried anything funny...Or said anything hurtful. ”He was oddly nice.”
“And you’re certain you are not talking about Todd?”
“I’m certain.”
Damian shrugged, “Perhaps, like Todd, this person is getting ready to turn over a new leaf.” It was the logical jump for him to make. Jason had turned back from trying to kill them to being a part of the family again. Even Damian had once been set against Bruce and his ilk.
Could it be that simple this time?
Probably not.
With great reluctance Dick made Damian get up so he could shower and head for bed. The showers in the cave were fine. He would have preferred going upstairs and getting his bath to relax, but Alfred’s rule about washing off before leaving the cave was not to be toyed with. He was just about to jump into the steamy water when Dick caught a look at himself in the little vanity mirror Bruce had set up ages ago.
There on his cheek was a band aid he hadn’t been aware of before. He hadn’t even known that he had been cut there! But what really stuck out, what was so unbelievable he couldn’t stop staring at it. Was the band aid was pink. Pink! With a little picture of Hello Kitty on it.
What.
The.
Fuzz!
“The omega scouts, indeed.” Dick said in something that felt a lot like shock. He poked at the little kitty face and winced, because whatever was under there really hurt!
“Hello Kitty?”
Hello Kitty!
Maybe aliens had fallen to earth and one had replaced Slade. That was really the only explanation he had at this point.
It was all he could think of as he showered, not even able to focus on how good the scalding water felt. It was the only thing running through his mind as he pulled on some boxers and a loose pair of lounge pants from his stash. It raced through his mind all through and up to the point where he stood looking down at the discarded shirt Slade had lent him.
He refused to think about it as he picked the shirt up and slipped it on. He was clean, and safe, and warm, and he just wanted to sleep. Heading upstairs he decided to put it off until later. In the morning, or afternoon. It wouldn’t make anymore sense then, but he was far too tired to do anything about it now, certainly.
His bed was large and warm. Nest like in it’s multitude of blankets and pillows. There were little things from each of his family members. A shirt from both Bruce and Jason. With Jason’s actual scent on it. A pillow from Tim’s room and a scarf from Damian. Alfred had even given him a set of gloves, strong with his soothing beta as they had sat right on his wrists for a full day. All of the scents of his family, of his pack mingled together with his own. Home. It said. Safety and love.
As he lay down all he could smell though was leather and aged vanilla. Strong and sweet. All he could think of was a wry smile and a piercing blue eye.
When tossing and turning did nothing to help him rest Dick rose and headed back to the cave. It took far longer than he would ever admit to find what he needed. Tim could have done it in half the time.
Oracle probably could have told him off the top of her head.
But after two hours of searching Dick had the number he needed.
His finger hovered over the ‘send’ button in the message app for several agonizing seconds. It was stupid.
It was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done.
But eventually the urge won out.
‘Message Sent.’
It was with a new, strangely intoxicating lightness that Dick headed back upstairs, fell into his nest and, with his nose pressed into the collar of Slade’s shirt, fell fast asleep.
~~~
The target wasn’t too high profile. A lawyer, upper class, dealt in criminal defense for the most part. In fact it was so low profile that Slade wouldn’t have taken it expect that the client had paid triple. And it gave him an excuse to visit Gotham. To maybe spot a certain bird, if he was lucky. Which it turned out he was.
It had been a fluke, if a happy one, that had him looking in the right direction at the right time to see a slender shadow jumping across the Gothic buildings. He had given up the tracking of a one Miss Clara Owen to follow Nightwing. It was a better chase anyway. Got the blood pumping at least. Clara Owen was so dull all he would need to do is poison one of the thousands of lattes she imbibed all throughout the day.
He followed Nightwing to a secluded and deserted warehouse, watched as he set up camp for a stake out. Intrigued, Slade had hidden well out of sight to do a little bird watching of his own. He hadn’t been that close to Nightwing since she was still calling herself Robin. Running around, leading a group of kids trying to make the world a better place. It was nice to see that she had embraced a little bit of her darker side. Her vigilantism taking on a slightly more aggressive tone than the Bat would have liked.
