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Joseph is quiet where he’s standing, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Gotham is the same as usual, the murmur of sounds and scents around him, the quiet dripping of slow raindrops somehow managing to hit the back of his neck. Wet and chilly.
A clip of news footage is rolling past the screens on the televisions lined up in the store window in front of him, announcing the rumours for Wayne’s upcoming spring charity gala. Who is going to attend, who is going to be wearing what— or who. Whether Wayne will comment on a recent business acquisition or not. And it’s the Wayne he’s used to, grey at the temples, slight kink in the nose from one too many punches and the flash of alpha fangs when he speaks on screen. Joseph is tuning it out, eye locked on the date in the corner of the news overlay.
March 26th.
He’s been back for two days.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself at first, not really. He goes to the loft, even though it wasn’t seeing regular use before he left. He has a better safehouse outside of Gotham.
But he goes to the loft anyway.
It’s dusty, having been sitting unused even before he disappeared for— apparently— four months. Wayne could be fiercely territorial for all of his charm.
It’s nothing like Slade’s loft. That had the barren look of someone who never used it anymore. Joseph’s version definitely has the look of a safehouse, and not only because he has literally painted over the windows to avoid anyone seeing in.
A simple press of his hand on a hidden panel unlocks his weapon storage, well hidden in the walls. Scent-safe, because cops were nearly always people with good noses and he didn’t trust them to not sniff out the scent of gunpowder.
His guns are all there, as well as a wide assortment of other equipment. Grenades, ropes, extra holsters, ammunition, heavier explosives. Med kits and heat packs as well, all of his safehouses had a similar stock.
Everything is exactly as Joseph remembers. He’s the one that’s not the same.
That’s how Billy finds him in the end, sitting alone in a dusty loft unsure what to do with himself. Joseph listens to him input the code to get through the door, the familiar tread of his steps.
“Slade. Thought you were dead,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he shoulders the door open with a grunt, paper shopping bag in his arms. “Guess I’ll cancel the headstone, I was gonna put you with the boys.”
It takes a moment for it to register, Joseph’s brain taking a moment to remember that Slade is his name.
“Would you really?” he murmurs, accepting the beer being handed to him without looking up. “Put me with the boys?”
Billy pauses for a moment before slowly returning to his task of emptying the bag, eyes slightly narrowed. Joseph has no idea why he’s back, but he can’t deny the fact that right now… The scent of a friend is comforting. Similar to Slade’s Billy, but not identical.
“I would,” he says after a moment. He has piled up a small stack of food items on the counter and he scrunches up the bag before taking a seat heavily in the other armchair, ignoring the dust. He bites the bottle cap off his own beer, a habit Joseph picked up from him in their earlier days.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Billy drinking his beer and watching Joseph peel the sticker off his in silence.
“Slade,” Billy says. Joseph grunts. “What the hell happened? You’ve been gone since December without a word, you walked on your last contract with the item.”
“I didn’t… Walk on it. I just… Fuck, where to start.” Joseph leans his head back against the chair, eye closed. He rubs at the skin under his eyepatch, trying to focus through the headache brewing behind his eyes.
He doesn’t know what to say.
So he says all of it. Everything, from breaking into Luthor’s lab to showing up on march 24th four months later.
He tells Billy about his withdrawal, about Slade. And haltingly, slowly, he talks about Joey. Billy listens attentively, silently. It’s probably the most time they’ve spent together since before the boys passed away. At some point he puts his beer away to listen, hands resting on his knees and fingers loosely interlocked.
Finally Joseph runs out of words, elbows resting on his knees and fingers clasped behind his neck. Hearing it all out loud… Really hammers home just what he turned away. What he was offered.
“Normally I’d say you’re full of shit,” Billy says quietly. “But I can tell that you’re not.” He leans over and gives Joseph’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Why the hell did you come back?”
“I— “ Joseph squeezes his eye shut and swallows thickly, feels like there is something unpleasant crawling up his throat. “I don’t think I know.”
