Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dick was 21 when he unintentionally started university. It was supposed to be a short undercover mission, posing as a student for a week or two to gather information on a teacher Dick suspected had ties to the uprising drug ring. No one knew Dick Grayson around these parts so Dick didn’t have to go through a whole makeover with colored contacts and dyed hair, instead, he just changed his last name. Richard Tanner, ready for university.

The mission only took a week and a half before Dick discovered the teacher was innocent, he’d just been seen at the wrong places at the wrong times for Dick to make an assumption about his connection to the drug ring.

After uncovering that, the mission was over and Dick had meant to leave. It was just, it was Thursday and he might as well stay the whole week, right?

Come Friday, he was invited to sit with some of his classmates at lunch, and they had really fun.  Someone mentioned meeting up after school on Monday in the library to study, and before Dick knew it he’d agreed. Well, just another week.

Who was he kidding, Dick liked his classes, he’d made new friends, and liked his new lifestyle. He barely had time for Nightwing right now, with school and work taking up all of his time, but that was okay. He’d spent his entire life fighting crime and while he loved it, he didn’t feel obligated to anymore.

He’d been saving money for years so he did have a small bank account he was paying for school with now, but everything costs money. Rent, food. Still, it compensated pretty nicely with Dick switching his Nightwing expenses to school expenses. He wouldn’t touch Bruce’s money with a 10 foot pole. Still, there were scholarships you could get and Dick was working hard for that, his teacher even said they’d recommend him if he did really well this year. Right now he worked part-time at the bar downtown, and he babysat his neighbour's kids and walked their dogs two or three times a week, so he got by. If he doesn’t get the scholarship and the money gets too scarce he’ll have to drop out. Which he didn’t want to at all, with the degree he’d get he would be able to get proper jobs as a gymnast coach, with his advanced classes in physical health and physiotherapy.

It’s almost ironic how he’s in University now. Dick had had a big fight with Bruce when he was 14 over not going to university when he got older. Bruce insisted he had to and Dick didn’t see the point, he wanted to be Robin for the rest of his life. Yeah, that didn’t go to plan.

Dick wondered if Bruce already had thoughts to fire him back then, trying to get him to want to go to university and force him to be a civilian again. As if Dick could ever just be a civilian after that childhood. Somewhere Dick could see Bruce trying to keep him safe, but that also went out the window the second he fired Dick and then replaced him not even three weeks later. Bruce didn’t give a shit about children fighting crime, Dick was probably just becoming too mature and questioning orders, so Bruce got a younger one to mould.

It was really fucked up but Dick had made sure Jason wouldn’t be getting nearly the amount of training he had gone through himself, that was his gift to the kid. Maybe, just maybe, that would mean the kid would get to spend more time with Bruce than Batman, and find a family in all the chaos. Dick rather liked the kid after warming up to him. He was intelligent, and kind. He was growing like crazy, too. Alfred’s food was good for him.

Still, moving away (running away, being kicked out, whichever you prefer) was the best thing that had happened to Dick. He started the Titans, became his own man, and was now doing something for himself. He didn’t have to worry about Bruce’s opinion either, because Dick never talked to Bruce. Bruce never talked to Dick. Bruce had Jason now to occupy him and Dick was pretty thankful for that. In the big picture, a kid got a home and the whole replacement thing meant Bruce wouldn’t be on his ass. Actually, Dick was pretty sure Bruce pretended Dick had never happened. It hurt like hell, but Dick knew he had always thought Bruce loved him more than he ever cared to show, and Dick had himself to blame for that. It was so hard not to seek validation from grown-ups but Dick had learned the hard way to put his love only towards his friends and seek love from them in turn. It would never replace a parent's love but Dick didn’t have any parents so he’d work with what he had.

With his studies and work, time flew by and Dick was now three months deep in University. Everything had been fine until the previously declared ’innocent teacher’ suddenly started acting kind of strange. Dick hoped he was wrong but he had to check it out. He liked Mr Wood, he wouldn’t want him to be mixed up in stuff like that. So, new plan of action. Dick had to get into Wood's office. Unfortunately, the quickest way to do that was to start trouble. Dick had been an exemplary student so far, and he couldn’t mess up his chances of that scholarship, but he couldn’t leave it alone either. He needed a scapegoat for his troublemaking. Dick took a stroll around the school and found his perfect victim. A big guy named Billy who was kind of a bully. He’d obviously get blamed, Dick was smaller and would be seen as the victim. Hopefully, this would be quick and not bite him in the ass later.

Dick planned it all out and the next day he ’bumped’ into Billy in an empty corridor during class.

”Watch where you’re going, twerp!” Billy yelled.

Dick had to get the guy angry but it was vital that Dick didn’t land the first blow. Or any blow, he really needed that scholarship. Being roughed up by a bully was nothing he hadn’t done before, anyway.

”I could say the same to you.” Dick pushed past him again, making it a few steps before a hand closed around his arm, stopping him.

”Apologize.”

”What?” Dick gave a weak attempt to get his arm free, which got the right response, Billy holding him tighter, thinking he’s strong and in control.

”You bumped into me, and you need to apologize.”

Dick sneered. ”It’s no wonder you smell with all the shit you talk.”

Billy got beet red. The hand tightened around his arm and Dick turned his face to the hit so it would bruise but not cause any real damage. He cried out loudly and Billy let him go. Dick stumbled into the lockers behind him, making a loud noise and slid to the ground, holding a hand to his face, hunching and making himself appear smaller. 

A few seconds later Wood burst out from the classroom they had been outside (just as planned) and taking in the sight, of Dick on the ground and Billy, red-faced with a curled fist, painted a beautiful picture for Dick’s intentions.

Wood dipped back in the classroom, telling the students he would be gone a little while, before turning back, pointing an angry finger at Billy. ”In my office, now!” And then hurried over to Dick, helping him up. Dick stumbled and let out a pained groan for good measure.

It was a short walk, the office just a corridor away. (Not long enough for Wood or Billy to calm down, just as planned.)

Wood closed the door and helped Dick to the nearest chair. ”Billy, I'm not joking you will be expelled very soon if you don’t have a good explanation for this.”

Billy got red again. ”He-!”

Wood slammed his hand on his desk. ”You have a bad record, Billy! And you just assaulted my student, who clearly didn’t lay a finger on you. Watch yourself or I will make sure you never graduate.”

Billy glared at the ground.

”Yes, sir.”

”Are you okay to wait here a few minutes while I take Billy to the principal?” Wood asked Dick, who now had the beginnings of a bruise on his face he was showing off for extra pity-points. He nodded. ”I’ll be okay, sir."

Wood squeezed his shoulder, reassuringly.

”I’ll be back soon.”

The second they had left Dick started rifling through papers and drawers, but to his relief found nothing. Dick really liked Mr Wood and it seemed like someone was trying to frame him. Dick might have to look more into this later.

Dick sat back in the chair, and a minute later Wood got back with an icepack wrapped in a towel.

Dick took it to his face. ”Thank you, sir.”

Wood winced and sat on his desk, facing Dick and sighed, running a hand over his face. ”Billy is out of control, I’ve been trying to get him expelled for a year now. Sadly I think his rich parents have the principal rethinking that every time, if you know what I mean.”

Dick nodded.

”If he bothers you again, you come to me.”

”Of course sir.”

Wood smiled. ”You’re a good kid, Tanner.” He stood up. ”Speaking of, can you call your parents to come pick you up? You should go home and rest.”

Dick stood up too. ”It’s okay, thanks. I’ll be going.”

Wood shook his head. ”No, you took a hit to your face. I have nephews and nieces myself and I wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing someone let them leave alone like this.”

Damn, why did Wood have to be so considerate?

”Um, yeah, of course.”  Dick rifled through his bag for his phone. He’d just type in a fake number.

His hand grasped his phone and pulled it out, and a second later realized his mistake. This wasn’t his phone.

Last Friday at the bar he’d overheard a guy talk about getting the job done, and that he’d hired Arnold for the job. Yeah, Dick wasn’t stupid. Arnold Schwarzenegger, as in the Terminator? This guy really thought he was slick not mentioning Deathstoke’s name, huh. Dick swiped it without trouble and put it in his bag.

Now Dick stood with the phone in his hand, dumbfounded. It would look beyond stupid for him to put the phone back and pick up his real one. He had fake contacts in his real phone he was planning on calling but this phone obviously only had one number.

Wood mistook his shock for worry. ”You’re not in trouble at all, I can talk if you’d like?”

Dick tried to stall. ”No, I’m just, he’s probably working. He might not answer, it’s midday, you know?”

Wood smiled. ”Try anyway, and if he doesn’t answer at least we tried, and you can go home.”

Okay. He had a chance. And, come on. The client must have noticed the phone was gone. He must have told Deathstroke somehow and the call wouldn’t even go through. There was nothing to worry about.

Dick called and put it on speaker.

Beep

Please don’t answer don’t answer don’t answer-

Beep

Please don’t answer don’t answer don’t answer-

The line picked up.

Dick felt his mouth go dry. He just realized couldn’t talk, Slade knew his voice. Dick just blushed on command and handed the phone to the teacher, praying Slade would think this was a wrong number call and hang up.

Slade had a lazy Wednesday at home when his phone started ringing. He recognized the number as a burner he’d given a client last week and had been waiting for a call. He put down the paper and crossword he’d been solving and accepted the call. He was, however, surprised to hear someone else on the line.

”Hello, is this Mr Tanner's dad?”

Slade could have hung up, but he was curious since this was clearly a civilian. Actually, it sounded like children in the distant background, as if through an open window. A grown-up, asking for a parent, this was clearly a teacher. Now to the question, which kid had either typed in a random number hoping no one would answer, or had gotten their hands on the burner and after getting in trouble, used the phone hoping no one would answer?

Slade cleared his throat.

”.. who is this?”

”I’m calling from the school, Mr Tanner got in a fight today and the issue has been resolved, Tanner is not at fault at all. However, he took a blow to the head and I would like for someone to come get him.”

Slade could amuse this a little longer. He twirled a pen between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair.

”A fight you say?”

”Yes, I assure you he’s fine, Here, you can talk to him yourself.” It was quiet except the phone presumably being handed to the kid.

Dick choked a little, trying to disguise his voice.

”I uh, hi dad.” Dick put emphasis on ’dad’ to let Slade know it was time to stop playing and hang up and forget this ever happened. Slade didn’t even know it was Dick, he was just terrorizing who he thought was a random kid.

”I’m fine, I’ll see you at home."

Slade was slightly shocked to hear the voice. He thought it would be a ten-year-old something but this ’kid’ sounded like an adult. Must be a college student, then. Slade smiled at how uncomfortable he sounded as well. That guy knew damn well this wasn’t his ’dad’ and he clearly wasn’t expecting anyone to answer, let alone play along. The plot twist of the age had Slade intrigued, though.

”No wait a minute, tell me what happened.”

It was quiet for a moment and Slade imagined the kid looking helplessly at his teacher.

”I … I got in a fight with Billy.” After a second he quickly corrected himself ”But it was more like he attacked me, I didn’t do anything.”

The teacher spoke again. ”Mr Tanner, if you could come get your son, we-”

”NO! No, that’s fine, you can stay at work!” Dick was not panicking but Slade could not be allowed to entertain this any longer.

There was a pregnant pause and a stone dropped in Dick’s stomach as he realized he forgot to change his voice in his outburst, and he bet Slade heard that too.

Slade stopped twirling his pen and sat a bit more straight. No way, it couldn’t be? He quickly recovered.

”No not at all, I’ll come pick you up. Stay right where you are, son.”

And for good measure, he added an ”Okay?”

He heard someone slump down in a chair. ”Okay.”

There was no doubt about it now and Slade was grinning like a shark. Seems he’d be picking up a little bird from school today.

Dick put his hands to his face. Fuck.

Chapter Text

Wood left to finish his lecture and told Dick he could wait in the office until his ”dad” showed up, which was both a blessing and a curse. Good thing was that he didn’t have to wait in the corridor and have people or his friends see his bruised face since he’d rather not make a big deal out of it, but being in the small office was driving him mad with nerves. Dick bounced his leg in the chair as he texted Wally.

To: Wallman

D: 

Dude if you don’t hear from me in the next four hours I’ve been kidnapped, code pumpkin Cyclops.

W: 

Dude wtf do I need to call the gang? What’s going on?

D:

I’ll call you tonight, if I don’t, check Uncle Berry’s trackers and come find me. 

W: 

Gotcha. Stay safe, seriously. 

After Jason told Dick he had a tracker in his arm, Dick had dug it out with a knife by his bathroom sink the same night. Not because it was a tracker, but because it was Bruce’s and Dick didn’t even know he had it. That was another of Bruce’s many issues, whatever protection he put on Dick was almost never consensual which just made it creepy and controlling.

Still, Dick had been kidnapped enough times both as Richard Grayson and Robin to know that a tracker was a good idea, so he’d gone to Barry for help. Maybe not widely known, but Barry was Dick’s all-time favorite uncle. Dick liked Clark too, but he was such a big man with responsibilities and busy schedule that he wasn’t available as anything other than a superhero. Barry, on the other hand, was awesome. Dick has known Barry longer than he’s known Wally. Barry is also seriously underestimated because of his joking and lighthearted attitude. Heroes seemed to take dark unemotional people like Batman way more seriously but Dick had always seen strength in Barry’s mindset, and he’d implemented that into his own persona. Barry also proved that funny didn’t mean stupid. He works at Star Labs, so asking him to make a tracker was no problem. 

Barry was the only adult that knew he had it, and the Titans and some from the young justice team. Dick had had it over five years now and Barry checked it was working properly every six months. They sometimes made a game out of it, with Dick hiding and Barry tracking him to see how accurate it was in places like warehouses or caves.

Dick had never had to be tracked since he got it, thankfully, but Slade was a wild card. Dick had no idea what the man was playing at, coming here to get him. Humiliate him? Absolutely. Kidnap him? .. Less likely, but the risk was never zero. They had grown some respect for each other over the years and Dick was pretty sure Slade wouldn’t kill him, unless provoked enough. And considering he liked Dick’s jokes and remarks, it would take something huge for him to cross that line. Dick didn’t think what was practically a prank call would be the last straw.

A rapid knock on the door had Dick nearly jump out of his skin. Wood opened the door and Dick saw Slade behind him. Sometime while waiting Dick had wondered if Slade would even show up, but alas, no such luck. Slade had decided to come. Very likely for no other reason than to be an ass. And, probably the real reason, this gave Slade power over Dick. He knew Dick’s name wasn’t Tanner, (but that wouldn’t really be a big deal if he revealed it) but what did matter was that Dick had confirmed this man as his father. That was a much bigger lie and much harder to get out of. Dick had no illusion that Slade didn’t want something in turn for his silence. 

As they stepped into the office Dick got a good look at Slade for the first time in over a year. He looked.. exactly the same, with neatly trimmed beard, short hair and a simple black eyepatch. Thank god Slade was dressed properly (aka not in fucking armour) with a black coat and gloves. It was October so it was starting to get chilly. Dick eyed the coat for a second. He didn’t have a good winter jacket so he piled on as many layers as he needed, he had two jumpers on him right now. It worked so far, but he’d have to save up to buy one before any snow fell, hopefully at least a month or two from now. 

The office was rather small, filled with bookshelves, so for them all to fit Wood stood behind his desk, Slade and Dick on the opposite side. 

Wood was oblivious to the tense atmosphere, and smiled. ”My class was over and on my way to check on you I ran into your father.”

Dick mumbled ”How lucky”.

What are the odds of Slade running into Wood on his way, too. Dick supposed it would be too much to ask for Slade to get lost in the school. Hell, if Slade set his mind to it he could probably smell his way to wherever Dick was, with that freaky bloodhound sense of smell he had. One time, years ago, when Nightwing and Deathstroke were in a fight he’d made a comment about Dick not matching his shampoo scent with his body wash. Dick had called him an armpit sniffing pervert and Slade had never made a comment about his smell again.

-

Slade easily tracked down which school and building the call had come from, but once inside he wasn’t sure where to go. He met a teacher along the way and asked for Mr Tanner. It was a small chance that the teacher even knew students' names but the school wasn’t very large, so it was worth a shot. Come to find out, this teacher didn’t just know Dick, he was the one on the phone. 

”Oh, yes I’m on my way to see him right now. You must be his father, nice to meet you. Follow me right this way, sir.” And he led the way as he started some small talk. ”Mr Tanner is such a fine young man. It’s unfortunate we meet under these circumstances.”

Slade nodded. ”Indeed.”

