Chapter Text
Jason's fidgeting, reluctantly letting Dick trace careful black lines around the edge of his eyes, when the stranger rides into town. He catches a glimpse over Dick's shoulder, eyes narrowing and head tilting before he thinks about it to try and get a better look. Big, dappled grey horse, easily a third again the size of any horse in their stables except maybe Bruce's, with a man on top that—
"Jason." Dick censures, firmly pulling his chin back with a frown. "Come on, I'm almost done."
He huffs, distracted for a second by the resumed poking at his eyelid before his gaze flicks back towards the rider. He can still see a little, without moving his face. Only general things, though, with the distance between them. Big, dressed in blacks and browns varied enough they'd probably blend to forest shadows real easily. He's got rough-cut white hair, an equally white beard, but when he swings off the horse it doesn't look like there's any stiffness or signs of age in it. Weird.
Hell of a rifle slung across his back.
"Who's that?" he asks, flicking his eyes towards the man instead of moving his head so Dick doesn't just stab him in the eye and call it a day.
Dick ignores him for a second, finishing the last sweep of the brush off the corner of his right eye, before letting go of his chin and leaning back. He starts to clean off the little brush in the bowl of water next to them before turning, looking over his shoulder to follow Jason's line of sight. His shoulders tighten, the next moment. Lip pulling back in a quiet snarl as he almost shifts to get up, and then shakes it all off in the next second. He turns his back, sharp and final.
"No one. Just some alpha here for the hunt, probably."
Jason blinks, looks at the man again. He's gathering the reins for his horse, starting to head towards the stables like he knows where they are. "Bullshit," he says flatly. "Who is it?"
Dick gives him That Look that he hates. The 'this is alpha business' look he must have learned straight from Bruce. "Don't worry about it. Bruce will deal with him."
"Alright, I'll find out myself."
Dick grabs him the second he starts to stand, dragging him back down to the stool with a hissed, "Jason."
"Dick," he snaps back, flashing his teeth, bristling a little. "Let go of me."
"Only if you promise you're not going over there."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You—” Dick cuts himself off, takes a breath. "Jason, just trust me, okay? You don't want to get involved with him, and he'll be gone before the hunt. He's probably just here to trade."
Yeah right. No alpha shows up the night before a hunt to trade. Especially not an alpha that Jason's never even seen before. Coincidences like that don't happen.
"'No unmated alpha can be barred from the hunt. For the continued survival of the human race, diversity must be ensured,'" Jason parrots, in exactly as annoying and high-pitched a voice as the whole speech deserves. The whole thing goes on to talk about the hunts, and why they're necessary, and all that, but he thinks he's made his point with just those two lines. "I'm not an idiot, Dick. Let go."
For a second, Dick looks like he might start a fight. Then he exhales, and lets go before lifting both hands in surrender. "Alright. Fine."
Jason leans back and crosses his arms. (He steals a small glance in the direction of the stranger. He's nearly made it to the stables.) “So?”
"His name's Slade," Dick says, clipped enough he obviously doesn't want to be saying it. "He's an outsider, he lives a few day's ride into the mountains."
After a few moments, it becomes clear that Dick apparently thinks that that's enough. Like that explains his reaction, or the refusal to talk about the man. Outsiders might tend to be more dangerous than most, but that doesn't exclude them from hunts any more than anyone else. Not unless they've got a history of being violent towards their mates.
Jason gives it another second, then presses, "And?"
Dick frowns at him. "And nothing. He’s a dick, that’s all.”
What a liar. "You're one to talk about being a dick." He gets up, swinging off the stool and this time Dick doesn't stop him. "Whatever."
'Slade' and his horse have vanished from sight, probably into the stable. It's tempting to go after him, just to spite Dick for trying to tell him he can't, but he decides not to. There's not actually anything to gain other than spiting Dick, and if he goes that way Dick will chase him anyway, and it'll be a whole thing and he just doesn't want to deal with it. He already has to make it through the dinner, and whatever assholes try and 'impress' him during it.