“Ah, lad.” Billy just sighs and gives his shoulder a pat before getting to his feet. Joseph clears his throat.
“How did you know I was here anyway?” he asks, finally uncapping his beer and chugging half of it. His throat feels raw. Too much talking. Billy grunts.
“When you didn’t show up for two months I set up your safehouses to notify me if you used your code.”
Never should’ve given him that remote access. Joseph scowls at his beer, looking up when Billy reappears in his peripheral.
“Do you want me to call you Joseph?” he asks. It’s a blunt, but seemingly honest question. At least, Joseph can’t read any scorn in his body language.
He shouldn’t. Joseph should go back to being Slade. He should forget he was ever Joseph. Forget he met a different Slade.
“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse.
When his boys died, he buried them and pushed them to the back of his mind. As if they had never existed. It allowed him to function, to live. It seemed better to not deal with the mess in his head, to just… Pretend it wasn’t there.
But when he had seen Joey… Still so young, so like his own Joey… It had been a punch to the gut. He had locked his pain away in a box and when it suddenly blew open it had festered and turned into a rotting poison inside of him, like a disease waiting to infect every part of him.
He remembers retching into the frigid gotham air, snow under his hands.
He wasn’t going to let Slade and Joey become another poison. He wasn’t going to forget. Slade would… Well, Joseph didn’t really know. But he wanted to believe that Slade would want him to do better. Slade would take one look at his painted-over windows and probably cry. Give him some crap about needing to live. Buy some curtains, or… Plants. Slade’s place had plants.
“Alright, Joseph it is. Well, fuck microwave meals. I think after that I need real food, I’m gonna go order something.”
“Indian.”
“You’ll get what you get and you’ll be happy about it,” Billy growls on his way into the hall. Joseph huffs, corners of his lips tugging up. He felt… Better. Not happy, but… Definitely better. He knows he would’ve drifted, completely unfettered, if he had been on his own. But as usual, Billy just… Knows when to show up. It had always been like that, like the man could smell his distress a continent away.
He had shown up like that often when Joseph had still been with Addie. When she had announced her pregnancies, and after every fight. When the boys had died, too. Joseph was the one who had pushed him away that time, too fucking miserable to appreciate the only support he had left. Thought he had maybe pushed Billy away for good, after he started staying in the cabin and their only contact became offers and confirmations of contracts.
Until now. Joseph swallows and picks at the remnants of the label on the beer. He wasn’t… Wasn’t happy about leaving Slade. Leaving Joey. But… He was at least relieved that he had been given an opportunity to explain to Billy.
“You better not be sitting in here crying in the dark when I get back.” Billy was leaning through the doorway, tucking a scarf into place, eyebrow raised. “Clean up.”
Then again, maybe not.
“Slavedriver,” Joseph mutters. “What are you getting?”
“Indian.”
Joseph hides his smile behind his beer.
Thank god for that super serum, Joseph thinks as he gives the carpet another tug, ripping it from the floor. He’s been at the house since early morning, uncharacteristic nervous energy making him all jittery.
“Nice place you got here,” someone comments from behind him. Billy, holding two takeaway cups of coffee and looking unimpressed.
In all fairness, the house was a pile of garbage. The entire interior was basically crumbling into dust, only the outer walls were still in good condition.
“The outside is decent, except for the yard.” Joseph takes one of the cups and takes a sip of coffee with a low hum. The garden was so overgrown the brush reached up to Joseph’s waist.
“I guess if you’re not gonna use that enhanced strength for working, you might as well use it on…” Billy trails off, peering around the abandoned house. “House flipping?”
Joseph grunts and sets the cup aside to start pulling up the last strip of carpet. “Slade lived here.”
Billy hums in that kind of way he always fucking does when he’s got something to say, but is going to make Joseph ask for it.