This was about the time Slade realized he didn’t know what first name Dick was using here. Slade enjoyed messing with Dick but he didn’t want to ruin anything if he was seriously undercover. He respected Dick that much at least. 

That thought went out the window the second they entered the office and Slade layed eyes on the kid. He looked exactly like he always did, same hair colour and haircut, and probably no coloured contacts. Actually, probably safe to assume Dick kept his first name as well, so he didn’t have to train to respond to a new name. Seems this was a low-effort undercover mission. 

Once they were all inside the office, Slade supposed it was time to address the elephant in the room.

”Let me see.” Slade said and reached out for Dick. 

He took a step back but Slade swept in quicker so Wood wouldn’t notice and grasped Dick’s chin, lifting his head up. There was a bruise forming along his cheek and seeping into his eye, but Slade could tell Dick had made sure it wouldn’t be a lot of swelling. This was probably planned, and considering they were in a teacher's office that would normally be off limits to students, Slade bet Dick had gotten exactly what he wanted, at the small price of a bruise. And the extra fee of Slade showing up, of course. Dick kept his eyes down, not looking at him. Defiant as always. 

”Look at me.”

Dick hesitated but looked up, and yeah, no contacts, blue eyes on full display. Filled with something, uncertainty? And as always that anger. Slade didn’t know if it was always there or reserved just for him. Some embarrassment as well, but that was to be expected. Slade could tell Dick understood perfectly well that Slade had the upper hand now and couldn’t act out while they were still in school. 

Slade pretended to inspect the bruise like a worried father would. Or was anger a better response? Anyway, he let go of Dick and turned to Wood. 

”And how is Billy being disciplined after an assault like this? Expelled, I would hope?”

Wood winced. ”I assure you I’ll do what I can but honestly, Billy has been a reoccurring problem, and some things are out of my hands.” 

Slade narrowed his eyes. He understood this school was at least a little corrupt, or Dick surely wouldn’t be here in the first place. ”And if it were in your hands?”

Wood’s voice was firm. ”He wouldn’t set foot here again.”

Slade regarded the man. ”You should consider applying for principal, you seem more capable and fitting for the role.” 

Slade paused for a second before adding;

”Dick’s told me about you, and you should know he thinks highly of you Mr Wood.”

It was slightly risky but Slade wanted to seal the deal, there would be no doubt he was young Mr Tanner’s father. Dick wouldn’t get out of this lie easily. The assumption that Dick liked the man was based on his overall likable character, his morals, and judging Dick’s body language towards the man, he respected him. 

Slade didn’t make a face when Dick, as discreetly as he could, ground his heel into Slade’s foot for that comment. The desk separating them meant Wood couldn’t see the small act of violence. 

”Well, we won’t keep you. If that’s all, we should go.” Wood nodded and opened the door. Slade put a hand on Dick’s arm which the boy turned and slapped away, but Slade pretended not to notice and put his hand right back up Dick’s back to lead him out.  

“It was nice meeting you, Mr Tanner.” Wood extended his hand.

”Likewise.” Slade turned to shake the offered hand. He grasped the back of Dick’s shirt when the boy kept walking while Slade was distracted. Slade yanked a little to say ‘Nice try ’ and Dick crossed his arms in response ‘Worth a try.’

-

After the ‘goodbyes’ and ‘take care’s’ they were finally on the move to get out of there. Dick didn’t want to be here a second longer than he needed to and led the way through the corridors. Irritatingly, Slade was always within reach behind him if he decided to make a run for it. 

Dick’s heart nearly stopped when he saw one of his friends, Alice, walking their way further down the corridor they had just turned to. Dick did a 180 and hauled Slade by the arm (who thankfully didn’t resist) back in the corridor and through the first door he saw. Shit that was close. Imagine if his friends saw him with-

”Dick?”

Dick could die. No, he could actually die right then. 

At the table behind them, eating lunch, was the rest of all his friends, who looked worried by his bruise and confused by Slade.

”What happened to your face?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Who is this?”

"Oh, Hi guys.” 

Let it be known Dick is an amazing liar, which is also why he knows to keep his lies simple and never tell more than one lie about the same thing. Dick touched his face, the bruise was impossible not to see. He knew not to try and joke about the bruise, and say he fell down the stairs or something equally stupid, because it’s an obvious lie and then his friends would be worried and make a big deal out of it. Instead, he would minimize their reactions by seeming appropriately bothered and in return they would stay calm and comfort him.

”Yeah Billy attacked me in the corridor, so my dad came to pick me up. I was just showing him around the school a bit before we leave.”

They gasped and Tina exclaimed ”I always said Billy was fucking crazy!” The others agreed.

”He’s insane, but Wood came to my rescue and gave me ice, so the swelling won’t be so bad.”

“Sheriff Woody strikes again!” Tina cheered.

”Where are our manners, hi Mr Tanner we are Dick’s friends! That’s Tina, I’m Justin and that’s Sam.” Justin proclaimed. 

”Dude your dad is a tank.” Sam said with wide eyes and Justin slapped his arm.  ”Manners!”

Slade just smiled. ”It’s nice to meet you too, I hope you keep Dick out of trouble.”

They nodded and Dick tugged at Slade’s arm, smiling at his friends. ”Well, we should get going now, I’ll talk to you later!”

Dick was sure he was red in the face. How embarrassing. Slade was still right behind him, a smug smile on his lips the entire time. 

Once they (finally) got to the parking lot Dick couldn’t hold it any longer. He turned around and screamed;

”What the fuck is wrong with you!”

”Language”

”Don’t!-” Dick was so angry. ”Why would you do this?!”

” You called me ”

”No, I called and you didn’t hang up!”

Slade shrugged.

Dick sank down to a squat with his hands holding the sides of his face. 

”Wood thinks you’re my dad. My friends think you’re my dad. The whole school saw us walk together. This is a fucking disaster!”

Dick stood up and pointed an accusing finger “Out with it! What do you want, eh?”

”Simple. I did you a favour and now you owe me.”

Dick threw out his arms. ”Nothing about this was a favour to me!” 

Slade didn’t relent. ”You involved me in your lie and I played along. You owe me.”

”You only did that to benefit yourself.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong. You owe me.”

“What could you possibly want?”

Slade inhaled, in thought. ”I haven’t decided yet.”

Dick knew what kind of shit he was in right now, and he was too angry to play this game with Slade. ”Do you think I’m stupid? If I do you a favour and we call it quits, what’s to say you won’t undo everything you did today?”

Slade smiled, as if satisfied Dick wasn’t a dumbass. 

"Clever. Then let’s make a deal.”

Dick sneered “How could I trust you to keep your word?”

Slade grasped Dicks shoulders and leaned in to say in an almost whisper.

“You know I’m a man of my word, Robin .”

And okay. Slade had kept his secret identity a secret for years. He’d figured it out after Dick came to Jump and started the Titans, and a new Robin showed up in Gotham.

Dick sighed in the grip Slade still had on his shoulders. ”A deal with the devil.”

Slade smiled. ”Indeed.”

Chapter Text

When Dick got home he threw himself in bed and screamed into his pillow.

His brain kept repeating the day and Dick was teary eyed with how angry he was. Slade shaking hands with Wood. Slade meeting his friends. Slade, Slade, Slade!

How fucking dare he. 

Dick slid off the bed to pace back and forth in his bedroom, wiping his eyes. He was so upset, everything was so compromised and felt out of control. He hated not being in control .

“Oh look at me, I'm Slade Wilson and I'm an asshole, watch me screw things up for no reason!” Dick said in a mocking voice. “Yeah, Slade is an asshole. What right does he have to walk in like that, who does he think he is? That he can do anything just to amuse himself?”

Dick caught sight of the pillow on his bed. “What are you looking at, huh?” he sneered, snatched it off the bed and kicked it hard into the wall. It landed with a soft thump, defeated. 

The pillow didn’t answer and Dick felt the anger slowly bleed out of him. He backed up and sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands holding his face. This whole situation stressed him out so much. He felt hopeless. Angry. Stupid. And now, mostly exhausted.

Dick glanced at his phone on his bedside table and called Wally who picked up after the first ring.

“Dick!” Wally seemed relieved but worried.

Dick put a hand over his face, sighing. “Dude, what the fuck is my life.”

Something scuffled over the phone. “Have you eaten yet?”

It was around 2 PM now and Dick had skipped lunch. “No, something came up.” Or some one.

“Alright, take a shower or something, I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll pick up food on the way.” 

Dick smiled tiredly. “You’re the best, Wallman.”

“Anytime, Rob.” Wally hung up.

Dick didn’t bother to pick up the pillow on his way to the bathroom. He showered quickly in mostly cold water to keep his water bill down. After wrapping himself in a towel Dick picked out his bruise cream and tenderly applied it to his cheek. It was red and swollen and even though Dick was used to much worse, pain was still pain and he winced while applying it. It would help a lot though, so it was worth it.

Dick opted for comfort and put on sweatpants and a gray hoodie he’d gotten second hand a few weeks ago. It was slightly oversized in a cozy way and Dick had practically been living in it when he wasn’t in school or working. Which, thinking about it, wasn’t that much time at all. Dick glanced at the clock. He had a shift tonight at ten, giving him plenty of time to freak out about Slade, study a bit and take a long nap before he had to leave. Speaking of a nap, he might squeeze one in now while waiting for Wally. 

Dick didn’t see his best friend as often as he would like to but they were both busy, Dick probably more so than Wally. He’s living with Artemis and they’re both working full time jobs. That did mean Wally had a thicker wallet than Dick (which was honestly such irony, him being the ward of a multi billionaire or whatever) so when they saw each other Wally usually paid for the food. 

Dick met Atemis sometimes but it was hard with their schedules, and Dick missed her. Maybe they could fit in a workout together sometime, or preferably some laps in the park because Dick couldn’t afford a gym membership. He has to work out to not lose too much muscle mass or discipline now that he’s not as Nightwing much, so Dick goes to the outside gym in the park in the early mornings after his night shifts. That way the gym is empty and he can do his more extreme workouts without people watching or taking photos. He really doesn’t need any paparazzi to recognize him, but that hasn't been a problem since Jason became Gotham’s new favorite. Say what you want about the kid but Dick was happy to give him all the attention from the media, that shit was exhausting. 

Dick snuggled down in his bed and made a mental note to call Artemis some day to make plans before falling asleep. He slept almost 40 minutes before he woke from a knock at the door and the sound of Wally letting himself in with the spare key. Dick sat up in bed and yawned. That nap had done wonders. Wally kicked off his shoes and went straight to the bed, handing Dick the plastic bag with takeout as he shrugged out of his jacked. 

“Tell me everything.”

Wally looked like he always did, with a colourful shirt and jeans. He had let his hair grow out during the summer though, and if you tried you could probably gather it up to the tiniest little ponytail in the back.  

“I don’t even know where to start.” Dick said, but continued as Wally took the bag back and set  out their takeout on the bed between them where they both sat cross legged facing each other. “It’s just, things have been going great for me, you know? I’ve got my own place, I make ends meet and I, I just really like school, okay? Like I actually have some kind of plan for my future, for the first time ever?”

Wally nodded, digging into his food as Dick kept talking. He’d been really supportive when Dick said he’d give school a try.

“And then you remember Mr Wood and why I went to school in the first place? Yeah well that thing came up again and I staged a fight to get into his office, hence the bruise, but then Wood made me call a parent and I thought, I could lie and say that I don’t have a dad or just moved cities you know, but I didn’t want to make up a backstory so I was gonna call a fake contact that won’t pick up, no big deal right, but I stole a burner phone at the bar last week and switched up the phones, right, and so I had to call that number, and yes Wally, this is where pumpkin cyclops comes in, and can you believe the guy picked up! And then he showed up! Wally, he came to my school under the pretense that he’s my father! Then even worse introduced himself to everyone I know at school! And it gets worse even though I knew there would be a price for his silence, that greedy bastard.”

Wally straightened up, alarmed. “What price? Dick, what did you agree to?”

Dick lifted his hands in defense. “Nothing, nothing at all. I said I wasn’t in the mindspace to make decisions like that and he respected that, said we should both take some time to think about the terms before I contact him and we sign a contract.”

“Sign a contract? What kind of deal is this?”

“I don’t think it’s a big deal, probably just normal procedure for him. He’s weird like that but it works in my favour right now, gives me time to think.”

Wally was bouncing his leg while he sat cross legged, takeout devoured while Dick had just scraped the surface of his. “We’ll make this work, Dick. This could be an opportunity.”

Dick nodded. It felt dangerous to try and outsmart Slade or trick him, but still..  “I , I just can't let him screw this up Wally, I need the scholarship.” 

Wally tried to stay positive.  “I know man, but maybe it's not that bad, what does he really have on you anyway?”

Dick thought. “Well, he doesn’t know I need or even want the scholarship, but if he snoops it’s not that hard to figure out. Mr Wood said if I do well he'd recommend me, but Slade knows him now. Do you seriously think it’s below him to either just convince Wood I'm not good enough or blackmail him to take me off the list?”

Wally slumped. “Shit.”

Dick grimaced. “Right?”

“Still, you’re tactical, Rob! I’ll help you figure this out.” Wally went to grab a blue notebook with silver stars Dick had left on the floor and a pen. He bounced back on the bed and rifled through the pages until he found a blank one and laid down on his stomach.  “So first off, what does he know about you now?”

Dick had finished his food and put the box away to lay on his stomach right next to Wally so he could see the page too.

“Not much, he might have noticed I’m not Nightwing that often and he obviously saw me at school, so he probably figured I’m doing some undercover work with the fake name and all.” 

Wally scribbled some notes.

“Okay so he thinks you’re undercover and that’s why you’re not Nightwing full time. This could totally work in your favour. The question is what he wants from you? He doesn't need anything you have, money, contacts, or information.”

Dick put his head in his hand, tilting his head. “He’s kind of an ass. He might ask for something just so I can’t have it, even if he doesn’t need it himself.”

“In that case, we should make him think you really want something that you actually don't care about, right? He doesn’t need anything and is doing this for amusement, and like you said he can be an ass just for the sake of it. Imagine if he thinks he can take something from you that you really seem to want, he won’t be able to resist something like that.”

Dick had to think. What would be something Dick could trick Slade into thinking he wanted? The best lies have a sliver of truth and there is one thing Dick had been eyeing..

“There is a gymnastic competition with other schools next year. The winner is qualified for the national championship. I could play on my ego and make him think I want that more than anything, and the scholarship will seem unimportant even if I pursue that alongside.”

Wally added. “And he doesn’t know you don’t talk to Bruce. He’ll think being broke is part of your Tanner character and that way he won’t think you actually need the scholarship, it makes sense to want when pretending to be a poor student.” 

“Dude, this might actually work.” Dick was almost getting excited. There was always a thrill when it came to pretending, tricking and outsmarting. “There is even a gymnastics team at school I can join for that.”

Wally paused. “Will you have time for that?”

“I mean if I want to seem serious about winning I kinda have to. If I can get Wilson to give me some money I can lay off one of my jobs.”

Wally wrote that down too. “Right, father duties on his end, some financial support for his kid. Speaking of, what should your terms be?”

Dick counted on his fingers. “Well for one he needs to keep quiet. No one can know he’s not my dad. In extreme cases I might even need him to show up. Do father things, you know? Shit like if I get in an accident I should have him as my emergency contact and stuff, right?” 

Wally was making a list and the paper was almost half full of notes already. “Yeah and he should stick to the undercover name as well.”

Dick knew Slade had put up with being called Tanner by Mr Wood but if this would be more long term and serious Slade would prefer Wilson at all costs. “Or we could say I got it from my mother and they separated, that checks out since there is no mother character.”

"You're right. Did he say anything at all about what he wanted?”

Dick thought back to the parking lot. “He just said he hadn’t decided, kept repeating that I owe him.”

“Well, we’ll have some absolute no’s.”

Dick nodded. “I won't kill, directly or indirectly.”

Wally wrote it up in a list with a big ‘NO’ at the top. “What else?”

Dick thought. “Well that’s mostly it, right? No criminal stuff.”

“He will surely try to find loopholes for that.”

Dick nodded, thinking. “Then we should keep the focus on me. What he can gain from the gymnastics championship, keep his interest and attention on that.” Dick thought. "Hey! We could start a betting pool! It’s illegal enough that he won’t think we organized it, and it will keep all his attention on me winning.”

“What if you don’t win?”

“Well that’s not my problem, is it? I’m only after the scholarship.”

The neighbor upstairs slammed the door and dust rained down from the ceiling.

Wally stared while Dick was unfazed. 

