Chapter Text
Dick had been flying all his life– and yet somehow, that first endless second of weightlessness after a jump felt better every time. He darted across the Gotham rooftops like a streak of blue lightning through the darkened sky. The cool night air whipped across his masked face, and Dick repressed an exhilarated laugh. He loved his daughter more than life itself– but god, he missed patrol sometimes. It was good to be out.
“We’re looking at about fifteen guys, Wing. Place doesn’t have any cameras so I lost sight of them about a half-mile out, but intel says it’s supposed to be a discreet meeting,” Barbara reported in his ear as he flew. Dick shot out a line, diving off a roof with an over-dramatic flourish as the Gotham city harbor came into view, abandoned warehouses littering the dock along the western edge.
“I got it, O, thanks,” he replied, roving his eyes over the dilapidated structures until he spotted a flicker of light through a broken window. He shifted his trajectory mid-air, moving towards it.
“You sure? Because the last time I sent you out for recon–” she said skeptically. Dick rolled his eyes from under his mask.
“That was one time! I told you, I got it.” Dick finally landed with a thud on the rooftop of the building. The aluminum paneling echoed the noise uncomfortably loud, and Dick felt his heart stutter. But after a moment, the night was as quiet and still as ever, and Dick let out a soft sigh of relief. “I got it,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Now shh, I’m going in.”
He slid off the roof and ducked through that broken window, landing on a thin interior balcony lining the massive industrial room. The air was heavy with a musty scent, a combination of dampness and neglect. Dick quickly slunk back into the shadows, melting into the darkness without a sound.
From his concealed position, he surveyed the scene below. The warehouse was dimly lit- all the electricity to the place had long been shut off. The only sources of light were the artificial lanterns hanging from the hands of the men below.
They stood in two lines opposite to one another by about 10 feet, all dressed in dark suits and serious demeanors. They seemed to have delegated leaders, who were standing in the middle talking hurriedly in hushed voices. Dick strained to catch snippets of their conversation. Hopefully the long-range mic Barbara had outfitted him with was getting more than he was. He picked up fragments of phrases regarding impending arms deals, alliances and territory.
Dick let out an inaudible puff of air. That was not good. They’d been hearing murmurs of shifting hierarchies in the Gotham underground for months now, but this was their first example of concrete evidence. Things were changing, and on the chessboard of vigilantism, that almost always ended up being a bad thing. Especially when it involved two of the most powerful gangs in the city.
He stayed there for about twenty minutes until the meeting looked to be concluding– long enough that the dampness had started to seep into his suit with a stickiness that made him shudder uncomfortably. Dick was moving backwards to make a careful extraction from whence he came when the loud roar of a motorcycle outside grabbed his attention. His head snapped to the noise, along with those of the men, who shifted nervously, hands reaching towards their guns. The sound got closer, and closer, and everyone in the room, Dick included, seemed to grow more tense– like springs rapidly being wound. Still, none of them moved until a single set of heavy clad footsteps approached the warehouse doors and kicked it open.
Then men jolted and aimed their guns up with deadly precision and shouts of alarm. “Now that’s not very polite,” the intruder drawled, lifting his hands up in surrender. Dick crawled forward on the platform to get a better look.
The man was dressed in a kevlar bodysuit, overlaid with a leather jacket that barely contained his massive frame. His mask– more of a helmet, really– was dark red and blank. Dick wondered vaguely how he could see through it. “O, we’ve got a visitor,” he whispered into his mic. The light glinted worryingly off the man’s face.
“You can call me Red Hood,” the man announced, “I’m here because a little birdie told me Sionis is making a play for power tonight.” Dick frowned and leaned closer.
“What the hell?” he murmured in confusion. It’d been almost impossible for them to obtain word of this meeting. Only the highest up in both gangs had known. So how had some B list rogue-looking wannabe heard about it? “Do we have anything on this guy?” he asked, hushed and concerned.
Hood’s voice rang out, obviously confident, echoing off the cavernous warehouse walls. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t like Sionis all that much.” It shifted, taking a low, dangerous tone. Almost… smug. “So I figured I’d drop by.”
Dick frowned, a hand going cautiously to his escrima stick. Something unsettling creeped into his gut. “I’ve never seen him before,” he whispered, eyes darting between Red Hood and the men, who were looking more antsy by the second. Half of Gotham’s top organized criminals, all gathered in one place, paranoid and trigger happy. This was a disaster waiting to happen.
The sound of furious typing echoed through his ear. “He– yeah, he’s some low level goon that popped up a few months ago. Or at least I thought he was– I don’t know why–”
Dick stopped listening. Someone was shouting downstairs, interrogating Hood on who he was, why he was there, so on and so forth– but Hood's wrist had just turned slightly midair. Just the barest shifts in angle, more of a subconscious tic than anything. But the new angle reflected the smallest glint of light of an object he was holding in his hand. A small, almost unnoticeable button. Anyone could’ve missed it.