If Slade's here for the hunt, he'll see him there anyway. And if he's not, then he can just cold-shoulder Dick into eventually giving him the information. He can hold a grudge a lot longer than Dick can hold onto being a jackass.
"Whatever," he snaps, flashing teeth down at Dick again before he turns and walks off, back towards his room.
Asshole.
Slade leans up against the inside of the fence, sipping from his cup as he watches the rest of the gathering, letting the sound wash over him. The bonfire marks the center, long tables on either side set up along the deep line carved through the center of the space. On his side, the alphas. Most young, more than a handful shirtless, shoving at each other and scuffling as they show off. On the other, the omegas. Dressed in their fineries, carefully groomed and styled and showing off in a very different way.
There are people here from at least three towns, that he recognizes. Probably more. The forest here has been the grounds for the ritual hunt for decades; people will have traveled from weeks out to attend, a party of the unmated alphas and omegas, and enough guardians to make sure they arrive safely, and are treated fairly.
He doesn't have particularly high expectations, but maybe somewhere in that crowd of omegas is one that's actually worth his time. One that can keep up with him and pull their weight. It's been a long time since he's joined a hunt, after all. Eight years, give or take.
Standing a head above almost all the rest of those gathered here, it's easy to let his gaze wander the crowd. There are certainly some fine omegas on the other side of the fire. Beautiful ones that he wouldn't mind putting a pup in, to 'do his part' in diversifying genetics. It's a decent backup plan, if no one else catches his eye. He won't mind teaching a lesson to a couple cocksure youngsters to earn the chance to enjoy some young, pretty thing.
Tomorrow, of course. Breaking the rules tonight would give Wayne the excuse to make him leave that he's obviously been itching for. He knows Grayson is watching him, too, in between the mitigating he's doing among the posturing alphas, as the son of the town's leader. Grayson's an unmated alpha like any of the others — shame, with looks like those; Slade would have loved to take him home — but his status in the town gives him rank among the rest. That, and the fact that he's actually quite skilled in his own right. There's more than a handful of omegas on the opposite side of that line that would love to be the focus of pretty boy Dick Grayson.
Slade's gaze wanders, skipping over the main clusters of omegas near the tables, scanning briefly before he looks towards the further edges of the open area, where the light of the fire starts to fade. Back there might be the ones who already have a partner in mind, or the ones that have retreated to the shadows to enjoy their food without being watched as they eat. Or the ones that have been pressured to come by law and expectation, and don't really want to participate.
Only a heat or an injury gets an unmated, of-age omega out of participating in a hunt.
Nothing catches his eye.
The mulled wine is warm on Slade's tongue as he drains the cup, pushing away from his chosen spot and circling around to one of the tables. He may as well eat, before the tables are entirely picked clean. A refill for his cup would be nice, too; it's practically doing these young alphas a favor, drinking enough to keep them from hangovers of their own. It's an amateur mistake that at least some will fall victim to; an alpha that isn't present at dawn, for the start of the hunt, doesn't run. Those that overindulge might not make that deadline.
He takes a bowl from the stacks near the middle of the table, ignoring the omegas at the other side eyeing him. Some with wariness, some with interest. He might look older, but he knows what else he looks like. Tall, powerful, and confident. Some omegas prefer that, over someone young and inexperienced.
Slade's just about ready to head back somewhere to eat when he hears a snarled, "Fuck off," from somewhere further down the table.
He looks up, scanning till he sees the flash of teeth, the bristling aggression. An omega, surprisingly. Taller than most of them, dressed in a dark red, long-sleeved shirt that draws tight around his waist. His hair is roughly ear length, black. There's an alpha across the table from him, leaning into it, a hand on the same bowl that the omega's reached for. Going by the smirk on his face, he's said something that he thinks is flirting but probably just came across as sleazy.
Apparently he didn't get the message.