“Is this building even stable?”

“It’s falling apart honestly, but there haven't been any major incidents yet.”

“Major?”

“I’ve stepped through the floor twice, that’s why I moved the bed over here to cover it.”

Wally crawled to the edge to peek under the bed and indeed, two foot sized holes were in the floor. 

He sat back up and looked at Dick. “Dude, I know you don’t want to, but ask Bruce for some money? This place is actually rotting.” 

Dick scoffed. 

“I know you two have issues but it’s money , he wouldn’t notice if you took some. Seriously, he wouldn’t even notice!”

Dick crossed his arms. “First of all, Bruce is a control freak and would totally notice. Second of all, if I had no food, and Bruce was the only hand willing to feed me, I’d rather starve.” He put a finger to his chin. “But this could add to what character Slade is going to play. He came dressed to school in nice clothes, and while he doesn’t have to give a shit how I live, maybe I can play him to upgrade my apartment.”

“You’d ask Slade for money but not Bruce?”

“Oh please, this is purely business. And I wouldn't ask, he’d give it to me. In character."

Wally sighed. “You two seriously need to have a talk.”

Dick scoffed, looking down at his hands as he played with his fingers. “He doesn't talk, he grunts. He doesn't feel, he Batmans.” 

Wally decided to leave it for now. “Okay fine, but speaking of the bat, is the new kid doing alright? The big man isn’t too hard on him?”

“New kid? Bats’s had that model for a few years now.”

“Dick, he has a name! What is it, James? Jasper?”

“It’s Jason.” Dick sighed. “But yeah, I made sure of that. I don’t know a lot about him or what he’s doing now though.”

Wally put the pen down and closed the notebook. “Maybe invite him over, get to know him better. You can’t hate him solely because Batman’s an asshole.”

“Guilty by association.” 

“Dick! Seriously!” 

“God, fine!” Dick pushed off the bed. “But not here, I know he will go and tattle everything about me to Bruce the second he finds out anything.”

“How do you know that, have you ever spoken to him?”

“Uh, like once, maybe?”

“Dick get your head out of your ass! He’s a kid! He hasn’t even had the chance to do you wrong.”

Dick made a face. “My point exactly.”

“Well like it or not he is your family now Dick.”

“He’s not. I choose my family.”

Wally dragged a hand along his face. Dick was so fucking stubborn.

“Dick. When you were Robin you had us. You had friends. You were never truly alone with Batman and whenever you needed to get away you had somewhere to go. Does he have that?”

Dick was quiet.

“He might need you.”

Ugh, why did Wally have to have a point. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think quick, you know me and Artemis are going out of town the upcoming months. You could use a new friend.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “I have new friends in school.”

“Friends who know .” Wally stood up next to him. “If anything happens I want to know you have a lifeline.” 

Dick sighed. “Yeah fine, whatever.” 

Maybe he’d give Jason a call.

Chapter Text

Many lonely children dreamed of having siblings. On the streets Jason never wanted a brother or a sister, big or little. Having another person besides his mother to take care of would be a liability. The streets were dangerous and Jason didn’t have time to worry about or protect anyone other than himself. His mom was always home doing..

stuff,

and it was up to Jason to get money any way he could. At first he’d tried to beg but soon realized stealing was the only way to survive. He picked apart cars mostly, selling parts to a contact he had. That got him just enough to keep him and his mom from starving and warm enough in the winter. 

Jason couldn’t afford to have any siblings on the streets, but his life was different now. He’d been practically kidnapped by Batman after stealing the Batmobile tires when he was 11. Jason knew he should never have risked it, but his mom had died from an overdose just three months prior. Their neighbors found her first and made sure Jason never got close enough to see her, and even arranged a burial through some shady contacts. That was more than Jason would have been able to do for her, so he was thankful. He grieved her, of course he did. He cried for days and the smallest thing reminded him of her, making him cry. But it didn’t matter. Life waits for no one and Jason was still living on the streets. He had to fend for himself now. With survival at the forefront of his mind every day, the grief dulled. 

Batman caught him stealing his tires. A mighty idiot he was for trying to steal those, but Jason saw the car and couldn’t resist. He wanted to pay his neighbors back for arranging the funeral. He didn’t want to owe anything to anybody in this place, that was dangerous.

Still, so was Batman. He’d been more violent than usual lately, leaving criminals bleeding on the streets left and right. Batman didn’t hit him though, just made him put the tires back. Jason was bold (or scared) enough to not answer when the man asked where he lived or what his name was. Batman didn’t press either, and let Jason run away as soon as the tires were on properly. Jason ran out of the alley and didn’t stop until he was far away. Holy shit he had just used a lifetime of luck. Batman hadn’t even called the cops on him. Jason didn’t have time to dwell on it too long, he still needed to eat so he went looking for something else to steal. In the end he was far too nervous that Batman had followed him so he didn’t dare steal that night and went to sleep hungry. 

A week later they met again, and Jason was sure Batman had sought him out. He offered to buy Jason food. Normally he would have said no and not accepted food from a stranger but a starving stomach can persuade you otherwise. Jason was the only one eating and even though Jason expected Batman to tell him he owed him something, he never did. He was just sitting there, observing him, looking at him like he reminded him of something. Jason tried to ignore it and inhaled his burger and fries instead. 

Another few nights and Batman was back again, dropping down in front of Jason on the street, telling him he knows his name and everything about him, and that he knows a man that can adopt him. 

After the free meal last time Jason thought maybe Batman was chill, but yeah, hell no. What the fuck. Might as well ask him to get in the batmobile because he has kittens and candy in there. Jason turned to run but Batman was faster, grasping his arm. 

“I’m serious Jason. I know Mr Wayne and he can help you.”

“ Mr Wayne? ” Jason was wide eyed, still trying to yank his arm free. 

“Yes, you know who he is?”

“Everyone knows who that bastard is. Leave me alone.”

“Bastard? Why is he a bastard?” Batman sounded confused.

Jason jerked his arm from Batman's grip. “If you don’t know you’re just as stupid as him. He pumps money into organizations that are the reason hundreds of kids, including me, live on the streets.”

“I’ll talk to him about that. I’m sure he doesn’t know.” 

“Wayne doesn’t know anything other than women and wine. That’s his blessing.”

Batman seemed bothered as he let Jason go. Jason hoped he wouldn’t run into Batman again. He also needed to keep his mouth shut before that got him in trouble, talking about Wayne like that. Batman and Wayne seemed to be friendly at the least. 

Jason thought he wouldn’t see Batman again, and he didn’t. Not until Jason was on his third day of no food and he was sure he’d die within hours that he climbed a building and switched the bat signal on. Batman was there within minutes and clearly wasn’t expecting Jason, huddled on the ground crying. He begged Batman for Wayne to adopt him, because right now Jason would do anything to never be hungry again. His stomach was eating itself.

Jason barely remembers what happened after that until he woke up in a bed days later, in a bedroom he didn’t recognize. Mr Wayne sat in a chair beside his bed, and explained he was adopted and everything was going to be fine, that he was safe now. Jason should maybe have panicked or been at least a little scared, but all he could think about was that he was warm and didn’t feel hungry anymore. 

The first month Jason stayed at the manor, officially adopted and all, he stuck close to Alfred. He used to follow the butler around the manor as he went from room to room, dusting. He followed every day and had learnt the whole Manor’s layout. He scoured for hiding places mostly, a couple of escape routes. Not that he felt like he’d need it, but it was always good to know. Most of the bedrooms were empty, only Bruce’s, Alfred’s and Jason’s being used. And the other one. Alfred never said anything as he went in there to dust, every day. Jason usually waited outside in the hall, sometimes taking a peek inside the rooms, but since they were mostly empty there wasn’t much to see anyway, and he didn’t want to feel trapped inside the room. Every time they went by that door, Jason stood in the hallway and looked in. It was fully decorated with a bed, rug, closet and desk, some posters on the wall and random objects or toys in a bookshelf. Despite all of that it felt empty, because someone had clearly lived here and didn’t anymore. Judging by the interior it was a child. For two weeks Jason hadn’t dared to ask, since that child had probably died. They never spoke of it and Jason didn’t ask, until one day he did.

“Whose room is this?” Jason asked in a quiet voice as he took his first careful step into the bedroom behind Alfred. He stayed by the door frame when Alfred ventured further in to close the blinds and dust. Always dusting. 

Alfred paused for a second but didn’t turn around when he answered. “This was young master Richard’s bedroom.”

Was. 

Alfred pulled the blinds down as Jason watched. Why did he close the blinds at night when no one sleeps in here?

Jason had apparently made his question clear on his face because Alfred suddenly looked back at the blinds as if realizing what he was doing. 

“Master Richard left us .. suddenly.” And that was all he said. 

Jason was distraught at being in a dead child's room that Alfred was clearly still grieving. 

“..How long ago?”

Alfred paused in the doorway before closing the door when Jason followed him out again. 

“A month.”

A month? A knot formed in his stomach as Jason stopped abruptly. He didn’t follow Alfred to the next room. A month since that kid had died and there Jason was, freshly adopted right after. He felt queasy and went in the other direction, away from the room. He didn’t know where he was going until he stumbled into the library. He went to the nearest bookshelf and sank down next to it, his legs shaking. What had happened to that kid? A month ago?! Who adopts a stranger weeks after their child dies?!

Jason leaned back against the bookshelves but felt them dig into his back. Turning, he realized the bookshelf he sat by were filled with photo albums. Heart beating loudly, Jason looked around before slowly pulling one out. He opened a random page and was met with a family photo, of Alfred and Bruce, and a kid. He stood in the middle, with Alfred and Bruce on either side, their hands on his shoulders. The blood drained from Jason's face.

A black haired, wide eyed kid, probably around 10 years old.

His stomach twisted and throat tightened. Jason pushed the book away before emptying his stomach onto the floor. 

The kid looked just like Jason. 

He couldn’t breathe. Jason pushed himself to stand, gripping onto the bookshelf to not fall over again. He knew he shouldn’t have come here. What the fuck had happened to that kid and why did Wayne adopt him so soon? Jason felt dizzy as he realized he was adopted now. Wayne legally owned him until he was 18. He was a public figure as well, and.. The gears in Jason’s head suddenly clicked. Oh god. His kid had died and Wayne just happened to find a lookalike orphan on the streets? Jason was supposed to replace him. What if Wayne killed that child? Jason glanced down at the photo. Was he next? Without thinking twice he took out the photo and tore both sides with Bruce and Alfred away, leaving just the kid in the middle. He pocketed the photo.

He had to get out of there, right now. There was no way he could act like nothing had happened, and they couldn’t know that he knew. Jason felt his heartbeat through his entire chest. By now Alfred should be on the other side of the manor. This might be his only chance. Running as quietly as he could he got to the front door, threw on his shoes and jacket before dashing through the doors, not even stopping to close the door behind him. 

It was raining and mud splashed onto his jeans and coated his shoes as he ran. It was dark out and he couldn’t see or hear much, just his own loud breathing as he ran. He made it into the woods before he collapsed against a tree, his chest so tight that he couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air, holding a hand on his chest. Wayne had killed a child and he was next. If Jason had any breath to spare he would cry. He had to leave. 

He didn’t have a chance to get up before he saw a flashlight through the trees and Alfred’s voice call his name. Jason pressed himself against the tree and stayed as still as he could, pressing his whole arm against his mouth to quiet his breathing. The light eventually went the other way, and Jason had gotten his bearings enough to get up and sprint. 

He could barely see where he was going, tripping every other step but never stopping, until he ran into a wall. The breath knocked out of him and he fell back, but someone grabbed him. Jason went wild. He screamed, kicked and trashed all he could.

“Jason! Calm down!” The man was yelling at him and Jason, in his panic, recognized him as batman. Batman, who had given him to Wayne. 

Jason was in hysterics.

“He killed him!” He sobbed out, trashing. “Let me go, let go of me! Please !”

Batman didn’t let him go. 

“Alfred! He’s here!”

God no no no they would bring him back and kill him. Jason felt his panic rise and screamed louder, trashed harder. He almost got out and Batman had to use all his strength to keep him there without hurting him.

“Jason, you have to calm down!”

Jason didn’t calm down and he was pretty sure he was going to die from fright. 

Then Batman yanked off his cowl and suddenly Bruce Wayne stared right into his eyes.

“Jason it’s me, it’s okay! You're safe!”

The butcher was holding him trapped in his arms, Alfred on his way behind him, with no way out. He was going to be murdered. Jason was going to die. He felt his heart stutter before everything went black.

– – 

Bruce stared helplessly as Jason passed out in his arms, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he went limp. 

The rain was pouring more heavily and they needed to get back inside. It was pure luck Batman had decided to detour through the woods to escape some of the rain on his way back to the cave for an early night when he ran into Jason, running for his life. The kid was out of it, beyond scared. Bruce pulled the unconscious boy into his arms and felt the rain dribble down his face into his eyes. Revealing his secret identity had not been part of any plan but Bruce thought it would calm Jason down enough to tell him what he was running from, so he could save him. It started to seem like nothing had been chasing Jason, though. 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred yelled as he saw the man holding Jason in his arms. “Thank goodness, he just ran out!”

“Let’s go inside.”

– –

Jason woke up on a bed, alone. It seemed like a medical room, but Jason hadn’t been sliced open, patting himself down to make sure he was whole. The bed he was on was warm and must have internal heating, and he had at least three blankets on him, even though his clothes and hair were still damp. His heart sang in relief that he had just been left here, no one undressing him from his wet clothes. In the corner of the room stood a metal rod, meant for holding those drop bags. Jason slid off the bed and screwed off the top half to have as a weapon before poking his head outside the room. He was in a cave, and further down both Bruce (in normal clothes) and Alfred waited for him.

“Jason.” Wayne called. Jason didn’t move, holding the iron rod tighter. “I can explain.” 

Jason was busy looking around in the cave at what he could see. Something caught his eye, a glass case with the Robin suit. Drenched in blood. And didn’t that make sense, if Wayne was Batman the kid had to have been Robin. 

Jason had only seen him once when he was in an alley and Robin had jumped over him between the buildings. It was like seeing Santa Claus flying across the moon for Jason, everyone knew about Robin but few had seen him. Not like Jason had any friends he could tell about it, but still. It was nice to see that kids could be strong too. 

The entire torso of the red yellow and green suit was brown from dried blood. Jason pointed to the case and pretended like he wasn’t slightly shaking. “What happened to him?”

Bruce closed his eyes and Alfred looked away. “The Joker shot him.”

Jason felt that knot in his stomach again, but it was soon overridden by anger. 

“The Joker is still alive, I know that. Why haven’t you killed him?!”

Bruce looked up. “I don’t kill.” 

Jason screamed, voice breaking in tears. “He murdered your child and you do nothing ?!” 

Bruce seemed taken aback.

“Jason, Robin - Richard isn’t dead.”

Jason seethed. “I’m supposed to believe that? You grieving, an empty bedroom, a bloody uniform, me looking just like him by pure coincidence ?”

Bruce straightened up. “I won’t deny that you look like him and I thought I could right some of my wrongs I did with him if I help you, but I promise the Joker didn’t kill him. He shot him, and I fired Robin.”

“So what am I, a replaced son or a replaced soldier? You expect me to be Robin after this?”

Bruce didn’t answer either question for a while. “You can’t go out untrained.”

That was not a no. Jason was about to retaliate before a thought struck him. If he was trained, he could go after the Joker. He could kill him. After all he had done to Gotham, to her people, to Robin, it was only fair.

“Where is Richard now?” 

“.. When I took Robin from him, he saw no reason to stay. He left.”

Jason could smell the bullshit a mile away. Batman deemed the soldier unfit for battle and discarded him, resulting in Wayne kicking the kid out as well. God how old was he even, the suit looked like it would fit Jason perfectly, and he was only 11. In the picture Richard looked about ten, so they were probably the same age. Jason had seen horrors in his short life but couldn’t imagine going up against the Joker, probably saving everyone and being shot, and then kicked out. The photo of the kid felt heavy in his pocket.

Jason lowered the iron rod. 

He’d do it. For Richard. For every victim of the Joker. He’d bring justice. 

He’d be the next Robin.

Chapter Text

Slade’s car was in the parking lot where Dick just had his little breakdown. He didn’t seem thrilled when Slade proposed they write a contract but agreed to meet up later in the week to discuss it. He’d given Slade an annoyed look before walking away when Slade called out to him, holding up and jiggling his car keys.

“Need a ride, son?” 

Dick held up two ‘fuck you’s over his shoulders and kept walking. Slade chuckled as he got in his car, a typical family one with four seats and a trunk. He pulled out of the parking lot and tuned out the radio. 

