Chapter Text
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Chapter One
An Unexpected Visitor
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Nine months. It was never meant to be nine months. Granted, when it came to magic and portals to nowhere, there was never any given month of return but when Batman had stepped through that portal with Constantine, no one had expected them to be gone so long. A week, maybe two, but not this.
Bruce Wayne’s pack had been operating without him for nine long months. They weren’t holy unprepared for it, Bruce allowing them more and more free reign in the last year or so. This meant that Batman’s absence went largely unnoticed by the petty criminals that slid from street to ally each night.
The smarter, better-connected villains caught on a little more quickly. Still, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake and Bruce’s own alpha born son, Damian, were keeping the city’s catastrophes down to a minimum.
Just.
“This wasn’t your mission! All you had to do was wait on the fucking roof for my signal!”
“What does it matter? I got them which is more than I can say for you,” Damian sneered as Jason pressed the clothe harder over his bleeding arm to try and stem the flow.
“You broke cover early! This should have been an easy job, but you had to go and-”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do! I’m-”
“Both of you, shut up!” Dick snarled. Jason and Damian turned on him, their teeth bared. The room stank of pissed off alpha and irate beta. Thankfully, Dick was far to use to it for it to bother him.
“Jason, sit down so Alfred can check your arm. Damian, lower your voice, Tim is trying to sleep.” Damian snarled angrily, showing canines but Dick strode towards him and grabbed the young teen by the neck, forcing him into a nearby chair with enough force to make the timber creak. Alfred stood patiently with his usual tray of medical supplies. Though he was there for Jason’s injury, it was at Dick that the old betas concerned gaze travelled.
Dick knew he looked like shit. Partly it was lack of sleep but mostly it was from trying to keep the family pack from killing each other. This was made all the more difficult due to the fact that he was an omega. Dick didn’t have the overwhelming command of an alpha voice or even the stability of a beta, but Dick was the oldest of the family and the most experienced. Damian was still underage, and Tim was another omega and both boys were still in school. That left Jason. He was a beta, but his more violent methods kept him in a continuous battle of wills with Dick.
There was never a night that seemed to go smoothly, and Dick was thoroughly sick of it. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Black Mask had been carefully picking targets, testing the Wayne pack’s skills and reach and he wasn’t the only one. Dick knew that the whispers were already circulating that Batman was gone for good.
Dick still got a tight, uncomfortable feeling in his gut to think about it. There was no point in lingering on that thought. Right now, he just had to keep his family safe and stop Damian and Jason from being arrested. He could already feel a fresh headache forming.
“It’s not deep Master Jason,” Alfred said as he carefully cleaned the long gash in the beta’s arm. Damian was sulking in his chair. He was already a handful before Bruce left. Now it felt like the young alpha was challenging Dick every other day. Damian was too young for any of his alpha traits to have fully formed but his belief that he should have more control over the family pack was loud and unsurprisingly, not shared by the others.
“The trucks were headed for the Dixon Docks,” Jason grunted.
“Did you get a tracker on any of them?” Dick asked as Alfred began to unwind a wide bandage.
“Well I did whilst he was busy-”
“Enough Damian. This isn’t a competition.” Dick could hear the weariness in his own voice. How the fuck did Bruce manage to do this every night and run multibillion dollar company by day?
“We can’t follow them tonight anyway. We’ll pick up the trial tomorrow night,” he added. Damian scowled. He opened his mouth to protest but snapped it closed again at the stern look Alfred gave him. Dick couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection for the old beta.
“That is a wise decision Master Dick. May I suggest you all get some rest? I’ll clean up here,” the man said as he began to pack away the cleaning supplies. Dick stared mutely at the tabletop, now slicked over with the drops of cooling blood. Jason was already getting to his feet. Damian shrugged and stalked away.
Dick reached out to Jason's retreating figure. “Jason-”
“It’s fine, I didn’t kill any of them,” Jason snapped as he to strode away in the opposite direction. Dick watched them go.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” Dick confessed quietly. Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing firmly.
“They can be a handful, but you have done well,” Alfred assured him.
Dick gave a dry humourless laugh. “If you say so,” he sighed.
“How many weeks have you got left?” Alfred asked and Dick felt his shoulders sag further.
"Two weeks, maybe three.” He wasn’t surprised Alfred had kept track. Going into heat for an unclaimed omega was akin to hell on earth. For the most part, Dick never considered his natural born station a problem. He was more than capable of ignoring the stereotypes. He never cared that there were still those who believed omegas should be little more than quietly submissive stay at home parents.
He wore scent blockers in the field, but heats were always a problem. Even the best suppressants were never as good as they were marketed to be. In order to be effective, they had to be taken weeks in advance. They had to utterly deaden the body’s natural senses and left the taker effectively stoned. This could last for two weeks. Dick couldn’t afford to be drugged up out of his brain for two weeks, not when they were being attacked every other day.