There's an alpha to Slade's right, filling his own bowl, making eyes at a female omega across the way. Easy source of information; distracted and also clearly a little better of a judge of interest, considering how she's smiling back at him.
"Hey," he says, not quite nudging the alpha. He nods the direction of the harassing alpha, when the one next to him looks up. "What a moron, huh? He goes chasing that omega he's going to get clawed to hell."
The young alpha looks, snorts. "Yeah, he'll get worse than that. That's Jason; everyone's heard of him."
Young alphas are always such easy sources of information. "What? He a fighter?"
"No, he's Wayne's kid. You know, Grayson's brother?" The alpha glances around, leans in close, "So not worth it. From what I hear, he's got a whole corner of the forest just littered with traps. He's never been caught."
Oh really?
"Yeah," Slade agrees, patting the shoulder of the young alpha, "definitely not worth it."
The alpha's happy enough to be distracted, again, by his omega interest. Slade circles around, mainly ignored as he comes around the back of the moron alpha at the end of the table, still with his grip on the bowl. If it wasn't against rules, Slade's fairly sure he'd be grabbing a wrist instead, and he'd already be bleeding. No touching allowed, though. Not over the line.
He lowers his voice, doesn't growl — that would draw attention — but comes close to it. "Excuse me."
The alpha turns with a sharp, "What?" the jerk of his hand wrenching free the bowl from the omega's grip. There's an irritated hiss from across the table, but the alpha's attention is pretty instantly caught by how close Slade's inserted himself, looming just by virtue of his height.
He arches an eyebrow when the alpha's gaze manages to get high enough to actually look at his face. He's obviously unnerved, and he rallies for a moment with a halfhearted snarl, but a simple lack of reaction extinguishes that fast enough. The alpha swallows, steps back and then scoffs and stalks off, as if he meant to leave anyway.
Slade watches him long enough to make sure he's leaving, before turning back to the table. The omega, Jason, has his shoulders raised and his eyes — pretty shade, blue with green flecks — narrowed, clearly ready to defend himself now, too. Slade wonders how long he has before Grayson notices that he's near his precious brother. Probably not long, considering how closely Grayson and his father have been watching him all night; this must be why the two of them have been so aggressive.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Jason demands, through the baring of his teeth.
Slade shrugs, setting his bowl down on the corner of the table and reaching for one of the platters at the center. "Nothing. I saw something that looked interesting, and he was in the way." He adds the slice of meat — deer, looks like; well cooked — to the top of the bowl, then reaches for a nearby pitcher to fill his cup. "Jason, isn't it?"
"And you're Slade," comes the sharp answer. "I've heard you're an asshole."
Slade snorts, but lets that fall aside. "Your father and brother like to be in control, and I don't cater to it." He looks up, lifting his now full cup to his lips. "And they don't like the fact that I'm the best hunter in a thousand miles, and I know what my skills are worth."
The boy's hostility wavers a little, shifting to fascination for a second before he wrenches it back. "What kind of a hunter?"
There's the bite.
"Criminals." He smirks, making the insinuation very clear when he adds, "Predators. If I feel like it."
Jason's gaze flicks down his chest, and back up. His arms cross. "Is that what you're doing here? Hunting predators?"
Boy likes wordplay, doesn't he?
Slade makes a show of turning his head, looking towards some of the other omegas as he hums, deep in his throat. He looks back to Jason before answering, "If I find any." The interest is a little more blatant this time, and not reined in as quickly. The boy's probably far enough on the hook to try tugging. "I hear you've never been caught."
Jason's chin lifts a touch. A fool would take it as submission, and ignore the threat in his eyes. "You taking that as a challenge?"
"I like a challenge," he admits, freely enough. "But I respect how dangerous a predator can be. Especially when they don't want to be hunted."
From across the table, in the midst of the whole other mess of scents in the air, he gets the smallest flick of rich, thick spice. Anyone else would probably dismiss it as the lingering taste of the wine on his tongue. Jason inhales as well. Swallows, and licks his lips subconsciously. He's struck a cord, apparently. Good.