Today had certainly been interesting. Slade had gone just for the shits and giggles, but surprisingly hadn’t hated being seen with Dick in public like that. He could do without “Mr. Tanner” for sure, but being called Dick’s father and handed the responsibility to make sure he got home safe? Which granted, he didn’t, but being expected and trusted to do so? Made him somewhat warm inside. Maybe even proud. A guy like Slade was rarely entrusted to take care of something fragile. Not that Dick was fragile, not at all, but he was vulnerable as a civilian and especially when undercover. Dick had allowed (forced) himself to be vulnerable around Slade today and he had only slightly taken advantage of it. It was harmless though, he’d done much worse to Dick in the past. Including but not limited to shooting, beating, chasing and by now Slade had surely given Dick a fair share of nightmares and trauma throughout the years, but Dick was never too scared to show up to the next fight. Even with their history that kid had never been afraid of him. 

Robin was probably around 15 years old when they first met. Although the other Titans were not necessarily afraid of Slade they still avoided contact when possible. Robin sought it out. Every time he got the chance he picked a fight with Deathstroke and even though he lost the fights, Robin never lost his enthusiasm, always coming back with everything he had. Slowly but surely Robin got stronger and his dedication and consistency with going up against a more skilled and stronger fighter was paying off. That plan relied heavily on Slade not killing him, but just like Robin had trouble finding skilled fighters to train with, so did Slade. Years ago he’d started inventing robots to spar with because 1. He was alone and 2. Most real people were too incompetent to keep up with him. Robin couldn't keep up with him at first either, but it was a breath of fresh air for Slade to fight against something with a brain, something more calculating and spontaneous than his own programmed bots. 

Slade was an intimidating figure to most. He had an impressive build and towered over people naturally. It made them cower away, accepting defeat just by a glance at him. Robin was a different story. Although 15 and barely reaching up to Slade’s armpit in height, the kid wasn’t scared. That was to be expected though, having grown up around Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman, all tall and muscular. Robin had always been smaller than the people he fought and made it to his advantage. He also had a knack for talking while fighting. An effective distraction against villains with a short temper, but with Slade mostly just lead to friendly banter between them. Well, not friendly maybe, it was mostly insults and threats with some jokes thrown in, but not menacing.

Dick was a brat but he was also brave and kind. Rumor had it in Gotham that Robin could make Batman laugh. Not chuckle, laugh . That has the same shock factor as Batman showing up in a bright yellow glitter kilt. Absolutely unthinkable, and yet the Boy Wonder somehow managed. Crawling his way into even the toughest people's hearts. Always finding something positive, being the sun on someone else’s rainy day. Sometimes Dick reminded Slade so much of Grant, that -

Slade gripped the steering wheel tight, banishing the thought. 

Dick was nothing like Grant. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be. 

Slade didn’t like to think about it. His family. Former family. The one he had until he fucked up and Adeline put a bullet through his skull for it. 

The story of his family was tragic and messy. It had been beautiful once, though. It was almost 30 years ago but Slade remembered being young and in love, both him and Adeline just in their early thirties. They were happy together and eventually, Adeline proposed they make an addition to their family. They had their whole lives ahead of them but she knew she couldn’t wait too long if she wanted to give birth herself. 

They talked about their jobs as mercenaries. Adeline quit and Slade agreed it was too dangerous to continue if they wanted a family. A week prior Slade’s thoughts would be occupied by contracts, Adeline and what to eat for dinner, but after she had brought up wanting a child the thought of a little baby wouldn’t leave him alone. Slade wanted to be a father. 

Something fierce was born within him that day. In the coming months he read every book ever written on babies, pregnancy and women's health. He took cooking courses so he could cook healthy nutritious meals for his wife and baby. He built a nursery of their spare bedroom and he babyproofed the entire house. One day Adeline got home from work (she had quit as a mercenary but picked up a job as a gun instructor, she couldn't bear to just sit at home every day) to see Slade with sandpaper, having filed down all the sharp edges (and then some) of their wooden tables and chairs. He stood with his hands on his hips, admiring his work but also wondering how he could make it even safer. The chair and table legs that were once square were now perfect cylinders. 

She walked up to him and kissed him on his cheek, looking around. “You’ve been busy.”

Slade hummed. “Do you know how dangerous edges can be? Countless accidents with furniture.”

“I’m sure. It’ll be a while before it can run around though.”

“Running, climbing, - Oh, I should drill the drawers and the bookshelves to the walls. Good idea Honey.”

She watched him dive into his toolbox and laughed. “You madman, I’m not even pregnant yet.”

When Slade had done everything humanly possible to their house he followed Adeline’s lead and picked up a job as a mechanic to keep his days occupied.

Adeline got pregnant and eventually gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby boy. Slade had never held something so small and so precious in his arms before. Adeline was a good mother, the baby calmed by her touch and heartbeat. Slade had read stories at night while she was pregnant so the baby, little Grant Kane-Wilson, recognized his voice.

Slade was blessed with 11 years of a happy family. Grant grew fast and all of Slade’s precautions proved necessary, because that child ran around the house, tripping and stumbling, and climbed on everything he could reach. He learned to swim and ride a bike, and he loved to play with legos, old enough to follow more complicated instructions or build his own creations. Slade thought nothing could touch him or his family. 

Until one day when a black Bugatti rolled into his mechanic shop and five men emerged. Slade walked up to them, wiping his hands on a rag.

“How can I help you?”

The obvious leader in a black suit gestured for the others to stand guard at the exits. Slade was the only one working right now and he was supposed to close up shop in an hour. Looks like he’d be late home tonight though. He caught sight of the spider-pin on the man’s suit. The widow’s mafia. Notorious for their never ending wars and drug deals. 

“Hi, fella” The man clapped a hand onto Slade’s chest in greeting, which Slade caught and gripped in his hand. 

“You and your friends are in the wrong place. This is a mechanic shop.”

The man pressed a gun to Slade’s abdomen. “Well it’s my lucky day. I was looking for a mechanic.”

Slade wasn’t scared of guns and not of this armed fool in a suit, but he had a family now. He couldn’t die and leave Adeline and Grant alone. 

He let go of the hand. “What do you want.” 

The man smiled. “There we go. Cooperate and no one gets hurt.” He turned and gestured to the car. “I need a compartment built in by the headboard, about this big”  he gesticulated the size of a football.

“You’re still in the wrong place. I’m a mechanic. I fix cars, not rebuild them.”

“Well, Mr. Mechanic, you just got a promotion.” One of the guys who had been snooping around came back with Slade’s wallet and handed it to his boss, who opened it to check his ID. 

“Mr. Wilson” he corrected himself. 

He glanced at the photo of Adeline, Grant and him. 

“And your family. Say, it would be a shame if you refused to work and someone else had to pay, hm?”

Slade surged forward to grasp the collar of the man, pulling him forward. 

“ Do not threaten my family.” 

“Do what I ask, and we’ll see.” The other guys wrestled Slade’s grip off their boss. “I expect it to be done in two days.”

“And if you don’t do it, or tell anyone what happened here..” The man took out the photo from Slade’s wallet and waved it, a clear threat before they left, and Slade stood there in his white T-shirt and the black Bugatti. 

It stung deep to cave to threats like that, but two days was barely any time and he couldn’t risk the safety of his family. He’d build the fucking compartment and then seek them out and kill them. Slade sighed and got to work. He had to read the manual and improvise a bit, but he was a good mechanic and got the job done just in time. He didn’t tell Adeline about the men or his plan of revenge, she wouldn’t approve of what he was about do to and Deathstroke’s short return. 

A week later the same car exploded in a parking house during a drug deal, taking seven lives. Only one of them was involved, six of them innocent. Three of those were children. 

That's when Slade knew Deathstroke had to step in. This was going to continue. They would keep coming to him to ‘fix’ their cars, threaten his family and kill civilians in their fucking wars. And if not him, then some other innocent to do their dirty work and more civilians die. 

Slade planned meticulously for that day. He picked Grant up from school early, not wanting him to be in any sort of public space where he could be threatened. He picked Grant up in his car, who showed him what he’d made in school.

“Look dad at the drawings I made!”

Slade stole a quick glance, they were drawings of his action-figure doll, which he had in his other hand. 

“That’s great buddy, but show me when we get home, I have to look at the road when I drive.”

“Okay! Do you think mom will like them?”

“She’ll hang them on the refrigerator right away, you’ll see.”

Their fridge was usually full of his drawings and doodles, but they had to take them down every now and then to make room for the new ones. Slade kept a secret binder in his office with all the drawings they took down, he was too sentimental to throw them out. 

Slade parked the car in a half-empty parking lot at a grocery store. 

“Why did we stop?”

“I need to pick up a few things, it won’t be too long.” He rifled through the backseat of the car. “Here’s a CD player and your favorites, there are crayons back there too. Be a good boy and stay in the car while I’m gone, okay? Do not leave the car.”

Grant didn’t look at him, too busy flipping to his favorite CDs. “Okay, dad.”

Slade smiled and ruffled his brown hair before closing the door. Ventilation was on, Grant had everything he’d need in the car, the windows were tinted and he locked the door, although Grant could get out if he really needed to. He pulled a duffel bag from the car with his gear. He jogged a block to an alley to suit up. He would never do that normally but he couldn’t pick up Grant in full armor so this would have to do. Putting together his guns and hiding the duffel bag behind a trash can, he was ready to go. 

He got to the building, not caring about stealth and blowing his way in. The widow had apparently been expecting him, speaking through the speakers as he walked down the halls, leaving a trail of dead bodies behind him.

“Come to kill me, Deathstroke? Or should I say Slade Wilson.” Her voice paused. “You have a son, don’t you?”

Slade dropped his gun an inch. 

She tsk’ed. “You should know better than to leave a child alone in a car.”

Slade stopped dead in his tracks. No way. A screen on the wall lit up, showing his car with the window smashed and the door ajar. He could see crayons scattered on the pavement. 

“Let him go.” There was no beating around the bush. He knew they knew that was his kid. 

“Hm, no.”

Another screen lit up, Grant gagged and tied to a chair. He was crying. Fat droplets of tears ran down his cheeks and he was shaking. Slade saw red. How the fuck had they taken him? They must have trailed him since he modified their car, keeping tabs on him. Slade cursed his 11-year break, he’d become careless, and sluggish. He should have noticed. 

Steel gaze tore away from Grant to the woman. “I will paint the walls with your brain after I tear your head off.”

“He’ll be dead before you get close enough to touch me or even shoot me.” She pressed a button and said “Say hi to your father, little boy,”

Grant was turned towards the camera, and the gag was roughly removed. “Dad?” Grant’s voice choked by his crying. “Dad!” 

She hummed. “That should be enough.”

Grant kept crying out to his father. “Dad! Daddy hel-” 

Smack!

The slap split Grant’s eyebrow and lip, he cried out in pain and ducked his head down to protect himself.

“She said that’s enough. You speak when spoken to you piece of shit.” The man punched Grant in his stomach and he doubled over, gasping for air. He already had trouble breathing from crying, no doubt a lump in his throat, and now the air punched out of him.

He was only 11. 

Slade felt breathless. “Stop.”

She hardened her gaze. “That boy is dead whatever you do.”

Blow after blow landed, Grant doubled over, crying and screaming in pain. The men’s knuckles were stained red when they pulled their fists back. 

“This is a lesson for you. I’ll let you bury your son, then I’ll talk to my friends in Gotham and they will send for your head.” 

Something about that last phrase sounded familiar but Slade didn’t have time to think about it before both screens shut down and Slade saw his reflection stare back at him. He couldn’t see Grant anymore. 

Finally, his blood started pumping through his body. 

Grant please be alive

Slade ran out of the building.

Grant I’m sorry

Slade has no idea how, but his intuition lead him to where they had taken and tortured his son. 

He wasn’t the first one there though. When he burst through the door he was greeted with five men with their brains blown out. The walls were still dripping blood.

In the middle sat Adeline, cradling Grant to her chest, gun still in her hand. He was bloody and bruised, limp in her arms as she shook with sobs. Adeline was sweaty, her white tank top stained red, her hair in a bun that had almost fallen out.

Slade tore his mask off, stepping into the room. 

Adeline clutched Grant closer to her chest and held up her gun. Her hand was steady.

“ You .” She spat with venom. 

“Is he? I didn’t -” His voice was breaking. 

“ My baby. Because. Of. YOU.”

That was the last thing Slade remembers. He woke up eight days later in the same spot with his eye shot out. He wasn’t sure he was grateful for his healing properties this time. This would have killed any other man. Was meant to kill him.

In a room with decaying bodies and dried blood, his eye still gone, beyond healing, only one thought raced through his mind. 

Grant. Where was Grant? 

Slade went home first. They weren’t there. 

Their TV was broadcasting the room with the bodies. Adeline had seen everything. 

He searched every hospital, every underground doctor or healer. No one had seen them, no one had heard a word. He searched every day for them, but Adeline knew how to cover her tracks. She didn’t want to be found.

Slade murdered the entire Mafia empire and ripped the head of The Widow, just like he said he would.

It wasn’t until five weeks later of restless search that he walked into them by chance. He was visiting his dear friend Wintergreen, needing comfort in this horrid time. Slade hadn’t seen him in a while and had brought flowers to make up for his lack of visiting lately. Will preferred salmon pink roses over red roses, said they looked happier. Slade arranged them in Will’s vase and stood up to dust off his knees and admire his work. They did look nice next to the headstone.

After spending some time with Will he decided to head back and saw two new graves. Curiosity led him to look closer. Rare to see two new graves next to each other. One was smaller than the other.

Slade stuttered and fell to his knees in front of the headstones. 

Adeline Kane

Nothing stands between a mother..

Grant Kane-Wilson

..and her child. Forever united in heaven. 

Chapter Text

I should have known better than to jump on this half rotten floor , Dick thought as wood tore through his left foot and he fell on his ass with a thud. Too shocked and embarrassed he didn’t yell in pain, even as his bare foot had splinters from his sole up to his ankle. Dick hissed curses as he carefully pulled it up.

He looked devastatingly at the new hole in his floor, and it glared right back at him, scowling how it served him right for jumping on a floor he’d stepped through twice before. 

Dick sighed pitifully as he tenderly held his foot. He had hoped to go for a run before his shift at the bar tonight, but that was out of the question now. He stretched out on the floor to grab his backpack, which he’d thankfully left not far away, to pull out the tweezers he kept in his little medical kit. Dick carefully picked and pulled the splinters free, his back and neck aching when he was done. He finished it off with two band-aids for the ones that bled a little, and hoped the others would heal faster if he let them air out. 

The rest of his afternoon Dick crawled around his apartment on all fours, his foot way too tender to step on comfortably and he was not going to jump around on one foot after what had just happened. 

Thankfully he didn’t have much planned that afternoon and Dick could do his homework on the floor. He had kind of planned to go grocery shopping but that would have to wait. 

When he stepped out the front door two hours later for his shift his foot still hurt, but Dick was no stranger to hiding pain and he would not skip work for something so ridiculous. The walk there was uncomfortable but Dick distracted himself by thinking of how he could sit down his entire shift. Thursday nights were always almost empty, anyway. 

When he got there he didn’t bother to hide his sigh of relief as he slumped down in a chair. Dick considered taking his shoe off but decided against it, he’d just have to endure a few hours until he got home again. He did loosen it considerably though, his foot had swollen a little since the incident. 

The first hour was calm and Dick did mundane things, mostly wiping the counter, the tables and some glasses. A few regulars had trinkled in, and he greeted them as always. They were quiet people, coming in to enjoy a drink before heading home, and their low murmurs of conversation was pleasant background noise. On the weekends they had loud club music on but during the week it was more feel good playlists with lower volume so people could talk comfortably. Dick had almost zoned out, lulled by the calmness of the room as he wiped the counter mindlessly. He startled when someone pulled out a chair right across from him and sat down, Dick hadn’t heard them come in.

“One whisky, please.”

Dick stared as Slade sat across from him, a hand on his chin, posture and expression relaxed. Almost nonchalant, as if he was just ordering a drink in a bar. Well, he was, but you know. 

Dick looked around. No one paid attention to Slade, who was thankfully dressed casually, but Dick still lowered his voice. “What are you doing here? I’m working!” 

Slade drawled. “And a fine job you’re doing, not serving the only customer ordering.”

Dick eyed him, but Slade just stared back. Dick was suspicious about how.. chill Slade was, but slowly poured a whiskey anyway. He pushed the glass forward. 

