Chapter Text
The lights in the hotel lobby are flickering.
Slade ignores this as he strides through the glass doors and makes a beeline for the front desk. At this hour, the grand foyer is deserted, without a soul in sight. Tasteful Halloween decor means that there are pumpkins on display, as well as intricate spider-webbing over some of the windows.
“May I help you, sir?” The receptionist manning the front desk is a tall, gangly boy, young enough to be fresh out of university. He probably drew the short straw for the graveyard shift tonight, since he looks completely beat and about five seconds away from falling asleep. It’s two minutes to midnight.
“I’d like a twin room for two nights.”
The receptionist clicks into the database while valiantly suppressing a yawn. “We are very sorry, sir, but unfortunately we do not have any twin rooms available at the moment.” He clicks around some more, tongue trapped between his teeth in concentration. “Would you be open to adjoining rooms instead?”
“I’m here by myself, I don’t need a second room,” says Slade, which shuts him up. The boy now looks too cowed to speak. Slade sighs. “Any king beds available?”
“Let me check for you.”
Slade leans an elbow against the counter. “I never expected you to be so busy on Halloween.”
“It’s usually our low season, but this year, we’re doing some themed events,” the receptionist explains as he starts a new search. “There’s a Spooky Spirits Tasting Session happening downstairs in the bar, and upstairs, we have a Bingo Bash with lots of fun prizes for winners. Are you interested in our Haunted Hallows package?”
“I don’t celebrate Halloween,” says Slade.
The receptionist meekly goes back to his computer. Happily, it turns out they do have a king room available. Slade hands him one of his fake passports, and the boy assigns him a room on the 13th floor.
“Is that the only one left?” Slade asks.
That elicits some nervous babbling. “I know it’s an unlucky number, but that’s the only King Room we have left at the moment, sir.”
The lights flicker again.
“Fine. I’ll take it.”
When the boy looks up again to hand him his key card, he freezes. His eyes dart past Slade and he blinks several times. His face gets two shades paler. His throat bobs.
“Is there a problem?” Slade asks.
The boy is still staring past him. “Uh, no, sir. Not…at…all…” His chin trembles.
Slade turns and makes a show of looking around the lobby.
Standing directly under one of the flickering lights is Dick.
He’s in his birthday suit, or something very close to it. Except for a pair of white shorts, he’s not wearing much else. The lights flicker again, and between one blink and the next, Dick moves. The hotel lobby is not small, but it almost feels like its shrinking as Dick’s movements swallow up the distance. The lobby boy gives a sharp intake of breath, and Slade tries to imagine what Dick must look like to someone seeing him for the first time.
Skin as pale as a drowned corpse’s.
Dark, unsightly veins all over his body, crawling up his neck and over his face.
Searing yellow eyes that almost seem to glow.
On top of that, Dick has gone the extra mile today because he’s also smeared blood down his chin, his neck, and the center of his torso. He looks like some eldritch thing that crawled out of a horror movie.
Slade turns back to the front desk. “What are you looking at?”
The receptionist gulps and his mouth flaps. “I, uh. D-Do you — do you see, um… is that…?”
At that moment, the massive chandelier hanging in the center of the lobby blows its fuse with a buzz and a pop. It immediately cast Dick’s shape into sharp, shadowed relief. The receptionist flinches involuntarily.
Slade gives the ceiling an irritated look. “Is there something wrong with the electricity here?”
“No, um. That shouldn’t be happening,” the receptionist stutters. Seemingly against his will, his eyes are dragged back towards Dick, who has finally stopped about ten feet away. They’re not in total darkness, since there are sconces around the edges of the lobby, and the front desk itself is bathed in the light of a few statement lamps. But the low light makes Dick’s ghostly pallor look even spookier.
Slade gives the lobby another unimpressed look, then turns back to the lobby boy. “Well? What’s the hold up.”