The world wasn’t interested in making better suppressants. Omegas were there to be bred, to put more pups in the world. What would be the point of preventing that? Dick shivered. His heat would only last five days but they would be the most horrific five days of the season. Aside from the intense temperature fluctuations, the burning unsatisfied arousal and aching muscles, his need to bond would be so intense he could and had done serious damage to himself just to make the pain stop.
Bruce had never claimed them sexually. Logically, Dick understood why. Tim was underage for starters but just as importantly, Bruce saw himself as their father. Whilst he wasn’t related to them by blood, he had raised them from young pups. That fact didn’t make the heats any easier for Dick though. To burn through them with the presence of a healthy powerful alpha in the same vicinity had been nothing short of torture. Damian had made light of how dramatic Dick was being about his heats. Bruce had turned full alpha that day and ordered Damian to help Dick through the remainder of his heat.
Dick could still vividly remember the expression on Damian’s pale young face as Dick had writhed in his makeshift nest, screaming bloody murder for Damian to just end it and kill him. Damian never made light of another heat again.
That was what Dick was facing. Except now Bruce wasn’t even here to be sure the pack was safe whilst Dick was out of commission. Something like dread, heavy and sickening, coiled in his belly. He would just have to endure it. For the pack’s sake.
“I was thinking of asking Roy to stay for the week to provide a little extra cover,” he said finally. Alfred nodded.
“That sounds like a good idea master Dick. I’ll make the arrangements.”
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It was oddly early in the next evening when the perimeter alarms went off. Dick frowned, looking up from his half-drunk coffee. He had been about to go on patrol with Jason. They were both in full uniform. It was only a little after six and someone was entering the grounds.
“Alfred?” Dick asked as he rose from his chair.
“Who would be that stupid?” Damian sneered. He had been itching for a fight ever since Dick had told him he wasn’t coming with them. Tim looked up from his half-touched plate of food. Alfred was frowning down at a monitor. Dick watched with dread as colour receded from the butler's face.
“Master Dick, it’s Deathstroke. He is coming up the main drive.” This announced shocked the room into stillness. If Deathstroke was here for a contract, surely, he wouldn’t stroll up the main road? But then why the hell would he be here? Jason, helmet still on the table, took two steps towards the door before the lights died in the mansion.
“What the fuck is going on?” Damian’s voice bellowed somewhere near the doorway. Hot panic flared in Dick’s chest.
“Damian stay there!” he shouted, noting the strangled edge in his voice. The front doors of the manor banged open as Deathstroke let himself into the foyer.
The word for the situation was surreal. They watched, stunned into stillness as Deathstroke the Terminator walked easily up the stairs and into the dining room as though he owned the place. The shock was only amplified when they realized that the man was not wearing his mask. White hair and beard, eyepatch in place, he wore his full armour without hiding his face and that, more than anything else, sent a chill of fear through Dick.
“Good evening gentlemen,” he said coolly. He was holding up a thick manilla folder.
“What is he doing here?” Damian spluttered angrily. No one answered him.
“I have something for you all.” Slade laid the folder on the table and pushed it towards them. It came to a halt in front of Nightwing. Dick stared at it, his body tense. He glanced at the assassin, perfectly relaxed and lethal where he stood in Bruce Wayne’s house.
“What is this?” Dick asked, his tone as level as he could force it.
“It is my claim to this pack and it’s estate,” Slade replied. Dick reached forward and picked up the bundle of documents. He opened the file and skimmed the contents, his mouth going dry. This was part of the old laws. Though still legally binding, he didn’t know many people who still used them.
“What, don’t get paid enough anymore?” Jason growled at Deathstroke. Slade shrugged one shoulder.
“You’re challenging the alpha of this pack for its territory, assets and members,” Dick said in a quiet voice. Damian stiffened. Jason’s head jerked around to look at him, mouth hanging open.
“Correct.” Slade inclined his head. Damian made to take a step forward, but Dick cut across him.
“The alpha of this pack isn’t here. I’m in charge whilst he’s gone,” Dick said though he had a solid feeling that Slade already knew this. Damian was underage. Being Bruce’s biological son and an alpha, if Slade won, he would be within his rights to kill him. There was no way in hell Dick was going to step aside and let Slade slaughter the boy.
“Are you going to fight me Nightwing?” The cadence of that voice moved hot and heavy through Dick’s bones. Amused, expectant. Slade knew Bruce wasn’t here, had probably known for months. Dick swallowed.