“That’ll be 20 dollars.” 

Slade raised an eyebrow. “That’s expensive.”

Dick shrugged. “There’s an extra fee for bothering the bartender.” The fee part was obviously a lie, but Dick was bothered to see Slade here tonight. He’d hoped for a quiet night so he could lick his wounds in peace at home, if Slade found out about his foot it would literally be adding insult to injury. 

“Bothering the bartender by ordering a drink?” Slade said sarcastically but still slid 20 dollars across the counter. 

Dick took it, grateful Slade amused him. They both knew a whisky in a place like this was at most 8 dollars, even if it wasn’t for the sign that literally said ‘Whisky - 8 dollars’ on the wall. Slade clearly had money to spare though, and Dick felt lucky tonight. Deciding to see how far he could push him, Dick held his hand out again expectedly, testing the waters of their new dynamic. 

Dick had a teasing smile.

“Tip.”

Slade stared. "Seriously?"

Dick smiled wider and pushed the whisky back just out of reach. "Seriously."

Slade slid another 20 across the bar, overexaggerating his movements when putting his wallet away this time. “Would that be enough?”

“I am much obliged.” Dick slipped the money into his pocket and slid the glass over.

“Enjoy, my good sir” Dick said, palms on the counter, one grasping the cloth he’d left. 

Slade eyed his glass. “No ice?”

“I’ll happily add some.” Dick said as he wiped the counter innocently. “For a small fee, of course.” 

As he glanced up Slade leaned forward on the bar, holding the glass in one hand pointing to Dick. “Shouldn’t you be bothering your dad for pocket money?”

Dick put his forearm on the counter and leaned over, meeting him halfway. “ You ’ re my dad now, remember?” 

Dick leveled his gaze until Slade leaned back in his chair and took a sip, his face saying ‘ Brat’. 

Well. The elephant in the room was undeniable now. Dick decided to just address it, but Slade beat him to it. 

“About the contract, then.” 

Dick had thought a lot about this, but tried to be nonchalant about it. “My terms are simple. Shut up and show up. Play the part.”

Dick felt Slade’s eyes on him, narrowed at the ‘shut up’ part. Slade seemed to expect him to continue but Dick wanted to be vague for now. Dick saw a few customers trail out the door and he was thankful to see several dirty glasses on their table, giving him something to do. He’d been sitting down for a long time now and the ache in his foot had dulled enough that he had forgotten about it, especially with Slade distracting him too, but the second Dick stood up it made its presence very clear. Dick just barely kept his poker face as pain shot up through his leg. Walking to the table didn’t seem like a good idea anymore but sitting down to the conversation again somehow seemed worse, so he grabbed a tray under one arm and walked across the room. It was painful, but Dick was proud he managed to walk norma-

“Are you limping ?” 

Dick froze and turned to see Slade turned in his chair, staring at him. Fuck . He straightened and answered a little too quickly. “No.” 

Way to tell a lie, Grayson, Dick scolded himself. How the hell had Slade been able to tell, that damn hawk eye didn’t miss anything. Dick was a few steps from the table but stood still, if he took another step now Slade would know for sure.

Slade slowly got out of his seat, abandoning his underwhelming whiskey at the counter. 

“Why are you limping? You aren’t going out at night now.”

Dick hadn’t realized they were alone in the bar until now, with how openly Slade talked about ‘going out’ at night. 

“It’s nothing.” Dick didn’t move as Slade approached but held the tray closer to him. He felt like a prey animal the way Slade walked up to him, confidently, focused, eyes searching.

Slade was in front of him now and his voice had no playfulness. “Was it Billy?”

“What? No.” 

Dick tried to shuffle backwards towards the table, with Slade so close he couldn’t really see Dick’s feet anyway. Hopefully. It kind of worked, but with every step back he took, Slade took one forward. Dick finally bumped into the table and turned around from Slade’s piercing gaze to reach for the glasses, but his ankle twisted at the movement and he sucked in an inaudible breath. 

No one else would have noticed, but Slade had his full attention on Dick and he very much noticed it, it was so obvious to him that Dick might as well have whined.

Slade grabbed Dick’s shoulders and spun him around so his back was to the table again. “Let me see.” His voice held no room for argument. 

“Hey!” Dick tried to squirm out of the hold but Slade didn’t budge, moving his hands to grasp Dick’s upper arms, keeping him still. Slade then picked him up and placed him on the table, his knees by the edge as if he was sitting on a chair. The smoothness and control of the action almost seemed practiced, and Dick might as well have been a small child with how easily Slade lifted him. 

Slade didn’t bother to be amused at Dick’s baffled expression, just grasped Dick’s left leg and lifted it up to his eye level.

The sudden momentum made Dick overbalance and fall back against the table, braced on his elbows. Dick’s brain suddenly caught up and he tried to pry Slade’s hands off and kicked his leg to shake him off. “Get off- What the hell Slade?!”

Slade ignored him completely, grabbed his leg more firmly and felt around the ankle, squeezing experimentally.

“ Fuck! Don’t press, asshole!” Dick hissed, but not kicking his leg anymore with Slade’s hand firmly around his ankle. 

The bastard didn’t spare Dick a glance as he removed his shoe and sock to uncover the red swollen marks down Dick’s ankle and foot. Slade’s eye widened.

“Are these splinters ?” Slade turned his foot around gently, and Dick had stopped trying to fight him off by now, just trying to not die of embarrassment. “What did you do, kick down a door barefoot?”

“I wish.” Dick mumbled under his breath. He couldn’t even look at Slade.

“What was that?”

“Don’t laugh.”

Slade didn't answer.

“.. I stepped through the floor.” Dick couldn’t even think of a plausible lie, the truth was just as ridiculous. 

“You stepped through the floor.” Slade repeated, slowly, looking at his face now, looking for some joke.

“Yes, but I’ve never gotten these many splinters before.” Dick gestured vaguely with his hand and tried to pull his leg back, but Slade kept his leg firmly in place.

“Before? You’ve stepped through your floor several times?”

Dick looked away again. If the floor could just swallow him- okay, no, Dick banished the thought. He’d actually had quite enough of sinking through floors for today. 

“Twice.” He mumbled.

Dick had expected laughter and mockery, but Slade just nodded in thought, before crouching down on one knee, resting Dick’s leg on it as he pulled out a mini med kit (Where did that come from?), taking out disinfectant wipes, tweezers and bandaids. With the new position Dick could sit up straight and comfortably again, now looking down as Slade kneeled in front of him and tended to his foot. The embarrassment had died down since Slade clearly hadn’t found it amusing, and Dick was now torn between soaking in the gentle attention Slade was giving him and trying to not freak out at what the fuck was going on. Because, what the fuck?

Dick tried not to move as Slade wrapped his foot up. When he was done he even put on Dick’s sock and shoe again, and stood up. “ I know my terms for our contract. You’re moving in with me.”

Now Dick was looking for a joke.

“Come again?”

“You’re not going to live in a rotting apartment and get hurt like this. That is my term for the contract, move in with me.”

Dick gave a hysterical laugh. “You think I can afford your rent -” 

Slade cut him off, holding up a hand. “I have more money than I can spend in my lifetime. An electricity and water bill for you won’t be noticeable.”

“No rent? What’s the catch?” Dick narrowed his eyes.

“You’ll pay in chores instead. Do the dishes, vacuum, we’ll sort it out. If you do a good job I’ll even consider a weekly allowance.”

Dick looked at Slade like he was insane. Did that man hear himself? “So what, we've been mortal enemies for years and now you’ll give me pocket money if I clean my room?”

Slade smirked and tilted his head. “I’m your dad now, remember? Be a good kid and I could spoil you rotten.”

Dick had to fight down a blush, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. This was humiliating. “I’m not a child!” 

Slade ignored him. “Pack your things and I will pick you up on Monday.”

Dick stared. “Are you out of your goddamn mind- ”

“Is there a problem?” Slade interrupted. “And lose the foul language, I don’t tolerate swearing in my house.”

“Yes! Yes there is a problem! I can’t just leave my apartment I need to-” Dick trailed off, thinking of a long list of everything he’d have to fix.

“Alright. You have a month to settle your business, and in the meantime I’ll write up a draft for a contract. You won’t move until we’ve both signed and agreed.”

Dick felt dizzy with how this night had turned out, but Slade took his silence as agreement because he threw a wave over his shoulder as he left. “See you, kid.”

Once again his brain caught up with him at the last minute, just as Slade was at the door Dick called out.

“How can that be your term?! I move into your house from my rotting apartment in exchange for you acting as my dad?” He paused. “That’s it, isn’t it? You want to humiliate me? I need you to act like a dad so you embrace that as an opportunity to treat me like a stupid child ?” 

Slade had always had a level of respect for him that Robin never quite earned from other heroes since he was ‘just a child’. The fact that Slade took him seriously meant a lot to Dick. Like a lot. Figures that fucker had figured that out and is using it against him now. 

Slade turned with a tilted smile. “I don’t owe you an explanation.” He paused. “But it’ll be nice with some company.” With that, he left, leaving Dick alone in the bar, still sitting on the table. 

Dick couldn’t believe this. This- This was some kind of joke right? This wasn’t real. Yeah. Dick just needed some sleep, that’s all. Dick didn’t remember the rest of his shift or walking home but when his head hit his pillow that night he fell asleep right away. 

Chapter Text

When Jason was 15 he hadn’t made a bucket list, and even if he had, getting dunked in a green magic pool wouldn’t have been on it. 

Dunked wasn’t even strong or descriptive enough to do the experience justice, Jason thought Bruce was trying to drown him. Very much the ‘I’ll kill you if you die’ kind of thing.

Make no mistake, Jason was very thankful to not be six feet under by now, but he’d seen a new side to Bruce. That night, although in his suit, it wasn’t Batman searching for Robin under the rubble. It wasn’t Batman calling for Superman and it wasn’t Batman submerging Robin underwater. It was Bruce, digging his son out from burning debris, Bruce screaming for Clark and Bruce jumping into the lazarus pit, all consequences be damned as long as Jason lived. 

Desperation of not losing another child to the maniac clown, of not losing a son because his own morals stopped him from permanently removing a threat posed to them. If Jason died, that would be blood on Batman’s hands, a child soldier's coffin resting on his conscience. It would make him liable. With a tunnel vision fueled by his morals, Bruce dove headfirst into that pool with the burnt body of his son.

Jason only remembers bits and pieces. Laughter, a crowbar. Crawling to the door, tumbling outside. Crying, pain. 

He remembers green. Remembers water. Being held under, drowning. Trashing and clawing, a last desperate fight for his life, or at least not fucking dying without one. Gasping as he was pulled up, held in the strong arms of somebody before passing out into blissful darkness.

It was a nice change of scenery after that, to wake up in a soft and warm bed, although confused. Jason didn’t recognize the room, and while he was sore it wasn’t nearly enough to match being almost beaten to death and drowned. (And burned and crushed, but who’s keeping count). While still lying down in the same position, eyes just barely cracked open, Jason carefully wiggled his body and concluded he was mostly healed. No broken bones, itchy stitches or even pulsing wounds. Not even a headache! Surely he’s been in a coma for at least a month or two to have healed this well. Was Leslie around or had Alfred done all of this? Jason hoped not, he’d rather not have had his granddad seen him like that.

Well, he felt a whole lot better now. Carefully sitting up, with only slight aches, he decided to go find Bruce and tell him he’d woken up instead of waiting for him to come back. Jason peeled the blanket off and set his feet on the floor.

“Stay in bed, Todd.” A voice cut through the silence.

Jason jerked his head up. Lounging in a chair at the other end of the room was a black haired man with golden brown skin, glancing down at his book. Casual but expensive clothing marked him as a man of wealth, but Jason didn’t recognize him from the Gotham upper class. 

“Who are you?”

The man looked up and Jason was struck with how eerily similar his face was to Bruce’s. He was probably in his late twenties and Jason noted he had a similar build to Bruce too. The resemblance became uncanny the longer Jason looked, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. The question was rather, did Bruce know he had a biological son? 

The man had seen the penny drop for Jason and didn’t bother answering. His silence irritated Jason, who sat up straighter.

“I asked who you are, not who’s . Anyone can see you’re a Wayne.”

That earned him an unimpressed sigh. He put his book down and walked over to the bed confidently. 

“My name is Damian al Ghul Wayne -” in one smooth motion, he grabbed Jason’s ankles and tossed them back onto the bed, Jason flipping over to his stomach ”- and I told you to stay in bed .”

The corner of Damian’s mouth twitched when Jason huffed and rolled over to his back from his sprawled position, now braced on his elbows, offended.

“Where is Bruce?” He demanded.

Damian clasped his hands comfortably behind his back, but Jason couldn't tell if it was a habit or if he was deliberately trying to appear less hostile for Jason’s sake. Probably the former.

“My Father is conversing with my Mother and Grandfather. I don’t expect him to return for several hours. ”

“Our father.” Jason corrected. 

Damian glanced over.

“ Our father.” Jason repeated. “You’re his son but so am I. We’re technically brothers.” Jason can admit he added the last part just to irritate Damian. Tossing him over like that-.

“Tt.” Damian didn’t comment further but invited himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

Jason sat up, crossing his legs. “You’re pretty old, why haven’t I heard of you?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “I’m 24.”

“..And?” Jason asked.

“If Father had known how I was being raised and trained he would intervene.”

After a moment of silence Damian continued. 

“Mother wanted me to complete my training with him once I turned 15, but by then he’d already acquired a successor.”

“Dick.” Jason whispered.

“Mother saw Richard as unworthy of my rightful place as heir. She traveled to Gotham to get rid of him personally.”

Jason’s eyes widened. She’d tried to murder Dick?

“Mother wasn’t prepared for how protective Bruce was of the child. He promised if she ever came to Gotham or near Richard again he’d tear her empire apart piece by piece.” 

Jason grimaced. “I guess she didn’t tell him about you, huh.”

“No. Attempted murder of his child wasn’t a promising introduction before dropping me off at his doorstep.” Damian paused. “Besides, I would have finished the job and killed Richard myself if I had been allowed to stay.”

It was hard to imagine such a demon brat teenager, Damian seemed a lot more civil now, especially considering Jason was Bruce’s second child that wasn’t biological. Jason wasn’t scared though, if Damian had wanted him dead he wouldn’t have woken up today. His earlier comment about ‘our father’ felt pretty sour in his mouth now though, so he tried to lighten the mood.

“It’s been almost 10 years though, surely you could have visited?”

No answer. Damian looked away.

Mission failed, the mood was not lightened. Jason deflated. “You hadn’t planned to ever meet him, had you?”

“That’s irrelevant now, as I have met him.”

Jason grimaced. Still not ideal circumstances to meet your dad. “Bruce is probably upset about this.”

“Yes.” Damian didn’t elaborate. “How do you feel?”

Jason shrugged. “I feel fine.” 

Damian nodded. “What do you remember?”

“It’s blurry. I remember the Joker beating me. The explosion, the heat, then .. drowning?” Jason frowned, wondering how he’d ended up in water. “I reckon I’ve been in a coma for at least two months by now, I’m mostly just sore.”

“You’ve been asleep for 9 hours.”

Jason almost laughed, was Damian trying to make jokes? The magic of sleeping the recommended amount of hours for his age?

Damian wasn’t smiling. “You were submerged in a lazarus pit”

Jason had heard myths about those. Magic pools guarded by assassins that could revive the dead and heal the wounded.

“Oh.” Jason was at loss for words. “Thank you for letting me borrow it?”

Damian’s mouth twitched. “Borrowing requires permission.”

Jason gawked at the implication. “Bruce broke in here?”

“Yes. Another reason he will not be back soon.”

Jason sagged at that. He’d hoped to be back in the manor by tonight, he really wanted some tea with Alfred and to forget about this, forget about the Joker.

Damian noticed his disappointment. “Returning home immediately would be unwise. The lazarus pit comes with a cost and you will realize you are not the same.”

Jason looked up. “What?”

“Without control it will consume you.”

“You’re not making sense.”

Damian paused. “The pit intensifies your feelings. Intensifies you . Loss of control and memory gaps are common occurrences in the beginning.” 

Intensified? Jason felt through his body. “I don’t feel different.”

“It’s unpredictable, explosive. It will take time to understand how you are affected, but I will assist you.”

“How long will that take?”

“However long it needs to.”

“What about Gotham?”

Damian grew serious, lowering his voice. “Jason, things will not be the same after this. Not only for you, but Gotham as well. Our father’s actions, coming here, have set things in motion that cannot be stopped. You would do well to be careful, and not put your nose where it does not belong.”