It had been, after all, what he had wanted to teach her in the first place. How to use whatever she could learn to her advantage.
The knowledge of a thing was not inherently evil, it was how one chose to use that knowledge that counted. He had known, even back then, that she could never be the assassin he was. He had simply wanted her to reach a higher potential than she could have on the path she had been one. A path that had been chosen for her.
Which, yes, was what he had done as well. Though had hoped that after learning a bit at his side she would have chosen to stay and learn more. He would have released the hold he’d had on her friends then. Taken in her in and taught her until she was actually ready to go out on her own.
But there was no reason to dwell on the failures of the past. What was done was done. She had turned out alright. Hadn’t she? A good alpha, by the looks of it. If a little on the small size. But that could happen with female alphas now and again. For a time all he did was watch Nightwing as she watched the warehouse. Her short cropped hair ruffled in the breeze, lovely face limned in the soft light of the moon. She never did like the idea of a full mask, but it would serve her identity a lot better than a little piece of cloth. She was too pretty. The mobsters probably loved her.
Around him the night exploded, and all hell broke loose.
It wasn’t Deathstroke’s business. He was in town to put down a dull lawyer. He should, by all accounts, just leave it be. But he stayed, watched Nightwing chase down and start fighting one of the vermin that had scurried from the warehouse during the commotion. She was doing a good job, all things considered, until the black out, the smoke, and the fog had plunged her and her opponent into darkness.
Slade didn’t make it there before Nightwing took a rusty pipe to the chest and couldn’t recover. He was there in time, however, to put a bullet through the fucker’s head. Nightwing didn’t rise, but he hadn’t expected that she would, he certainly hadn’t expected for her to fall flat on her back and begin to cough up blood either.
It was not the best of situations.
Then it hit him.
The scent.
Scent was an interesting thing. It lingered in the oddest of places. Things most people never realized. Scent clung to the root on a strand of a hair, could last there for days, weeks even. Though it faded fast from the strand itself. It clung under the nails for a long time. Nail clippings had helped him identify a mark more often than one would think. Traces of ones scent could also be found in blood. Faint, to a normal person, but for Slade it was always a calling card. He had scented Nightwing’s blood before. Back when she was Robin. Unpresented. A child’s scent, clean, with a hint of fresh rain and orange blossoms.
It had matured now. It was a breath of fresh air, the ocean, clean sheets right out of the sun and wind. Oranges, flowers. Everything that had been promised in youth was there, and so much more.
Omega.
Nightwing was an omega.
He reached up, pawing at the pipe sticking out of his chest.
His chest! Small, and muscled, but there were the curves one would expect on an omega as well. Now that he was closer, now that he was looking for it.
“Don’t touch that!” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a command, but he was not at his best right then. Of course it only served to kick home what he was just realizing. If Nightwing had been an alpha the command wouldn’t have stuck. As it was, he lowered his hand instantly, a little whine escaping from his throat.
Not a sound an alpha made...
Gods, but he was fucked.
Nightwing passed out not long after that, and it wasn’t like Slade could just leave him there to bleed out in an abandoned warehouse. In the rain.
He told himself he would just patch the kid up and let him go. Set him free and not look back. Omegas were trouble. He’d always stayed clear. Hell, even his ex had been a beta. That was bad enough. Omegas made you fuzzy. Made the instincts want to come out and take a bigger role where logic was needed. It was okay to go get your rocks off with one once in a while, but beyond that Slade had a strict no omega policy.
And that was how it was going to stay.
He didn’t linger on the hurt he had seen in Grayson’s eyes when he had realized that Slade was acting off. Accurately assuming because he had realized his true dynamic. He certainly wasn’t being plagued with how Grayson’s scent had changed, soured, when Slade hadn’t jumped to correct him.
He wouldn’t even allow himself to replay how warm, how...good, it had felt to be close to him in the confined entrance to his hideout.
Nightwing was an omega.