“I just… Needed a project I guess,” Joseph adds finally. “I guess… His house was nice. It was like a home. An actual home. I just thought maybe…” he trails off, suddenly feeling too awkward. He and Billy didn’t usually talk much about this kind of crap. Not openly anyway.
“Well. I guess there are worse things. You’ve got the time and the money after all.” Billy sips his coffee and is kind enough to not mention the fact that Joseph is so keen to hold onto any memory of Slade. “So. Did you go?”
Joseph chucks away the strip of carpet and picks up a knife from the ground, eye on his hands. “Yeah,” he says shortly, his voice clipped. Thankfully Billy doesn’t push.
Joseph had never gone to Grant and Joey’s graves since they passed. Not a single time. When it was still fresh he would just go on a rampage on the anniversary. He’d seethe, he’d throw things. He’d spend hours at the shooting range, imagining Adeline’s fucking face in front of every bullet.
But he never went to visit. He paid for the upkeep and he knew Billy would sometimes go and leave flowers when he visited Gotham.
But yesterday he went. He didn’t bring flowers and he didn’t say anything. Just stood and looked at the headstones. He had meant to say something, maybe to reassure Joey that Slade’s Joey hadn’t been a replacement and to tell Grant that he wasn’t forgotten.
But when he was standing there, facing the cold stone of his children's graves, he just… Couldn’t get a single word out.
Not even to say how fucking sorry he was.
Billy’s voice drags him back to the moment, Joseph shaking out his shoulders to drive away the discomfort creeping up his spine.
“So you’re gonna fix it up. Alone?” Billy asks, peering into the kitchen. It’s nothing but four blank walls and cracked tiles on the floor.
“I’ll contract out if I have to, but yeah. There’s no rush to get it done, I can stay at the loft. And it keeps me busy. I like doing it, I guess.” Joseph admits. Billy gives another little droning hum before changing the subject.
“So what was he like?”
Joseph considers the question, picking up his coffee cup. “Hot,” he finally settles on. Billy snorts.
“Of course you’d think that. What about the other me?”
Joseph takes a long, slow sip of his coffee. “... Hot.”
Billy gives him such a horrified look that Joseph gives a snort of laughter, quickly swallowing his mouthful of coffee. “Good gods.” Billy grimaces and takes a bracing swallow of his coffee.
“They were all younger. Also… Definitely shorter.”
Billy hums again and nods understandingly. “Not alphas.” Joseph nods understandingly back at him. Not alphas. They drink their coffee in silence for a moment, enjoying the feeling of definitely being alphas.
“And… His Joey?” Billy questions carefully. “He’s good to him?”
“Yeah,” Joseph breathes. “Yeah. Way better than I ever was. Got his head out of his ass way sooner than me. He’s… He’s a good dad.”
“You weren’t a bad father Joseph, you just weren’t present. You never made time for them, and I think we both know why.”
Joseph just mutters and sips his coffee. Billy wasn’t wrong, he hadn’t… Hadn’t planned for children initially, so he just wasn’t prepared when it happened. He spent more time out on contracts than at home with the boys. He turns away from Billy and his too-searching eyes.
“Either way, he’s a good kid. A bit more quiet, but… He lived through some trauma. Getting better though, and Slade is… He’s there for him. Their Wintergreen too, he’s basically the kid’s uncle.” Billy smiles at that.
“Well,” he says gently. “I was fond of your boys too, I’m sure it’s the same for them.” Joseph just smiles weakly and says nothing. He feels… Worn thin, from talking about them. From visiting the graves. When he looks up from his coffee cup, Billy is watching him with a thoughtful, almost a little sad expression.
“You never used to smile, after they died,” he says. “Whatever happened to you over there… With that Slade and that Joey? It seems to have been good for you.”
Joseph runs a hand over the back of his head and glances around the in-progress work around him. He’s not going to make it look exactly like Slade’s, he’s going to make it his own thing. Put his strength towards something constructive for once. Make an actual home.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it was.”