“I’m not afraid.” He’d been sticking his nose in other people’s business for years.

“You should be.” Damian snapped. “You were lucky this time, Todd, don’t count on it happening again.”

Damian rose abruptly and went back to his chair and his book. 

“Sleep now. You need rest.” It was a clear dismissal, and with Damian basically standing guard so he wouldn’t leave, Jason huffed and slid back under the covers. 

He hadn’t planned to sleep, but was lulled by the gentle turning of pages and the softness of the bed. Perhaps Damian would let Jason borrow some books. He decided to ask tomorrow, as he slowly fell into a dreamless sleep.

-

The next time he woke up Bruce sat at his bedside. Said he had to go back to Gotham and that Jason would stay with Damian to learn control. 

Bruce turned to Damian, who stood behind him.

“I’m glad we could meet.”

He held out his hand, and Damian shook it firmly, once.

“So am I.”

Bruce glanced at Jason. “I trust you to take care.” Jason nodded.

He looked back at Damian. “You too, Damian.”

-

Later in the evening Jason shared a meal with Damian when realization struck him. Damian had to catch the glass he almost knocked over as Jason choked out.

“Bruce won’t kill him. The Joker’s still alive. He’s still out there .”

That was the first experience Jason had with ‘the green’. He raged, flipped the table and threw his chair across the room. After he calmed down (and apologized for the chair, baffled) they noted ‘the joker’ as a trigger. 

Damian suggested they kill the clown as they put the table back in place. Jason was caught off guard by the casual suggestion of murder, even though he probably shouldn’t have been. After all, Damian had very different morals than Batman. 

-

Jason returned to Gotham a month later. In that time, Bruce had pretended to be fine, as per Bruce tradition. However when Alfred found Bruce sleeping in the Batman suit in the cave, he dragged Bruce by the ear to therapy, and then Jason, before booking an appointment for himself. Bruce knew he’d lost the fight when Alfred insisted on driving them there personally and waiting outside the door until the appointment was over, but Bruce let his displeasure be known by sulking and rebelled by not accepting any tea from Alfred. A small price to pay , Alfred had said and Jason agreed, sipping from his own cup.

Bruce fired Jason from being Robin. 

Honestly, Jason wasn’t even too mad about it, Robin was a burnt bridge by now and he couldn’t go back to that, but he hadn’t expected to be denied a new persona. He put up a hell of a fight about it, but so did Bruce until Alfred coldly interrupted ‘Deja vu, Master Bruce?’ .

With faith and trust (therapy and counseling) and a little bit of fairy dust (Alfred) Bruce managed to not repeat the same mistakes he made with Dick, and talked it through with Jason, under Alfred’s supervision. It had been decided by the butler that Master Bruce was no longer trusted to have such conversations alone. Bruce decided until he was 18 he was not allowed any suit. Jason bargained to be allowed to help with comms in the Batcave, and they came to an agreement. It wasn’t ideal, neither Bruce nor Jason was happy about it, but it was an acceptable compromise and Jason would take what he could for now. 

In the months after the explosion Gotham held her breath. Hoping and praying for any sign of Robin. When Batman kept patrolling alone the public mourned at the confirmation of the second Robin’s death. They refused to place a monument at the place Robin was murdered, but instead in Crime Alley where he’d been most frequently seen. A metal statue of a Robin, perched on a branch with its wings spread wide and beak open in song. Under it was a plaque, 

“Our light in a world so cruel

Rest now, child

We’ll keep watch over you.”

And they did. Flowers, stuffed animals and drawings adored the small square. A picture frame had been placed right beside it, featuring Robin on a rooftop with his back to the camera, looking out over the city during sunset. 

Over time the monument shifted from a place of sorrow and grief to hope and unity. People shared stories about Robin and how he’d changed their lives. Jason was always there to listen, although in a cap and red hoodie to be more incognito. He was still recognized several times, but no one bothered him. People here knew Jason Todd was from Crime Alley first, before he became a Wayne. 

Bruce didn’t accompany him because he was far more gossip-magazine worthy, and didn’t want to bring the rich side of Gotham there like sightseeing tourists. He showed support from a distance and funded several new soup kitchens and shelters for women and children.

It was painful, but as time went by Gotham moved on and adapted to a life without Robin. 

What they didn’t know was that something grew in the shadows, biding their time. 

Jason was only allowed on comms in the batcave for now, but he'd be back in a suit one day. 

And so, from the ashes of Robin, Phoenix emerged. 

Chapter Text

Slade glanced over the contract one last time before sending it. It was a draft, some points were still negotiable, but it was a start. He rubbed a hand down his face as he stood, feeling the consequences of his actions dawn on him. 

Slade was not impulsive. He wasn’t. 

.. but Richard Grayson moving in with him had admittedly not been the plan. 

As such, Slade was unprepared and unable to house another person at the moment. He only had one other bedroom besides his own, and that room used to be Grant's. 

He had removed any furniture he couldn’t use, like the child-sized bed, chairs and desk, but there were still glow-in-the-dark stars in the ceiling and the bookshelf was still drilled to the wall, as was the drawer. 

Slade had made peace with Grant’s death but had let the room be because he hadn’t needed the space for anything else, but now it felt nice to clean it out. Give it a new purpose.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he surveyed the room. He’d need a bed. And a desk. A chair. Maybe a rug? 

– – –

Dick was in the library studying when he got the email. He loathed to admit it, but his foot had appreciated Slade’s bandaging since yesterday and there was only a dull ache in his foot now. Needing a break from his anatomy notes, he clicked on the email.

Contract draft

-

Richard John Grayson 

Slade Wilson

Damn, Dick thought, Slade was really serious about this. He’d somehow hoped it was all just a joke, but it was a legit document. 

Dick skimmed through it and a few parts caught his eye, and he made a mental summary;

Will be provided:

Housing 

shared responsibilities

• food

expectations / payment weekly

• no other jobs allowed

• cleaning

• sparring and training

prohibited

• smoking

• drugs

• pets

• disrespect

• answering the door

• inviting anyone over without explicit allowance

• breaking rules

Dick read over the document several times and leaned back in his chair wide eyed as a stressed giggle escaped him. This had to be a joke, right?

– – –

Slade was eyeing at the drawer, considering if a wardrobe would be better, when he realized Richard’s rotting apartment most likely had all kinds of bug- and moth infestations. Slade grimaced. That shit would not set foot in his house. He’d buy the boy now clothes, some essentials, like pants, a few shirts and T-shirts, a polo neck, and a coat, and gloves and of course shoes, (Slade thought back to the sneakers Dick had worn the other night in the bar, he’d have to burn those too.) Proper workout clothes as well, of course. 

.. pyjamas?

– – – 

Dick glanced at his computer throughout the day and reread the contract several times in the lunchroom while he waited for his noodles to cool down a little.

Dick noticed some loopholes, but couldn’t figure out Slade’s real game. Why go through all of this? What was his plan? What did he want?

Bruce would kill him if he even knew Dick was considering this, but even he couldn’t deny the perks. He thought of the hole in his floor, and wondered what Slade’s place was like. A lot more fancy than Dick’s apartment, probably. 

“No other jobs allowed.”

Dick’s rent was apparently chores, which was free, but if he wasn’t allowed an income he’d really need that scholarship though the gymnastics competition to keep paying for school. 

Somewhere in his head, a voice screamed to ask Bruce for money (that voice was probably Wally) , that this was insanely stupid and that his pride wasn’t worth it. Dick glanced at his phone. He could probably have a nice apartment, school paid for and not worry about money for the rest of his life, if he just asked. 

If he just.. asked. 

His eyes strayed to the document again. He was contemplating living with a mercenary. His arch nemesis mercenary that he had a complicated relationship with now, and who always, always had a hidden motive. Hell, Dick knew first hand how manipulative and sadistic Slade could be. It couldn’t be as simple as he made it out to be. What could Slade possibly gain from this? Dick should be more afraid but he does trust Slade not to lock him in his basement to torture or kill him. Why would he do that when he bandaged Dick’s foot just yesterday? Or was that the game, to lure him in? 

What if, what if?

One thing was for sure. If Dick called Bruce, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. He shouldn’t let Slade use his pride like this against him. Bruce wouldn’t ignore Dick if he asked for help. Right?

Dick picked up his phone and called Bruce before he could second guess himself. He almost hung up immediately but the line picked up quicker.

“This is Wayne Enterprises, how can I help you?” A man answered, and Dick checked his phone in confusion. He called the right number, but if Bruce had changed phones or numbers it would make sense he’d be directed to WE. 

“Ah - hello?” Dick wasn’t sure what to say anymore. 

“This is Wayne Enterprises, how can I help you?” The man repeated.

“Right, hi, I’m Dick, could you put Bruce on the phone please?”

The line cut. Dick checked his phone and called again. Did he just lose the signal? 

“This is Wayne Enterprises, how-” 

“Hi I just called but I think the line was cut, could you put Bruce on the phone please? Tell him it’s Dick.”

“This is no place to prank call, kid.” The man said in distaste as he hung up again. 

“What the f-”  Dick dialed again, annoyed.

“This is Wayne Ente-” 

“Can you just-” 

The line cut. 

“You fucker!” Dick gasped. 

Great. Just great . He’d have to go in person to meet Bruce because it’s not like he could send an Email and expect better results. Dick gulped down his noodles and decided to swing by WE on his way home. He wasn’t going to get any studying done before he’d resolved this anyway. 

The building was thankfully not too busy, so Dick went right to the front desk. 

“Welcome to Wayne Enterprises, how can I help you?” The same man, Dick recognized the voice, asked as he eyed Dick up and down, with his oversized hoodie and jeans on, but Dick stood his ground.

“Hi, could you tell Bruce Dick is here to see him?”

The man narrowed his eyes, obviously recognizing him too. “And does this Dick have an appointment?”

Dick felt his jaw tick. “No.” he doesn’t add ‘ because I talked with a difficult secretary who wouldn’t let me.’ but he considered it.

“Then I can’t help you. Mr Wayne is a busy man.”

That’s bullshit, and Dick knows it. Bruce could cancel anything he wants to, and does so, frequently. Dick took a breath, calming himself.  

“Listen, you’re probably new here and eager to do your job, but I seriously need to see him, could you just call him down here?”

The man seemed to consider Dick for a second before he held up the deskphone to his ear. Dick smiled gratefully.  

“Thanks, I-”

“Security.”

Within a minute Dick was hauled out the doors. As he regained his footing he heard people around him whisper and saw their glaces, and felt his face burn with embarrassment. 

As coincidence would have it, a black car pulled up outside the entrance and Bruce stepped out. And noticed Dick.

“Dick? What are you doing here?”

Embarrassment was replaced by hot burning anger and shame.

“Yeah, what am I doing here?” Dick sneered. 

Bruce noticed how red he was, the tousled up clothing, and security on their way through the doors again. 

“Don’t worry, he’s with me.” Bruce said as they got closer. They nodded but stayed close by, like Dick was some rabid animal that could attack at any time. 

“I have a lot of new employers from overseas so they aren’t accustomed to Gotam, less susceptible to bribes.” Bruce offered, as if that was some kind of explanation.

Dick aggressively dusted off himself and straightened out the wrinkles in his clothes. 

“And you didn’t think to tell them you have kids?” 

“They know about Jason.”

Bruce might as well have physically punched him in the gut, the way those words tied a knot in his stomach. “Oh, well then, that makes this so much better.” Dick ground out as he sidestepped Bruce to get the hell out of there. What a joke, that he thought he could show up to WE and ask to meet Bruce. Why would he expect any employee, from overseas or not, to have been given his name or picture and been informed to let him meet Bruce? He wasn’t important anymore. Wasn’t important to Bruce anymore. 

Bruce turned around, insistent, hand hovering just above Dick’s shoulder, not touching. “Wait, why did you come here? We can talk now.”

“You’ve said enough.”

Dick shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and walked away. Once he was out of earshot he said in a quiet voice, a little choked;

“Fuck you, Bruce.”

- - - 

Bruce watched Dick leave and felt his confusion turn to anger. He walked into the building, straight to the front desk.

“What happened.” Bruce almost growls. 

“Mr Wayne!” The receptionist lights up at being addressed by his boss, oblivious. 

“If he ever comes in here again-” 

“We will have security ready, don’t worr-” The man was nodding.

Bruce puts his palms on the counter and leans just slightly closer. “If my son comes here you let him in unconditionally to my office, is that understood?” 

The man sank back in his seat, pale, as realization hit him.

“Yes sir.”

Back in his office, Bruce ran a hand over his eyes. He’d told his employers about Dick, of course, but as Richard Grayson, with pictures of him at 15 years old, from galas dressed up in suits and gel-slicked hair, not as ‘Dick’ in a hoodie and sneakers. 

He needed to fix this. Bruce would not let Dick think this was intentional. 

- - -

Dick got home and signed the contract and sent it back. Fuck Bruce, fuck everything. 

- - - 

Slade had his hands full, giving orders and commanding five employees in the wood store he was at. He'd been to the classic furniture stores, but they were all crap quality and stupid designs, so he decided to build it himself. He was loosely inspired by a design he liked, a storage-efficient bunk bed with a desk underneath. A bunk bed is the best alternative to utilize the size of the room, and it’s practical so he can have a desk underneath.

As Slade watched them hurrying around, he felt his phone vibrate with a message, and he stole a glance. It might seem contradictory that Slade was surprised since he had spent all day getting the place ready for Dick moving in without any confirmation, but he’d mostly just enjoyed being productive. He’d figured it was too good an offer for Dick to refuse but he’d thought he’d get more demands, not a signed contract the next day with only a few notes attached. It was almost too easy. 

.. What was Dick’s game here?

- - - 

Dick sulked for almost seven hours before caving and opening the voice message from Bruce. 

“Hi Chum”

Dick tried to ignore how he had missed that nickname. 

“I was happy to see you today and I’m sorry about what happened, it was a big misunderstanding. Please call me back. I miss you.”

There was a rustle like someone took the phone.

“Yeah Dickhead, call him back. Alfred wants you over for Sunday dinner.”

Chapter Text

Dick hefted his duffel bag higher up on his shoulder as he stood on the sidewalk, hands tucked in his armpits to try and keep some warmth. 

What a mess. 

With a month to month lease on his apartment it had been no issue to basically just abandon it, and the holes in the floor would be covered by the rent for the rest of the month that he wasn’t staying. At least Dick figured it would, it was karma that the landlord had to deal with holes in the rotten floors they rented. 

He’d packed the same morning, the few things he had. His gear, his schoolwork and clothes. Dick was currently wearing his hoodie, but wished he’d layered up more  underneath as the autumn morning chill was giving him goosebumps. 

What an idiot he’d been yesterday. Yes, Bruce was an asshole too, but to sign in such a haste? Dick felt like that scene in the little Mermaid, when Ariel signed Ursula's contract. Making deals with the evil sea witch he knew would exploit it. Still, he’d signed it, and then Bruce had left a message and apologized. Said he’d explain, and then Jason had invited him over for dinner, and said Alfred wanted him to visit. They wanted him home. No, Dick thought, home wasn't the right word (yet), but maybe it could be. Could have been. Now he’s fucking signed his soul away to a murderer. A murderer with some morals, but still. Well, maybe not morals but at least some kind of code. Not like Batman’s rule at least. Like a true pirate with his eyepatch, Slade probably lived by the fact that the code was more like guidelines than actual rules. 

If only Slade had that attitude towards contracts, maybe Dick could get out of this sooner rather than later. 

A car turned the corner and pulled to a stop in front of Dick which pulled him out of his thoughts. Slade rolled down the window, looking like a proper dork with his cap and sunglasses in late October. 

Dick wasn’t sure he wasn’t getting kidnapped when Slade said;

“Get in the car.”

He stood rooted for a second and contemplated just running away. He could probably make it at least a hundred meters before Slade caught up. Not to actually escape, just to make a statement. Slade however, misunderstood his hesitation and stepped out of the car to stand in front of him, hands out to take his bags. Somehow, this was almost the most intimidating Dick had seen him. In a casual but surely expensive coat, the same as that day in school when this all started, sunglasses and cap, Slade towered over Dick with his height. Dick in turn, felt kinda small with his hands tucked away and his backpacks. He usually went up against Deathstroke as Nightwing, in gear, in character, with weapons and a plan. Now he wasn’t sure what to do, and he didn’t like it at all. 

“What are in these?”

Dick snapped out of it as Slade took the duffel bag from him and gestured to his backpack.

“My gear. Schoolwork, some clothes.”

Slade made a grimace and Dick could have sworn he saw him scrunch his nose as if sniffing it. 