His Robin was an omega.
Which meant that Slade needed let him go and not torment himself by coming back. He couldn’t train an omega. Slade couldn’t be the guiding light that he would need. What did Slade know about teaching omegas to fight? About helping them grow?
Nothing! That was what.
As soon as whichever bat had come to pick Nightwing up Slade gathered his things and left. He had a job to do. A boring, dull as dirt job that he was going to knock out in an hour and then leave the city for an extended period of time.
He had been watching Clara Owen chug lattes for hours now as she hunched over paperwork in her fifth story apartment. Already the horizon shimmered with pale blue, the sun would soon follow. His cover would be obsolete. The Time to have pulled the trigger had been hours ago. Every second, every inch of gaining light made the shot riskier.
The first golden rays of dawn reached his perch just as Slade was finishing stowing his rig and gun. The night had been a bust and it was no one’s fault by his own. He hadn’t allowed himself to be so distracted on a mission since he had been in training. Anger rolled through him as he realized he would need to stay in the city for at least another night. Unless he wanted to go down and poison of her damnable coffee drinks.
He took his phone out, turning it on, itching to see the notifications he may have acquired in the night. He never looked at the damn thing during a mission, always had it turned off so as not to distract him. He usually didn’t even entertain the idea of picking up another contract with one still active, he just really needed to get the hell out of Gotham.
There had been a contract that came in over week ago, something about a target in a Floridian Bayou. Summer was a breath away and the pay wasn’t quite on par for dealing with that kind of heat and humidity, not to mention the mosquitoes. But suddenly spending a few nights on the shore with a stiff drink and a good cigar was just what the doctor ordered.
There was exactly one notification that chimed when the phone had finished loading. A text from an unknown and private number. Usually hopeful clients called, left needlessly flowery messages. Those used to dealing with men like Slade were efficient and to the point. The first timers showed their nerves in rambling words and poor attempts at coded language. It was rare that someone ever sent him a text.
A text. Just the one.
Wry amusement turned into...something else, something almost painful as he read what it was.
“Are you being the sort of alpha Hello Kitty would be proud of?
(=^･ ･^=)✿”
Grayson. There was no one else it could be. Those had been the only band aids in the small town he’d been visiting before this fucking mission! If his emergency stash hadn’t been ruined in that flood.
No, no, he didn’t need to explain himself. He quickly deleted the message he had written in a flurry. Grayson had always known how to get under his skin. The little twerp. She was going to be-
He stopped cold, phone clutched in his hands, Grayson’s cutesy message staring blindingly bright at him. Grayson wasn’t an alpha, he wasn’t going to do anything that Slade had thought he might.
It took a few seconds for Slade to realize why his heart was pounding as it was. What the pain meant. It had been way too long since anything had made him feel....well...anything.
Nightwing wasn’t going to be the brash, commanding alpha that Slade had tried to coach Robin into.
No.
He was going to be something far better.
Already was.
How strong did an omega need to be to stand up to alphas and betas on a nightly basis? How determined and sure of themselves and their talents.
Of their safety nets.
Grayson hadn’t waited more than fifteen minutes before someone was there for him. It had just been him on the stakeout, but he hadn’t really been alone. Had he?
The pain under his ribs grew into something familiar. Regret always stung, no matter how often he encountered it.
The sun was warm on his back before he finally found the right thing to say.
“Get some rest, little bird.” He hit send as quickly as he could before shoving the phone in his pocket. It had been a late night, and Grayson was injured. He would be out for a while-
The phone buzzed against his leg.
He made it two minutes before pulling it out.
“It’s Richard now.”
The next two notifications hit while he was still blinking down at the name. One right after the other.
“Dick.”
“(^_<)〜☆”
Slade snorted, it was just too fitting. “Go to sleep.” He texted back, after a moments pause he added, “Dick.”
Tucking his phone back into his pocket Slade setting into the shadowed eave of his stakeout spot. Clara Owen wasn’t going anywhere soon.
And neither was Slade.