“He’s not the only one. Even you can’t fight all four of us,” Damian snarled. Tim looked from Dick to Deathstroke, his eyes wide. He was still dressed in civilian clothes, his only weapons the metal cutlery he had been using to pick at his dinner.
“We aren’t just going to let him walk in here and take over,” Damian added angrily.
“This is a legal claim,” Dick said as he looked down at the state crest on the documents.
“Fuck legal! I say we kill him now,” Damian barked. He was still in his civilian clothes too, but he looked ready to fight regardless, his hands flexed into fists. Slade regarded them calmly. Dick had known for years that Slade was an alpha. Had known ever since he first met the man.
This suddenly felt like a different scene from a lifetime ago where Dick wore the red and green and faced down Slade on a dark rooftop. He remembered the scents of gun oil, wet concrete, and leather. Remembered the feel of blocking Slade’s bo-staff, the vibration of the blow running up his arms. Nightwing wasn’t that boy anymore. He was fairly sure that Slade had not known he was an omega back then, underage as he was and using the scent blockers Bruce had given him.
The man would have known later, crossing him again as the adult Nightwing. Dick remembered vividly that fight in late June, losing his footing on a rain-soaked skylight, Slade pinning him to the side of the building. Dick hadn’t been due to go into heat for another week but beaten and pinned, his nose in Slade’s neck and Slade’s hand around his throat, Dick had made a sound.
An omega’s whimper that had Slade inhaling deeply. That stormy grey eye had narrowed and that hand around his throat squeezed just a little… Even after Batman had swooped in and separated the two, the damage had been done. Dick had gone back to the manor that night and almost immediately went into heat.
He swallowed, throat clicking. “You’re here for us specifically, not just the money and assets.” This time Dick’s voice did break a little as the full gravity of the situation came crashing down around them. Bruce wasn’t here to defend or represent his pack. Only Dick, and Slade knew he was not the alpha the public thought he was. It was only his training that stopped his legs from shaking as Slade met his gaze with blazing intensity and nodded.
“Fuck this.” Damian let out a roar as he charged the alpha. Dick tried to grab him but missed, Damian leaping onto the table and running straight for the assassin. Jason swore, drawing weapons as the room erupted into chaos. Damian wasn’t thinking straight. In the dark Dick caught sight of a glint of metal.
Unarmed and without his costume, Damian connected with Slade without his usual grace. The large man barely staggered, taking the full impact of the flying kick with a tucked forearm. Damian dropped into a deep crouch, his fist hooking around in attempt to take out the man’s knee. Slade lifted his leg, the younger alpha’s knuckles connecting with the metal plating on his shin instead. Damian snarled but his quick reflexes sent him back bending out of the way as Slade swung a kick towards him.
Back on his feet, Damian charged in again. Still reckless, still more rage than sense, he swung wildly, and Slade had no trouble blocking each punch as it came. Dick sprang forward to help, but he didn’t get two strides before there was a spark of electricity and Damian shouted in pain. In the dark, Dick made out Damian’s form crumpling to the ground with a groan. Slade knelt and cuffed the boy’s arms behind his back in one swift movement that was done in a blink of an eye. Deathstroke straightened.
“Damian!” Tim shouted.
“Stay there!” Dick barked but Jason was already running. The sound of the first bullet was near deafening in the confined space. Slade moved with almost unnatural speed, using the lack of lighting to his advantage. A blade flew from his fingertips and Jason had to throw himself sideways to avoid it. In seconds Slade was clearing the distance and was on Jason. The gun was sent skittering across the floor as Slade brought his forearm up against Jason elbow and jerked, dislocating the beta’s arm. Jason howled in pain but didn’t drop back. He slammed his knee into Slade’s midsection as Tim lunged at the mercenary from behind.
Slade reached back and gripped Tim by the hair, flinging him bodily into the table. Tim’s yelp of pain made Jason snarl. He punched with his good arm, catching Slade in the jaw, and managed to get one more kick in before Slade hooked his ankle and wrenched him forward. Jason overbalanced and landed hard on his injured shoulder, head cracking against the ground.
Slade stepped over him and faced off with Nightwing. ‘Just you and me little bird.’
Nightwing charged.
There was something deeply familiar about the way they began their fight. More dance then combat, they traded near misses as Dick darted in and away from strikes most people wouldn’t see until they connected. Dick wasn’t stupid. So far, Slade was testing him, feeling for weaknesses as they moved around each other.
The man’s leg suddenly snapped up. Dick spun to avoid the descending booted heel from colliding with his collarbone, but Slade’s elbow rushed up to meet him. His block was slow, and the impact nearly gave him a dead arm as the man’s elbow hit the pressure point with painful accuracy. Nightwing kicked but Slade moved in instead of away, punching hard. Dick jumped back, straight into range of a steel toed boot. The kick landed viciously against his side and Dick gasped, feeling fire explode along his ribs. He crumpled back, changing his stance to put his injured side furthest away.