“It’s clean!” Well, most of it was, it wasn’t like he could just do laundry overnight since he signed his doom only last night. He hadn’t thought that through either, that the agreement started once they had both signed, which meant moving when they’d both signed. 

“Mhm.” Slade said, not convinced. “You can keep your backpack but I’ll take this to the dry cleaners.”

Dick protested “You don’t have to-”

Slade held up a hand, dismissing his protest. “It’s not for your sake, trust me.”

Dick opened his mouth in offense but Slade paid him no mind, gesturing to the car. 

“Come on, get in.”

Dick looked up at the sky, hoping for lightning to strike him or something but alas, the sky was clear. Dick shuffled in the car and put the bag between his legs before buckling up. It took a few tries with his frozen fingers but by the time Slade got in the driver's seat after putting his other bags in the back, he’d managed to get it in place. 

Dick didn’t notice, but when Slade sat down he glanced over to make sure Dick had his seatbelt on, and made a pleased nod of approval. Too many teenagers and young adults ignored seatbelts, and that was a kind of idiocy Slade wouldn’t stand for. 

Dick was looking out the window most of the drive, with his hands tucked underneath his thighs to warm them up. He didn’t have any gloves, so his fingers were aching from the cold. Slade noticed and turned on the seat heating, and within minutes Dick was melting into the heat. 

“It’s cold outside, you know.”

Dick didn’t open eyes, still soaking in the warmth. “Yeah, no shit.”

Slade frowned. He let it slide but they would have a talk about respect soon enough. He rephrased his question.  “I mean , why aren’t you dressed accordingly?”

Dick huffed. “Says the guy with sunglasses in October.”

Oh yeah. They’d have a talk. 

Slade and Dick sat in silence the rest of the ride, even though Slade would secretly have preferred Dick’s quips or comments. The silence was slightly unnerving, just unnatural between them. 

Eventually they pulled up to the driveway. Slade noticed how Dick tried to seem nonchalant about it, even though Slade could almost hear his heartbeat going faster.

He turned off the car but made no move to get out. “Now, I think we need to set some ground rules.”

Dick crossed his arms and tensed as he looked over.

“I know the rules, for you and me, it’s in the contract.”

“You signed, which means you agreed to this.” Basically telling him to stop being difficult.

Dick kept his arms crossed closely to his chest, not responding. 

“I’ll give you a tour once we get inside, but before any of that you’re getting in the shower, getting clean, and I mean every last inch of you, and changing clothes, while I dispose of what you’re wearing now.”

A shower sounded amazing. “Hey- no need to throw my shit out if it doesn't fit your standards.”

Slade eyed his clothes and added, almost to himself, “Dry clean then. As long as those clothes are reset to factory settings.”

Dick held up a hand to count on his fingers. “Okay. Shower, tour, then what, torture chamber?”  

Slade shrugged. “I was thinking lunch, but if you want we can do the torture first.”

There was a tiny pause before Dick slumped down in his seat with a chuckle, tension leaving him. 

Slade eased a smile as Dick relaxed. 

“Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Dick could tell Slade would have preferred to hose him down outside but let him in the house, straight to the shower. He was given a plastic bag to put his clothes in and a fresh change of clothes, and found the shower stocked with at least five different body soaps and shampoos. 

Dick lost track of time as he showered in hot water, a temperature his old shower couldn’t dream of reaching, and he could even enjoy it without freaking out about a water bill later. Oh, he could get used to this. He scrubbed himself down several times and washed his hair and scalp thoroughly. 

Dick wrapped himself up in a towel and found the cupboard filled with toiletries for him, unopened deodorant, hairbrush, a shaver, and much more. He cleaned himself up and brushed his hair out before he put the clothes on. A simple plain gray T-shirt and jeans, and Dick felt so refreshed.

Dick took a breath before going out, where Slade was surely waiting. He opened the door, but Slade was not waiting right outside. Dick was thankful at first but quickly became alert. He didn’t like not having Slade within sight. Dick took a chance down the hallway, looking for the man, when he saw a door ajar. He carefully opened it.

“Slade?” Dick asked.

He wasn’t in there, but the room caught his attention. It was a simple bedroom, of average size, with a bunk bed and drawer, a bookshelf and a window. Dick looked around. A hammer was on the dresser and Dick picked it up, turning it over in his hand. Seemed awfully out of place. 

“Find something?” Slade breathed in his ear from behind, smirking.

It was only thanks to Slade’s quick reflexes that he caught Dick’s arm when he spun around before the hammer could impact and shatter his ribs.

“Careful.” Slade eased the hammer from Dick’s firm grip, as his eyes widened and he sagged in relief as adrenalin left him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Dick scolded. 

Slade gave him a look but didn’t comment further, just put the hammer back from where Dick had picked it up.

“Is this my room?” Dick looked around. “I mean, where I’ll be sleeping?” He corrected. Dick had a hard time imagining this was Slade’s bedroom after all, but referring to it as his own room seemed a bit too homey. Dick was just sleeping in here. His room , hah, what did he think this was, his house too?

Slade nodded. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Dick was surprised with how ordinary it was. Simple bedrooms, a kitchen, living room. 

Oh, and the giant basement. Did he mention that? Thankfully it wasn’t as creepy as it sounds, not even a torture chamber, it was just one big home gym, with weights, weapons and sparring mats and sand bags. 

They walked around the gym, Slade showing where everything was stored. 

“You’re free to use any equipment in here, just clean it and put it back afterwards.”

“Why did you put that in the deal?” Dick asked as he followed Slade around the gym. “Training, I mean.”

“A real opponent is much more fun than a sandbag, don’t you think?”

Dick had to agree. He hadn’t sparred with a competent opponent in ages, just random drunks or muggers. Dick got almost giddy with the thought of having a proper training schedule again, with the space, equipment and time to work out. 

After the gym they headed up to the kitchen but stopped in front of a closed door. 

“What’s in here?” Dick said and reached for the handle, but Slade caught his wrist.

“That’s my office. You’re not allowed in there under any circumstances. Is that understood?”

Dick pulled his hand back. That obviously wasn’t just Slade’s office, that was Deathstroke’s office. There were certainly worse things than simple skeletons in a closet in there. 

He nodded. 

Five minutes later Dick was seated at the kitchen table while Slade made them lunch. Like, actually cooking food. Omelets with vegetables on the side. Dick was hungry but was feeling more awkward as the situation was sinking in. Properly sinking in. This was so weird. This was wrong . 

Slade handed him his plate but Dick wasn’t very hungry anymore.

As Slade took his apron off and joined him at the table, he glanced at Dick who hadn’t touched his food yet.

“It’s not poisoned, you know.”

Dick lifted his gaze and then back to his plate, he hadn’t considered that. Should he consider Slade poisoning him? He should have, but he also knew Slade wouldn’t kill him in such a cowardly way. Worst case it was drugged, which he doubted.

Dick cut it up and moved it around on his plate, trying to get his appetite back, but eventually put his fork down. “What is this?” 

Slade raised an eyebrow as he dug into his own food. “Omlet. You should eat before it cools.”

“No I - this. What is THIS.” Dick gestured to both of them and then around the room. 

“You’ll have to specify.”

“Slade! Enough games, seriously.”

“Alright then.” Slade put his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “This, is an agreement.”

Dick felt frustrated and uncomfortable.

“Speak up.” Slade encouraged.

“Can you stop acting like this is normal? Like we’re just having lunch ?”

Slade looked like he was about to say something but Dick cut him off.

“Don’t even try to be funny about it.”

Slade put his fork down. “I’m a professional. I always finish my contracts. This is no different, you are no different. We’ll be professional about this, act our roles when required. Outside of that we just live in the same house.”

Dick appreciated the no bullshit tone. It set him at ease, to trust Slade to be professional. He seemed more like himself this way, like Deathstroke, and the familiarity calmed Dick in this unknown territory. 

“Okay, then.” Dick said and found he could finally enjoy his omelet. 

Slade huffed a laugh at his change in demeanor. “Is that why you were upset? You seriously thought we would play house in here?”

“I wasn’t upset, I was unsettled.” Dick said and pointed his fork at Slade as he chewed. “Big difference. You’re going to have to learn a bigger spectrum of emotions.”

“So it seems, if you learn to not talk with your mouth full.” Slade grimaced slightly. 

Dick made sure to swallow before answering this time. “Sure thing, pa .” he said. 

“Pa?” Slade tilted his head.

“Pa, pop, old man, that’s ok. I won’t keep calling you dad though since this has turned long term. I’m not calling you sir either, that’s weird.”

“Hm. I guess pa is fine. In turn I’ll call you kid rather than son.”

Dick lifted his glass before taking a sip. “Cheers to that.”

They fell into a more comfortable silence as Dick finished the food.

 “How your foot?” Slade asked as they cleared the table. 

“Better, thanks.” It was mostly healed, a lot quicker than the first two times he stepped through the floor. 

“Think you can train tomorrow?”

“Yeah, shouldn't be a problem.”

Dick was drying the dishes while Slade did the washing. 

“What about Billy?”

Dick was mildly surprised Slade even remembered the bully’s name, but Slade had always paid attention to details. “Haven’t seen him around lately, but I doubt he’ll try anything if I do.”

Dick was suddenly reminded. “But.. speaking of, there is a parents meeting coming up, we’re going on a school trip for a day and they want to give information and have parents consent for that.”

Slade frowned. “Parents consent? You’re 21.”

“Yeah, but ‘Tanner’ isn’t. I toned his age down a bit, he just turned 18.”

Slade side eyed him. “I suppose you could pass for 18.”

“Oh please, I’ve always looked younger than my age, I could probably pass for 17 if I needed to.”

“18 is still old enough not to need parental consent.” Slade pointed out. He didn’t want to go to a meeting.

Dick sighed. “Yes, normally, but the company we’re visiting has other policies, which the school has to follow.”

If Slade’s hands weren’t covered in water and soap, he’d pinch his nose. Now he’d have to suffer through a parents meeting. 

“Why don’t you tell me about Tanner then, things I should know, like your age.”

Dick shrugged. “That’s the main difference really. It’s less like an undercover mission and more like a less public last name. I still do gymnastics and there’s a math club in school I’ve considered joining.” 

“Math club?” 

“Mhm. I was a mathlete for several years.”

Slade probably knew this, he’d stalked Dick for years now after all. Why was he telling him this?

“I never cared much for math when I was in school.”

“Really, what did you like then? Economy, I bet.” Dick joked and Slade raised an amused eyebrow. 

“I considered becoming a carpenter before I enlisted in the military.”

“A carpenter?” Dick couldn’t imagine Slade Wilson with a vest and helmet, holding a hammer-  Dick put the glass he was drying down to turn to Slade. “Did you build that bunk bed?”

“Surprised?”

Dick shook his head. He couldn’t wrap his head around why he’d build a bunk bed, but a lot about Slade was a mystery. “I’d say I’m more concerned. As far as I know, you never became a carpenter. I’ll have to make sure all the screws are tight before I go to bed tonight.”

“As if you aren’t used to having a few screws loose.”

Dick nodded. “Yeah, being around you, I suppose I have gotten used to it.”

Slade kicked Dick’s leg lightly for that comment. 

“So. Where is your class going?”

Dick perked up. “It’s really interesting actually, we have a course in anatomy right now but with a focus on future development in the field, and how medical equipment is advancing. There are some promising prototypes being tested, and our teacher had a friend who knows an employee, who managed to get us a pass.”

“Where?”

“Oh, Drake Industries, and get this, Mr. Drake will be giving the tour himself!”

Chapter Text

Dick had a rude awakening, a blaring alarm jolting him awake. Dick scrambled out of the bunk bed, somehow landing on his feet. A quick survey of the room reassured him it wasn’t on fire, and he wasn’t being attacked. 

Rather, an alarm clock was the source of Dick’s misery. He stalked towards it, hands covering his ears, and eventually just clawed the batteries out when it wouldn’t shut up. 

The silence afterwards was loud and Dick could still faintly hear ringing in his ears. He brought the palms of his hands to his eyes and groaned. 

Why was there an alarm clock in his room? Set for 6 AM? On a Saturday?

Dick hadn’t slept great, either. Not because of the bed, which was surprisingly sturdy and comfortable, but more so because he was sleeping in Deathstroke's house. On top of that, as a reasonable precaution, he’d worn his suit and held his escrima sticks throughout the night (just in case, because Dick’s cautious , half expecting Slade to attack him).

While the suit had provided some comfort in knowing he was ready for combat, it really wasn’t designed to sleep in. He felt pretty nasty now, his skin deprived of fresh air for hours. Even if Dick could ignore that, he wasn’t going to fall back asleep anytime soon after the brutal awakening spiking his adrenalin. Putting the clock back on the dresser, the batteries next to it, Dick stretched out his back and felt how tight it was. A workout would be amazing, maybe he could go for a run in the neighbourhood? 

Dick abandoned the idea rather quickly. Slade might mistake that as an escape attempt or breaching of contract and hunt him down. Imagine that, huh. Dick figured running would have to wait until he’d figured out how living here was going to work. Dick deemed it safe enough to assume he was allowed to use the shower, and tiptoed across the hall to the bathroom. The warm water melted some of Dick’s troubles away but reality was slowly starting to seep in as his brain started to wake up properly.

What had he gotten himself into? Dick frowned. 

When Dick reluctantly stepped out of the shower and swept himself in a fluffy towel, he was on edge. Dick had no idea what to expect of today. Even worse, he had an assignment he had to work on. How was he supposed to focus in this place, always hyper-aware of Slade’s presence? Dick dried himself off and found the bathroom cabinet stuffed with new products, obviously for him. Dick ignored the hair gel, pretty sure Slade was mocking him for how he used to style his hair back in his Titan days.

Dick walked to the kitchen and Slade was there, already dressed and making breakfast, looking like he’d been awake for a while already. 

Slade turned around when he heard Dick come in and gave a disapproving glance at Dick’s wet uncombed hair. 

“I’d say ‘look what the cat brought in’, but it looks like this rat crawled through the sewers all on his own.” Slade raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t you find the comb I left you?”

Dick glared, ignoring Slade’s jab at his appearance. “What’s with the horrible alarm clock? It’s Saturday.”

Slade gave a look, “Believe it or not, you have to wake up even on Saturdays.”

He’d been woken so early for the sake of discipline ? How typical Slade. Was this going to be some kind of military camp? Dick knew Slade had been in the army at some point, but wasn’t sure what the story actually was. 

“Oh piss off.” Dick groaned. 

Slade turned around, spatula pointed at Dick.

“No swearing.”

Dick sidestepped the spatula, baffled. “You kill and maim people, but won’t allow swearing ?”

Slade huffed “I’m not barbaric.”

Oh, the irony. Dick shrugged a shoulder, sarcastic and dramatic. “Sure you’re not, just a damn piece of shit .”

This time Dick wasn’t fast enough to dodge the spatula as it smacked across his hand. 

Dick’s eyes widened as he quickly drew his hand back. “You- you just!”

Slade held the spatula up. “I let you off the hook the first time. No swearing.”

“You slapped my hand! You actually- ” Dick licked his hand where the spatula had hit him, something sticking to his fingers, and lost his train of thought. “Is that pancake?” 

Slade adjusted his apron and turned back to the stove. “Yes. After all, it’s Saturday.” (Slade thought having a nice cooked breakfast might help Dick warm up to the situation, but he’d never tell him that.)

“Oh.” Cooking pancakes for breakfast on a Saturday reminded Dick of Alfred, anger deflating. “That’s nice.”

“Did you sleep well?” Slade broke the silence.

“Decently.” Dick admitted as he sat down at the table. The bed was pretty nice, usually bunk beds were more designed for kids but this one was big enough that he could comfortably sprawl out in it. 

“The parent's meeting is on Sunday.” He added. Dick really wanted to go on this trip, and the parents meeting was a requirement. This was one of the actual perks of this strange agreement, without Slade Dick would have had a lot more trouble trying to get permission to go. 

“On the weekend?” Slade almost grimaced. 

“Yeah, to not interfere with scheduled lecture time or something like that, since the trip is voluntary.” 

Slade sighed. Well, that was his part of the contract, to play parent. Didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. 

Slade walked over with the finished pancakes and Dick thought of something. “We never specified, but I don’t have a curfew, right?”

“Depends on why you’re asking.” Slade said. “Why are you asking?”

“I have plans tonight.”

Slade raised an eyebrow as if saying ‘I figured’. 

“It’s a party with some friends, that’s all.” Dick shrugged.

“Alright. As long as you don’t bring anyone back here.”