Slade lowers a hand and pushes his bowl across the table, till it's in front of Jason. It's not exactly standard courting, but the hunt demands he make concessions for time. He'll know soon enough whether his interest is reciprocated enough to make the boy willing to be chased.
"Good to meet you, Jason."
He gets a stiff nod, and doesn't wait for anything verbal to turn and leave. A quick glance across the alphas in front of him picks out a target. Posturing, big and with enough charisma to be holding court in his little circle, gaze flickering around like he's spoiling for a fight. Looking for the biggest, baddest person around to go after to show off for everyone. That's perfect. Slade only has to step within a dozen feet to draw attention, and the alpha immediately puffs up and starts to close the distance. Eyes bigger than his stomach, this one.
"Hey!"
Slade pretends that he's only just noticed the boy, turning just as the alpha gets to him. "Something I can help you with, kid?"
The flashed teeth say the alpha's not fond of that term. "Aren't you a little old to be here, grandpa?" he tries. A hand comes up and shoves at Slade's shoulder, none too gently. He lets it rock him back a bit. "You should leave the hunt to the ones that can still get it up."
Not terribly creative, is he?
Slade takes his time raking his gaze down the boy's frame, and back up. He lets his lips curl enough to suggest a smirk. "You don't want to play with me, boy. Run along."
The pride of a young, arrogant alpha trying to show off is an easily predictable thing. The boy inhales and glares, glances back at his watching friends, and then squares up and swings at his blind side.
Turn into it, catch the wrist and bicep, brace a foot, back to chest, and pull.
The kid flips over his head. Hits the ground on his back with a whoosh of air and a thud heavy enough the cushion of grass doesn't begin to muffle it. Winded, probably sore come the morning, but he'll be fine. Nothing broken, nothing damaged, per the rules of the dinner. Slade doesn't mind adhering to that; there are plenty of things to target that do much more injury than just breaking an arm, after all.
(Reputation is such a fragile, easily tainted thing.)
"Deep breaths," Slade reminds the gasping kid, making no effort to hide his amusement. "Pick a better target next time, kid. Maybe someone your own age; might be better for your skillset."
The little alpha snarls, but it's breathless. He's harmless.
Slade steps back and lifts his gaze, looking over the heads of the rest of them to the table he left. Jason's still lingering there, watching. Good.
He tilts his head a bit, offering the suggestion of a question without having to approach and say it. 'Impressed?' he might drawl if he were closer. Pair it with a smirk and lean in, use his height and the breadth of his build to show off how big he is compared to the rest of these pups. From this distance, though, all he can do is offer that question.
("Like what you see?")
Jason holds his gaze through the crowd, and crosses his arms with very deliberate indifference. His head tilts, gaze flicking away to look at something else. Not impressed with the random stranger, then. He's picked his own challenge.
Slade nearly laughs, when he follows that indication to its target.
Grayson. The boy's offering up Grayson.
This'll be fun.
He steps around the winded alpha still at his feet, wandering the direction of where Grayson's enmeshed in his own little group of alphas. Most of them are familiar; various sons and daughters of important members of the local communities. This, and others. The 'elite,' if any of these striplings can claim such a title. Even among them, Grayson stands apart as the leader. Doesn't take him more than a few seconds to notice Slade's approach, either, even indirect as it is. Of course not, boy's been keeping an eye on him all night. He's just been waiting for Slade to make trouble of some kind.
Slade, on the other hand, is better at keeping his intent hidden when he wants to. He lets Grayson watch him for a couple moments before looking over to catch the gaze head on. The boy holds it instead of pretending he wasn't looking, radiating enough challenge that even his friends can't help but notice. What a lovely, convenient excuse to head over. Grayson's always so obligingly aggressive.
It's excellently obliging, too, how he flicks hands at his friends and dismisses them, whatever he says getting them to dissipate without apparently much of any argument. If the boy wants to face him alone, that's fine with him. Might be a little harder to coax him into a fight without peers around to impress — or look like a coward in front of — but being able to say anything he likes will make up for it.