Dick wasn’t just fucking anyone. Red Hood was holding a detonator. His eyes went wide, and time seemed to slow down.
“I’d tell you to give him my best regards,” Hood shrugged, “but you’ll all be dead.” He hit the detonator, whipped out a gun, and Dick lunged off the balcony and to the warehouse floor. The other side of the warehouse erupted in flames as some hidden bomb went off, the shockwave knocking down half the men and sending a screeching ringing noise coursing through Dick’s ears. The warehouse was bathed in a wave of scorching heat.
The men still standing fired immediately at Hood, who dodged cleanly out of the way with grace that seemed almost inhuman. He fired back in return, shooting one man clean through the head, and another through the throat. The poor man fell to the ground, clutching a hand to his neck as he choked on his own blood. Dick darted past him- he had scant few seconds and no time to help– to charge Hood, who fired again, now aimed at Dick’s head. He missed, thankfully, but slid smoothly to the side, avoiding Dick’s bodyslam.
Another explosion went off, much closer this time. A piece of metal scaffolding fell with a loud clang , fire now crackling loudly. Hood cracked a fist across onto his head and Dick stumbled back, ducking under another blow to tackle Hood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the men take off, dragging those who had fallen behind them. The man shot through the throat was left behind, gurgling his last few breaths. Struggling on the ground, he and Hood fought for control.
Dick was a skilled fighter, but he excelled in hand to hand, not grappling. And Red Hood was twice his size and muscle mass– something that could be compensated for with an inexperienced partner, maybe. But Dick was quickly realizing that Hood was anything but inexperienced. The way he moved seemed almost…
Dick shied away from the word familiar . It was just… the way Hood seemed to anticipate his movements before Dick even thought them read of either superhuman precognition, or an instinctual knowledge of Dick’s fighting style that he’d only ever seen Slade, and sometimes Bruce manage to achieve. It was an advantage the man didn’t waste.
Hood violently slammed Dick’s head into the concrete, leaving him reeling for coherency. A bomb exploded again, this time so close Dick felt flames lick his suit.
The men were away from Hood’s ramage- it was time to end his distraction and get the hell out . Dick rolled out from underneath Hood’s grip with a gasp, scrambling to his feet and towards the nearest window.
He darted to the side as Hood lunged after him, firing shot after shot. One grazed his thigh, but Dick didn’t stop to feel the pain, powering forward as fast as he could. Finally, he burst out a broken window, Hood following quickly behind, as the final explosion tore through the walls of the building and flung them both several feet away.
Dick skidded to a stop on the dock as the roof of the warehouse finally gave in with a deafening creak, crashing into the raging inferno below.
His ears rang, and the world swayed slightly. Dick trembled, trying to get to his feet. His arms gave out from under him, and he collapsed onto the cold concrete, panting. Time seemed to shift, slightly, seconds turning into minutes– or maybe not. Dick couldn’t gather enough focus to tell. He yelped in pain as a strong kick connected with his stomach.
“They got away!” Hood bellowed down at him. “You fuckin' ruined everything!” Hood kicked him again, and Dick let out a moan as he was booted onto his back. He peered up at the two– no, three different Hoods standing above him, merging and separating with each other. Yep, that would be the concussion. Fuck, Barbara was never gonna let him live this down. His heart dropped as all three Hoods aimed their pistols steadily down at his head.
“Can’t we just talk this out?” Dick rasped, hand creeping off to the side. His escrima stick was lying on the ground just a few feet away from him– if he could just grab it without Hood noticing–
“Talk? We passed that point a long time ago, Nightwing. This ends now.” Dick didn’t have any time to linger on how that was kind of a weird thing to say to someone you’ve never met, actually, because Hood was squeezing his finger tight over the cool metal of the trigger. Dick’s fingers barely grasped the edge of his stick, and then he was throwing his arm up to fling it towards Hood’s gun, faster than he’d ever moved before. At the last fraction of a second, the two weapons collided, knocking the pistol out of the man’s hand. The bullet lodged itself into the pavement centimeters away from Dick’s head. His hearing, already damaged from the explosions, went completely dead in his left ear.
Still, without hesitation, Dick launched himself up, catapulting Hood off of him. He moved fluidly, trying to ignore the way his head was still spinning. Hood let out a furious roar and charged. Dick shot a grapple up to a rooftop across the pier and rocketed away unsteadily. He wasn’t usually one to give up, but something was telling him this was really not the time to pursue without backup. Something was going on here that he didn’t really understand yet– and the pounding in his head was hardly an encouraging marker of his ability to fight.
Hood, clearly having come unequipped for a rooftop fight, stayed on the ground. “You better watch your fuckin' back, Nightwing!” he screamed after Dick’s retreating figure. “Or Gotham’s gonna end up with another dead bird!”