“N…nothing, s-sir.” His knuckles have gone white. Every muscle in his body is tensed. He returns Slade’s passport, but his voice has turned squeaky, like he can’t get enough air in his lungs to speak. “H-have an enjoyable stay.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Slade hefts his duffle bag up and then heads straight to the bank of elevators to his left. He can tell, without having to look behind him, that Dick is drifting after him, his gait so smooth that he probably looks like he’s floating over the floor.
They get into the elevator together. As the doors slide close, he sees the chandelier in the lobby flicker back to life. He makes no move to acknowledge the other occupant of the elevator as it ascends. He does, however, check his watch twice. Exiting on the 13th floor, he strides purposefully down the hallway until he finds the correct room.
As soon as they’re inside and the door has swung shut behind them, Dick brushes past him and into the bathroom.
It’s one of those new-fangled (and in Slade’s opinion, utterly idiotic) designs popular in high-end hotels where one entire side of the bathroom is glass. From certain angles, one can see exactly what is happening inside. For instance, he can see that Dick has hopped into the bathtub and is carefully washing the blood off his face and chest.
Slade gets out the 24-hour room service menu and puts in an order.
Fifteen minutes later, Dick emerges and throws himself on top of the king-sized bed with a sigh of appreciation. He starfishes his limbs.
“Did you see the look on his face? Priceless!”
“This is the last time I play along with one of your stupid little games,” says Slade.
“It worked, though, didn’t it? They charge by the head here. I just got myself a free stay.”
“I would’ve paid for your head, kid.”
“It’s Halloween. Let a man have his fun.” Dick rolls over and smirks at him.
“All that, just to prank one solitary lobby boy.”
“C’mon, Slade. How else am I supposed to make the staff think their hotel is haunted?”
Slade raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to creep around for more than one night to accomplish that.”
“I’m counting on lobby boy to spread the word. Make me into an urban legend.”
“You already are one.”
“Only in Gotham.”
“And why aren’t you in Gotham. I thought you’d be busy with work this time of year.”
“Today is my day off. Everyone knows that.” Dick grins up at him. “Halloween is the one day of the year when I can go out as myself. I’m not about to pass up the chance to scare someone shitless.”
He rolls off the bed, leaving a splotch of red on the white coverlet behind him.
“You missed a spot,” says Slade.
“Oops.”
“That better not be real blood.”
“Oops twice!” Dick laughs, sharp and feral, as he dodges Slade’s punitive swipe.
Sniffing the air confirms that it is real blood — that iron tang is unmistakable. “Who did you kill on your way in?”
“Nobody.”
“Don’t lie to me, kid.”
Dick backflips onto the bed and holds his hands up. “Okay, okay. It’s from the butcher shop right around the corner. Pig’s blood. I’m not actually going to kill someone just for the world’s best prank.”
At that moment, a knock comes at the door.
Slade throws Dick a warning glare as he goes over to let the bellhop in. The bellhop tips his cap to Slade and pushes the room service trolley into the room.
“Good evening, sir. Would you like me to set up a table for —” he stops and freezes.
Slade follows his line of sight, and discovers that Dick is now perched atop the armchair in the corner, half in and half out of the triangle of shadow cast by the ceiling lights. Except for the slow tilt of his head, Dick is motionless. The effect, Slade has to admit, is pretty damn good.
“You can leave the trolley. I’ll set it up myself,” says Slade.
The bellhop twitches nervously and looks between them, then down at the trolley. Slade can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to determine whether what he’s seeing is just really good full-body makeup, or if it’s something else entirely.
There is something otherworldly and eerie about Dick, if one isn’t used to looking at him. Slade can admit that easily enough. Normally, the kid is just uncanny enough to throw people off. Though Slade doesn’t understand the science behind it, he suspects the Talon triggers a primal hindbrain response — an instinctive recognition that one is looking at an apex predator higher up the food chain than oneself.
Dick’s head is now tilted to an unnatural angle, very much like an actual owl. He’s also staring at them without blinking.