"Want to just get it over with?" Slade asks, once he's close enough to say it without shouting.
Grayson, standing tall and proud, chin lifted enough to make his posture match the challenge in his gaze, is just controlled enough that he doesn't flash his teeth. Much. "Get what over with?"
Slade rolls his shoulders in a loose circle, as if stretching them. "The fight you're itching for. Been staring at me all night; it's either that or you’re more interested in me than any of the pretty faces on the other side of that line.” He smirks, looking Grayson up and down with a sharp flick. Nothing new, but still just as easy on the eyes as he has been for the past few years. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that; always good to get energy out before a hunt.”
He's not expecting that to be enough to get Grayson to start things, but it's enough to get him to snarl and step forward. "You know exactly why I'm watching you, Slade. I don't trust you."
"With what? Your town?" He leans forward just a bit, lowering his voice to something just he and Grayson will catch. "Or is it that brother I've been hearing about? What is it, 'Jason?'"
Grayson tenses. His hands clench. "Slade—"
"I hear he's never been caught. Been running what, three years now? Four? That's impressive." He grins. "You know how I like a challenge. Maybe I'll see if I can be the one to bring him down."
It's almost enough. Grayson looks like he's going to lunge, for a moment or two. Then he breathes out, flexes his hands. "You're trying to bait me. I don't know why, but it's not going to work."
Cute, but Slade's never let a little thing like restraint keep him from what he wants. (Especially someone else's restraint.)
"Sure it will." He tilts his head just far enough in the direction of Jason to make Grayson follow his lead and glance that way. "Sure looks interested, doesn't he? Might even welcome it when I catch him, and you know I always catch my targets. Maybe he'll appreciate actually being challenged."
Grayson doesn't quite snarl, but it's close. "Slade, stay away from him. He doesn't want kids, or a mate, and if you hurt him I swear to god…"
Slade chuckles, stepping sideways enough to suggest that he's circling Grayson, forcing him to turn his head. "So fight me, kid. You beat me, I won't run for him tomorrow. You've got my word."
"It's not fair and you know it," Grayson's quick to argue. "You're an Affected."
And far luckier than most that have that name.
"Anything's fair in a hunt. You could always wait. Recruit your little alpha friends to try and bring me down tomorrow." He shifts uncomfortably close, listening to the way Grayson's breath catches slightly. "But I won't be on a leash tomorrow. You want to try and get in my way when I don't have to play nice, kid?" A fraction closer. Grayson's shoulders are stiff as a board. "Does that really sound like a good idea?"
Grayson glares up at him. There's a sharp, calculating edge at the back of his eyes; that mind that Slade's always appreciated, back behind the good looks. Really is a shame that Grayson's a bit more on the traditional side. He might be a truly excellent fuck, if he'd get away from that whole respectable, uptight role he's chosen for himself. Then again, Grayson's traditional in other ways too. He probably wouldn't make it a week before he started in on wanting to share everything Slade's collected for himself with the community. 'Survival together' or whatever the little catchphrase is they teach these days.
Slade's never gone in for that. What's his, is his.
One more push, then.
"What's to lose, kid? Even if you can't beat me, you can try again tomorrow. Maybe you'll get lucky."
There it is. Another little flare of anger, but consideration, too. Grayson pauses for a moment, then suddenly snaps, "Why would you even be interested in him? You've never even run a hunt here before."
"Sure I have." Slade smirks. "But maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just bored, and your little brother is a very convenient button to press to get you to entertain me. Maybe even if you lose, I'll find someone else to chase."
Grayson never likes it when he's noncommittal. True to form, he flashes his teeth and gives a very quiet growl, probably lower than most could hear. Slade can, though, and he lets his smirk curl just a little higher to finish antagonizing him. He's already on the hook, he just needs a little more time to come to that 'decision' on his own.
The kid steps back, faces him head on.
"Fine. You're on."