Dick didn’t look back. His feet pounded against the brick rooftops of the city, getting farther and farther from the mess that was supposed to be a simple recon mission. His breath came out in short pants, adrenaline coursing through his veins just to remind him what a close call that was. The warehouse let out another deafening crash of falling debris and flame, a tower of smoke now climbing high up to the barely visible stars. In the distance, approaching sirens added their wail to the cacophony of noises making it very, very clear the mission had been an absolute failure.
Barbara’s com crackled to life. “It was just one time,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice. “You’re off recon, N.” Dick groaned, closing his eyes for a second midair, before resuming his path back to the cave. “Report back and get your head checked out. And then we can figure out… what the hell that was.”
Dick felt a twinge of regret. He’d promised Slade he’d try to be home early– but it was looking like he had bigger fish to fry at the moment.
“Copy that,” Dick replied begrudgingly, steeling himself for a long night.
~~~
It was long past midnight when Dick finally dragged himself up the stairs to the living room after sneaking in through the hidden entrance downstairs. Exhausted, bruised, and heavily medicated, he was genuinely considering just falling asleep on the couch. His bed seemed so far away, and the couch was so big, and so soft…
His plans were interrupted by the flick of a switch. The lights clicked on, casting Dick in a harsh, white glow. He hissed, covering his eyes from the blinding rays of death. His head throbbed uncomfortably. “You’re late,” Slade declared with a stern look and crossed arms, staring down at him from the flight leading up to the bedrooms. Dick gave a tired, placating grin.
“Sorry, big guy. Got held up.” He dragged himself up the stairs one step at a time, joining Slade at the top. The man sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, looking him up and down unsubtly for injuries. Dick had showered at the Cave, so he was mostly free of soot– but he’d had to change back into the Nightwing costume to get back home. The scorch marks and tears lining the fabric didn’t seem to reassure Slade, even if Dick appeared to be mostly unharmed.
“You alright?” he asked, tense. Dick rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand, slumping against Slade’s strong figure. Mm… he was so warm, and steady… Much better than the couch.
“‘M fine, just a minor concussion and some bruises,” Dick mumbled into his neck. “How was Haley?” Slade sighed, bringing one hand to the small of Dick’s back to stabilize him. Slade had been… struggling lately with her. Things had been easier when she was little, and the extent of her care had been summed up by feed, rest, play, bathe, and not much else. But Haley was six now, with a brilliant mind and an insatiable sense of curiosity. Her vivacious personality definitely took after Dick– as well as her tendency to want to be as high up as possible, as much as possible. Something that Dick had never realized was so nerve racking until he was the one on the ground, begging her to come down.
Anyways, she’d been going through a phase recently where she was particularly glued to Dick’s side. Getting away for patrol was an ordeal, for sure– tonight had been his first night out in ages. Dick was pretty sure it was just a normal part of childhood development, but he could tell it was rubbing Slade the wrong way.
This was his first time actually raising one of his kids, and he was paranoid as hell he was going to fuck it all up. Not that he said as much, but after six years… Dick could tell. His reaction to Dick’s probing was a clear enough example of that.
“She missed you,” he grumbled, glaring at some arbitrary spot on the wall. “Wouldn’t go down without saying goodnight.” Dick raised an eyebrow, pulling back slightly.
“What, she’s still up?”
Slade shook his head. “No.” He sighed again, and ran his free hand through Dick’s hair soothingly. “She passed out on the couch eventually. Made me promise you’d check on her when you got home, though.” Dick hummed in affirmation. He leaned back in, and stayed there for a minute longer, enjoying the touch, before pulling back.
“M'kay. Gimme a minute,” he said, and let out a big, elongated stretch. Then he headed down the hall into her room. Her nursery had been long converted to a proper bedroom, the animal theme becoming only more overstated. Barbara had come over a year or two ago and helped paint a jungle scene on her walls. Decorated by a herd of elephants—her favorite animal. A girl after his own heart, to be sure. He cracked the door open with a soft creak, a single sliver of light from the hall illuminating the dark green walls. Dick walked to his daughter’s bed, keeping his footfalls as quiet as possible. Halfway there, he got too cocky and tripped over one of the many toys strewn about the room. Dick had to catch himself with a muffled curse and a not-so-stealthy thud that made his thigh twinge painfully. He grumbled in frustration as he crept over, slower this time.
Haley was splayed across the bed, pillows and blankets flung haphazardly around her. She was snoring slightly, a tiny bit of drool hanging from her mouth. Dick smiled, and pulled her blanket up around her tiny body. He kissed her forehead gently, whispering an affectionate “goodnight” to his baby girl. She twitched in her sleep. Dick took a second to watch her, reminding himself what he almost didn’t come home to. He stroked the back of his hand over her check indulgently.