The bellhop has gone two shades paler. His heart rate is through the roof. “I, uh… I only brought one set of cutlery, so um. If you need another one…?”
Slade snorts. “Why would I need another set? I’m the only one eating.”
The bellhop flicks another involuntary glance at the ghoulish thing crouched in the corner.
Fuck’s sake.
“Is there something wrong with my armchair?”
“No, of c-course not. I’ll j-just…uh, leave this here —”
Before Slade can even tip him, the bellhop has turned tail and fled through the door like the hounds of hell are on his heels.
Slade turns to give Dick a withering look. “Are you done?”
Dick dissolves into satisfied cackles. “Admit it — that was hilarious.” He hops off the armchair smoothly and plucks all the silver tray covers off the food platters. “Ooooh. Ribeye steak, ribs, fried chicken. Yum.”
He stuffs a handful of fries into his mouth.
Slade smacks his hand away. “I meant what I said. This is for me.”
“You’re finishing all that by yourself?”
Slade reaches under the trolley for the hidden clasps and pull-out parts that would turn it into a makeshift table. “You’re technically not even here. You’re a ghost tonight, aren’t you? So go be a ghost.”
Dick laughs and busies himself pulling on a pair of jean shorts and a low-cut silk shirt that bares him to the navel. Then he laces up his combat boots and throws on a chunky silver necklace.
“Guess I’ll go find someone else to buy me a late-night snack at a pub. I might even hit the clubs.” He completes the look by pulling his hair up into a messy ponytail. “How do I look? Sexy?”
“You want my actual opinion.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t. Your tastes are too boring and old-school for me.” Absently, he stabs earrings through his earlobes — tonight, he’s picked pendants shaped (ironically) like little owls. “I’m going to do some exploring.”
Outside, fireworks go off. The faint pop-pop-pop sounds are interspersed with the distant wail of police sirens. Even from thirteen floors up, Slade knows he’ll be able to hear the carousing going on down in the streets if he bothers to open the window. Halloween festivities in the heart of New York City are always extravagant and they always last the whole night.
Dick leans over to swipe a chicken wing from the platter.
Slade takes the opportunity to wipe a smudge of blood off Dick’s face with his thumb — another spot he missed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t kill anyone,” Dick promises.
“Be back by dawn.”
“Are you my fairy godmother, giving me a curfew?”
“I’m telling you not to venture out when the sun’s up.”
Dick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m a creature of the night and don’t belong outside in the light of day. You don’t need me to tell me for the millionth time.” He straps a bandolier of knives over his chest — another thing he can get away with only on Halloween. No one’s going to stop him for wearing weaponry that’s just a tad too realistic tonight. “See you later.”
He throws Slade a salute and lets the door slam shut behind him.
Five hours till dawn.
A whole night for the Talon to sate himself on the revels of the cities, free to be in his own skin. A whole night for him to prowl the streets unquestioned. Dick gets so few opportunities to mingle with the masses, Slade can’t fault him for wanting Halloween all to himself. He has to assume that even back home in Gotham, Dick is obliged to either curtail his behavior for the benefit of the Bats, or cut his dose of electrum so that he looks more human.
But one night a year, he’s free to make mischief as he pleases.
Slade goes over to the window and looks down. Far below him, the figure of Dick emerges through the revolving doors. Immediately, he waves to a group of trick-or-treaters, who all wave back. Next, he gets flagged down by a gaggle of cosplayers, who want someone to snap a group photo for them. Dick cheerfully obliges. Minutes later, he swings off towards the city center, where the sound of fireworks is loudest.
Once he’s out of sight, Slade takes out his phone and puts it on his table. Just because the Talon’s functionally invulnerable doesn’t mean Slade won’t keep a close eye on him. The red dot linked to Dick’s subdermal tracker blinks back at him. With a few quick taps, he activates a script that will alert him if the dot moves further than a mile away.
That done, he settles in to eat and wait for the sun to rise.