It felt pathetically optimistic. He could hardly best Slade when he was in peak condition. Now, exhausted, and barely able to breathe, the fight seemed insanely one sided. Dick dodged the next kick, fighting the pain in his chest and the small winking lights in his vision. He withdrew his escrima sticks from the straps on his thigh. Alfred still didn’t have the Manor lights back on yet and it was only the faint gleam from Deathstroke’s armour that gave the taller man away. There was a sharp snick of metal and Dick only just brought the escrima around in time to bloke the katana.
He wasn’t so lucky blocking the second sword.
He hissed in pain as the blade sliced through the kevlar of his uniform and cut into his shoulder. He moved with it, stepping back. The cut was bleeding but mercifully shallow. Dick couldn’t get his breath back, fighting his injured ribcage for every inhale. The clang of metal echoed in the room as the katana met his escrima again and again, the taller man forcing his advantage until Dick’s foot hit Damian’s fallen body. He stumbled backwards and Slade kicked up. It caught him in the stomach and Nightwing hit the ground hard. This time he couldn’t get back up.
“You’ve lost, Nightwing.” Dick blinked dazedly, temporarily paralysed by the pain radiating through his limbs. He could taste blood in his mouth. He must had bitten his tongue when he had landed. There was the steady sound of footsteps as Slade walked over to where Jason still lay. The beta was regaining consciousness. Slade rolled him roughly onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back.
“Don’t hurt them,” Dick croaked. He forced himself to stand, his shaking legs threatening to buckle. Tim was sitting up, his back pressed up against the wide table leg. Slade regarded the young omega thoughtfully.
“Slade, please, don’t hurt them,” Dick rasped again. Deathstroke turned back to him.
“They are just kids,” Dick rasped. His side was aching deeply, sharpening to liquid fire on every inhale. He guessed he had a few cracked ribs.
“We both know you were already running around making trouble with the bat at their age,” Slade mused.
“Younger,” Dick admitted. There was no point in lying. All he could do was hope to light them in a way that would interest the alpha.
“But they are family. Tim isn’t like me. He won’t cause you any trouble,” Dick pleaded, then added again in a hoarse whisper;
“Please, just don’t hurt them.” His voice wavered as he met a cold gaze. They stood that way in silence for a long moment, Dick barely daring to breathe.
“Convince me.” It was an order. Dick felt something inside him clench. Swallowing hard, he did the only thing that made sense and slowly went to his knees in front of the man. It was difficult to tell but he thought he heard the man inhale sharply. He expected a snide comment or even for the man’s booted foot to connect with his skull. What he didn’t expect was for the gloves fingers to slide into his hair. He shivered, finally letting out a shaky exhale.
“The young alpha is more useful to me alive for the moment. Your beta too and I have no interest in killing two healthy omegas, underage or not. The alpha and the beta will be more difficult to break in, but I look forward to the challenge.” Jason growled weakly though he seemed unable to sit up from where he lay.
“Your pack is mine now Richard Grayson, and so are you.” It was so insanely strange to hear his full name come from Deathstroke’s mouth. He didn’t move from his kneeling position as the man crouched in front of him, nor when the hand slid from his hair to his jaw, turning his head to the side. He closed his eyes as the man leant in. He felt Slade run a finger along the scent blocker strip. He found the edge and peeling it slowly from Dick’s skin.
Slade’s head lowered and the alpha breathed in deep. Dick shivered heavily, feeling the light scruff of the man’s beard along his sensitive scent glands. So close to the man, Dick could smell the alpha’s own pheromones. It was like rich aged scotch, leather, gun oil, cloves, and vanilla. It made Dick’s head swim and his muscles clench.
The man’s cheek rubbed once against his own, scenting him thoroughly and Dick couldn’t help but gasp. The touch was so foreign that his fogged brain didn’t know if he wanted to press into it or away. Slade growled, a deep powerful reverberation that stopped the oxygen in Dick’s lungs and forced an instinctual strangled sound in response.
The man buried his face in Dick’s neck and the feel of lips and teeth had Dick arching. He had expected agony, had braced for it. The sharpness of the alpha’s canines made the cuts clean. The stab of pain was quickly subsided by a deep burst of heat that spread along his nerves. The flood of endorphins had his muscles relaxing and his body going submissively limp.
He gasped, tipping forward but Slade took a grip of his upper arms, holding him steady. Slade worked his jaw, biting hard as the new pack bond slammed into place with the finality and precision of a knife wound. Dick whimpered, his limbs becoming heavy. He felt blood trickle sluggishly down his neck just before he blacked out.
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END
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