Then, he finally pulled back, creeping out of her room once more and latching the door with a soft click. He padded back across the hall into his room, where Slade was standing, thumbing through his mission reports from the night on Dick’s tablet. He frowned at the device as Dick shucked his suit, kicking it off to the side.
“You’d never seen him before tonight?” Slade inquired as Dick rooted through their drawers for something to wear. He pulled out one of Slade’s massive shirts and pulled it over his head, wincing as the movement pulled on his sore muscles yet again. “The way you noted he was talking makes it seem like you two had history.”
“I know,” Dick replied, “Weird, right? Babs and me were thinking maybe he’s some disgruntled goon out for revenge, I dunno.” He moved to fall onto the bed, but Slade stopped him with a hand to his chest and a raised eyebrow.
“Teeth,” he reminded him. Dick threw his head back and groaned, turning back into their bathroom petulantly. “Dental hygiene is important, Dick,” Slade said overbearingly.
Dick mimicked his voice, flapping his hand mockingly. “Dental hygiene is important, Dick, mehmehmeh -” Still, he grabbed his toothbrush out of its cup. (His sink was the one to the left.) Slade followed him in, leaning against the doorframe.
“He seems too competent for a grunt,” he refuted, returning to the subject of Red Hood. Dick shrugged, and shoved the brush in his mouth to avoid responding. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. Slade lowered his chin and shot him a chiding glare from the mirror. “Got the drop on you, after all.”
Dick let out a huff from his nose, spitting out the toothpaste and putting the brush back in his cup. “Don’t start. I made it out.” He turned back into the bedroom, leaving Slade standing there. The man looked disapproving– both at his reply, and his less than satisfactory brushing.
“You almost didn’t, little bird,” he rumbled. Dick finally, finally flopped into bed, shoving his face into his pillow. He melted into the sheets with a sigh, letting all the tension seep from his tired body. Slade clicked off the lights and joined him, pushing Dick slightly over so he could slide into his spot. “You need to be more careful,” he stressed. “Don’t just dive into things before you understand the situation.” Slade pulled the covers over them both, the plush blankets only beckoning Dick closer to sleep. He was not nearly awake enough to be having this conversation.
Dick turned around to face Slade. In the low light, he could barely make out the features of the man’s face. Still, he looked… worried. Dick brought a hand up to pat at his face comfortingly.
Slade gave him an unimpressed look. “You worry too much. He was going to kill those men, Slade, I had to do something. We don’t always get to plan out our moves before we make them.” Dick shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s the job.”
Slade didn’t look mollified, but he dropped the subject. He tugged Dick close, tucking him underneath his chin. Dick relaxed, enjoying the portable superheater that was his meta partner, and allowed the mission to slip from his mind. He’d spent enough time that night pouring over every second of footage from the fight, trying to find any detail to tell them more about Red Hood. Barbara, meanwhile, had scoured her servers for information on the man. Normally, the undivided attention of the best hacker in Gotham resulted in a subject’s entire life laid out on their table in ten minutes flat.
Tonight, it resulted in almost nothing. Dick had never seen someone so off the grid. It was like they were tracking a ghost.
She’d sent Dick home, eventually, the two of them no more informed than when they’d started. If anything, they had more questions than answers.
Dick wasn’t a rookie anymore. He’d been on the streets for over a decade. It took some serious skill to get the drop on him, and Hood had multiple times. And the way he had moved… and the things he’d said…. no matter how much he might have downplayed it to Slade, it unsettled him. He stood by his initial assessment– there was something bigger going on here, and he was determined to figure it out.
But he wasn’t going to make any progress obsessing over it from his bed. Instead, he turned his attention to matters a little closer to home.
“You know,” he mumbled, “you’re doing a great job with Haley. Really.” Slade started to stroke his hair again. He didn’t have to do anything more for Dick to know he was unconvinced. “I know she’s being a little testy with you, but that’s just how kids are, m’kay? Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Slade sighed, the breath moving Dick up, and down, rockingly.
“I don’t… I feel like I’m doing this all wrong,” he said softly, the sound barely carrying. Dick shrugged.
“Every parent does. I do, too. All the time.” He propped his chin up to look directly at Slade. The man had taken off his eyepatch, revealing the gnarled wound on his face that he so rarely felt safe enough to expose. His brow was furrowed, and Dick suppressed the urge to smooth away the stress lines. “But you’re trying. And you love her. That’s all she needs, Slade,” Dick whispered, committing the features of Slade’s face to memory.
Slade grunted in acknowledgement and pushed his head back down. “Go to sleep, little bird. It’s late.” Dick hummed. He had more to say– but despite himself, his eyes drifted closed. It was like he had weights pulling his body down, down, down into the comforters. It’d been such a long day, and soon enough… exhaustion won the battle, and he slipped into a deep, undisturbed sleep.