‘Really?’ Dick almost wanted to ask, before he caught himself. Dick shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Great.” He helped himself to some pancakes. There was no jam, sugar or Nutella, but fresh berries, some peanut butter and greek yoghurt, and Dick filled his pancake like a taco. He’d make the most out of his stay here, that’s for sure. 

Slade hid his content expression and small smile behind a sip of coffee as he watched Dick pile up his breakfast. The kid needed to eat more healthily, that was obvious, so it was nice to see he had no problems with his appetite. 

“Any other plans this weekend?”

That reminded Dick “Oh, yeah, I’ll be having dinner at the manor tomorrow.”

Slade got an unreadable look on his face.

“Off to see Batman so soon?”

“ No. ” Dick emphasised. “It’s just dinner.” 

Slade kept eye contact. “Well, you better not let anything slip. If I find a bat-shaped shadow snooping around here, we’re going to have problems.”

- - - 

Dick was out of shape. He knew that. Knew that he’d been eating less frequently, less healthy and that his workout and sleep schedule were questionable, but this was embarrassing, Dick thought as he hit the mat again, sweat dripping from his forehead and breath in his throat. 

Slade circled him as he got to his feet, both of them armed with a bo staff. An hour or so after breakfast Slade had invited him to spar, and Dick eagerly accepted. 

Dick felt himself get more tired and sloppier with every hit he took and delivered until he had to call out for a break. 

“We’ve barely been at it two hours” Slade stated, and Dick avoided his gaze. He couldn’t stand the disappointment of not reaching or exceeding expectations. 

“I just need a moment.” Dick needed more than a moment. He needed a day . His limbs were exhausted, he couldn’t get them to move quickly enough. 

Dick was still out of breath but stood up and lifted his staff. Slade attacked and they were at it again.

Eventually, Dick could barely get up from the floor, beyond exhausted and limbs too shaky to support him when he tried. Slade took pity on him and announced that was enough for today. Dick was thankful his face was already red from the sparring, hopefully hiding the embarrassment he felt crawl up his neck and cheeks. 

He was Nightwing, the first Robin, the boy wonder. He was also lying in a pool of his own sweat whilst Slade had barely gotten his pulse up. 

How could he have let himself go this much?

While others might have seen Dick the way he surely saw himself right now, as a pathetic failure, Slade knew better. Few got up to keep fighting long after they should have stayed down. With a burning drive to be better, to do better. No, Slade didn’t see failure. He saw potential.

Dick, sprawled out like a starfish, turned his face away. Slade smiled to himself as he put his Bo-staff back, and with a last glance back before leaving, he mused to himself, “Don’t worry little bird, I’ll get you back in shape.”

Dick heard Slade leave, not even hitting the showers. At least Dick was alone now, and after a few minutes Dick managed to put his bo-staff back and clean the mat before going to shower. He sat on the tiles, not trusting his legs not to give out from under him. He didn’t fancy a concussion on top of his bruised ego. 

—-

Despite Dick’s previous exhaustion, he was pretty much okay a few hours later, and a big lunch sure helped him recover some strength. He did the dishes afterwards while Slade watched. Apparently he needed to make sure Dick did the dishes properly the first time, and put everything back in the right cupboards. Dick was convinced Slade just took joy in seeing him work. Still, Slade did the cooking, so Dick didn’t really mind. 

He even managed a few hours of studying before he got ready to leave for the night. He would much rather curl up in bed with a movie, but he’d promised his new friends at school, Sam and Alice, that he’d go, who’d been so excited. They had begged him to join this ‘masquerade party’ in town. Sam had gotten outfits for all of them, Halloween-themed of course. 

“You have to!” He’d said. “Here, here, I got us awesome outfits!”

Dick had picked the Jason Voorhees costume, Alice was dressed as Death with a black baggy dress and white skeleton mask, and Sam with a scream mask and black dress as well.

“Look!” Alice smiled. “We match!” 

They really did, all with black or dark clothing and a white mask. They took the bus to the party, which was apparently in someone’s large house. Dick hadn’t gotten invited personally, so he didn’t even know whose party or house it was, but it had to be a rich kid. The house was enormous.

The party was fun, sure. They danced for a while, eating whatever snacks they could find, and criticized interior choices. Eventually, Dick realized it was almost one o’clock at night, and decided he should head back.  Dick looked up to tell Sam and Alice he was leaving, but they had disappeared into the crowd the second he’d been distracted. Dick started to look around, bumping into people all the time. It was crowded and loud, and so hot from all the dancing.

Dick spotted a staircase and went upstairs, thinking maybe they had tried to get away from all the people and noise. There were people upstairs, but most of them were making out and Dick had to awkwardly squeeze past them. He opened doors at random and eventually ended up in a large empty bedroom. The silence was like a breath of fresh air and Dick sat down on the bed. Dick felt sweat drip down his forehead behind his mask and took it off to wipe his forehead. He took out his phone, trying to call either of them now that he was in a quiet room, but neither picked up, so they were probably both still downstairs in the loud noise. 

Dick looked around the room, deciding to take a break before he went looking for them again. The house was pretty similar to the manor actually, when Dick thought about it. He spotted a door, that in most large bedrooms in the manor would lead to a toilet. Excited about the prospect of some cold water and wiping some sweat off, Dick grabbed his mask in one hand and made his way over. 

Dick opened the door and realized very quickly that it wasn’t a bathroom, but a closet. A closet that someone had stuffed full . So full, that when the door opened, the top box that had been poorly balanced fell out on the floor, taking most of the stuff under it out as well. 

Dick dropped his mask as he tried in vain to catch what was falling out, dropping most of it. More fell out until a pile of clothing and stuff was on the ground, covering Dick’s feet and reaching his ankles. 

Dick dropped his jaw. Who would shove such an insane amount of stuff in a wardrobe? As Dick bent down to hurridly scoop everything back, he noticed most of the clothing were graphic tees, posters and magazines rather than coats and ties. Well that made sense, how typical for a teenager to ‘clean’ by shoving everything in the wardrobe, out of sight.

Dick was scooping the clothes and throwing them back in, but the pile of stuff kept spilling back out. How had all of this fit in here? Dick huffed as he ended up squeezing in behind the pile of clothes and boxes to try and drag them further in, when the door to the room opened and people entered mid-argument. Dick, like a deer caught in headlights, froze and held his breath. He was hidden behind the boxes and clothes but the wardrobe door was still halfway open, exposing his whereabouts. There was probably some stuff left on the floor as well.

“..at have we said about this? Dragging in all kinds of filth from the streets!” A woman scolded, frustrated.

Dick heard three sets of footsteps come in, the woman seemed to be pacing while the other two stood still. 

“..and so close to your birthday, as well.” The woman mumbled. No one seemed to have noticed the closet yet.

“Your mother is right, it is about time you start acting your status.” The man sighed. “You can’t be seen socializing with any kinds of people anymore.”

“What’s the problem? It’s just for fun.” A boy mumbled.

“Fun? You think this is fun?” The woman stopped. “We have not done all of this for you to throw your future away. It’s time you grew up, William. It’s time you learn responsibility, and your place in society.”

“That’s right, William.” The man walked closer to the closet, angry and disappointed. “Look at the state of your room. At least close the door to the closet you’re hiding skeletons in.” 

The man threw the last clothes in and shut the door firmly, leaving Dick in complete darkness. Their voices were slightly more muffled, but Dick could still make out the conversation. 

They lectured the boy for a while and then told him to get everyone out before being ordered to bed. When they finally left the room, Dick dared to squeeze back out from the pile, reaching for the door handle. Time to haul ass out of here before they came back.

Dick's hand fumbled for the handle and felt his heart drop. The door wouldn’t open.

Dick jiggled the handle again, more desperately, but it wouldn't budge.  

He was locked in the closet. 

Chapter Text

Slade had gone about his day as he usually would after Dick left for the party. It wasn’t really until nighttime when he was brushing his teeth that he started wondering when Dick would come back. 

Surely the boy wasn’t stupid enough to ditch the contract after the first day. It might take some time, but they both knew Slade would catch Dick eventually if he tried to disappear. 

No, Slade shook his head. Dick knew better than anyone what stalking Slade was capable of. He wouldn’t run away, the kid was just at a party with friends. Hopefully Dick wasn’t doing anything Slade wouldn’t approve of, or they’d have a long talk about how drugs affect the brain, and the kid better not be deleriously drunk either, losing all common sense and getting into who knows what situations. 

Slade glanced at himself in the mirror, slightly appalled. Dick had been here one day, since when did he care so much? 

It’s a principle, Slade told himself, a habit. Making sure the contract is honoured. Practicing the parent role. That’s all. 

As he washed his face Slade tried to remember why this had been a good idea. Invite Dick to live with him, in his house? In his actual house no less, not even a safehouse? No, Slade wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. It was nice with some company, and cooking for two was always more enjoyable, but why Nightwing? 

Oh, who was he kidding, Slade knew why. 

While Nightwing often viewed Deathstroke as the only ‘villain’ to truly respect him, his journey of creating himself and the hero he’s become, he was unaware the feeling was mutual. Nightwing was the only hero who had caught Slade’s interest and returned it. They lived by a similar code, ironically enough, of honour and skill. 

Yes, many heroes were skilled and had honour, but it wasn’t the same. Not Superman’s golden morals or Batman’s black and white view of the world. Neither of them could ever respect someone like Slade. Evil was Evil, and that was it. Small minded people, really. 

Robin however, he was different . Say what you will about child heroes, but it gave Robin an opportunity to grow his opinion over the years while he was still open to influences and other ways of thinking. Batman, Superman, basically all heros had started fighting crime as adults with set mindframes. The Bat, no doubt, preached his agenda to Robin. Evil is Evil. The thing was, children were programmed to object. To question and to wonder. 

As Robin grew up he saw the streets very differently from Batman. He learnt life was simply not as he’d been told. The boy wonder, dressed in bright colours, grew up to be surprisingly grey in his view of the world. With set morals on what was right and wrong, of course, but not strictly good or evil. 

He knew struggles and was maybe the most human hero of all. He was somewhat known in the villain world as the friendly hero, the dependable hero, the one they could ask for help . Take Harley, for example. Robin had no trouble beating her and neither did Nightwing, but when she tried to get away from the Joker he supported her fully. Harley Quinn had always had a tragic villian backstory, despite the laughing appearance. Becoming a sidekick because of one sided love was a whole can of worms no one wanted to open. Except Robin, of course, that little bird loved to pick and prod at worms. Still did, even as Nightwing. Always questioning, trying to uncover or understand.  

His willingness to listen made him unique, but also vulnerable. Nightwing could hold his own just fine and was too smart to be easily manipulated, but when he was a kid in Gotham the sane villains had a code among themselves to not mess with Robin too bad. Fighting was inevitable usually, but kidnapping, drugging and tourturing was off limits, and some of them even kept an eye out for him when the insane rouges broke out of Arkham. 

Robin got away from that when he was with the Titans however, and he started to get familiar with Slade instead. Sure, there was the weekly wacko they’d fight, but Slade was pretty much the only consistent threat they had. The other titans were all new, but Robin was used to recurring villains. It was maybe even comforting, remiding him of home. Maybe that’s why Robin started obsessing over him as well.

It did him good though, to study Slade as closely as he had. 

Nightwing never ran into a fight with Slade unprepared, never without backup plans and his head in the game, knowing what Deathstroke was capable of. Respected him enough to plan ahead. Slade could appreciate that, after so many encounters with big headed superpowered heroes, that lack both skill and intelligence but get by because of their abilities. To Slade it’s a waste of time and a bit offensive actually. 

So that was one reason, and honestly, Slade doesn’t know a lot of people. He doesn’t get genuine company anywhere. He had a wide net of contacts, sure, but he usually kills his contacts and he doesn’t know his contracters personally. He doesn’t have friends. 

Nightwing was far from his friend, but they knew each other. 

Yeah, Slade was confident that he knew Nightwing. 

He barely knows Dick, however.

So far (one day in) Slade’s learned a lot about Dick. Dick wasn’t peaceful, and he wasn’t quiet. He was angry, snarky, sarcastic and dramatic. He was actually rude. 

Slade frowned. 

Dick was not what he’d .. expected. This had all started as a prank, more or less, that day when he got the phone call from the school. Slade should have known better. He was too old for pranks. He was also too old to not feel lonely, though. He could only entertain himself so much by his job.

Dick had barely been a good sparring partner in the state he was in now though, but Slade had every intention to make him better. Slade loved good management and seeing something thrive under his care. 

Was he training Dick for his own satisfaction and amusement? 

Well, yes, but also no. Dick still had all his skill, he just needed to get on a diet and a proper sleep schedule to get his stamina back. He wasn’t just a project, Slade cared for the kid, there was no denying that. 

As Slade turned the lights off and went to bed his thoughts took a turn. Had the pancakes been too much? Maybe he came across as wanting to play family. Slade cringed. If Dick had bailed, maybe Slade should let him. Call it a mutual dissolvement of contract, so to speak.

No, Slade scolded himself. The whole point of this, of all the trouble he went through, was to have company and not be so damn alone all the time. 

He wasn’t letting Dick go anytime soon. 

Slade glanced at the clock, it was past two o’clock already. 

Actually, where was Dick?

— — — 

Dick yanked the handle with both hands. 

No no noo -

Dick patted his overall down, but all his pockets were empty. He squeezed to the floor, feeling around in the darkness for something to pick the lock with. There had to be something in here he could use!

Relief flooded through him as he found a few paper clips on the ground. Dick had to work fast before the boy came back to sleep in his room. Dick did not want to wait in the closet like a boogy man the whole night. Besides, Slade would come looking (hunting) for him if he didn’t return before morning and Dick would rather kick this door down, consequences be damned, than be caught locked in a closet as his reason for not coming back. 

The house had gone quiet by now, indicating how people up and downstairs had been ushered out. He didn’t have much time. 

As a kid, Dick had been thrilled to be locked in rooms or in handcuffs to practice getting himself out while Bruce timed him, eager to show his talent and progress. Sometimes Dick realised that was pretty messed up, but it had saved him more than a few times in his Robin days and now, locked in a closet. 

The lock finally clicked and Dick cracked the door open to make sure the room was empty. Putting the pins in his pocket he realised he didn’t have his mask. Glancing back at the mountain, Dick cursed. Wasting no time he dove back in, ruffling through everything.

Where was it? Dick felt his adrenaline spike, his gut telling him he didn’t have time. He considered leaving it, surely the kid wouldn’t think twice about a random mask, when he spotted it peeking out.  

Bingo. Dick yanked it out, stuffed it in his pocket, kicked the rest of the stuff in and closed the door, beelining for the window. 

He was on the second floor and the house was huge, so it might as well have been the third floor. While he tried to keep a look out for any cameras, Dick began his descent. Dick made it down and out of there within a minute, keeping to the shadows as best he could. Once he was far enough away to feel safe again, he checked his watch. It was past two o’clock at night already, meaning he’d missed the last bus. Great. 

Dick jogged home to keep himself warm. 

It was a nice run, if only it hadn’t been so cold. Dick got some time to think, though.

His old apartment would have been freezing at this time of year and Dick really looked forward to sleeping in a bed tonight without several layers of clothing on. While this contract was obviously a bad idea, it wasn’t that bad. It had only been a day but Dick could easily get used to hot showers and proper meals. 

Meals he had to share with Slade Wilson, but still. 

The thing was, Dick had friends. A lot of friends. He could have stayed on people’s couches for the rest of his life if he wanted to. He knows his friends would help him if they knew he needed it, which is why Dick always pretend to be fine. And he was fine, honestly. The whole point of being independent was to manage on your own, and Dick knew he managed just fine. He had, for a long time, which is why it would be an inconvenience for his friends to ask for help if he wasn’t in actual, desperate, need. 

So no, Dick would never ask a friend for help, he wouldn’t put that burden on them. 

An enemy though?

That was different, because they didn’t help out of the goodness of their hearts. It was a trade, something tangible, something measurable. Dick could work with that. There were no feelings of bothering involved, no overstayed welcomes, simply business and mutual benefit. 

Dick could ask Slade for help, because he would never pity Dick. Not the way Dick imagines his friends would.

Slade was a puzzle Dick was still trying to solve, that he’d started the day he’d met Deathstroke the first time. He wasn’t all that he seemed, and Dick was sure there was more to the man than his armour and sword. Deathstroke never talked about himself and over the years Dick knew little more about the man than he did at the beginning, but he knew a lot more about his personality and quirks, the way he took pride in his skill and the code he followed. How he worked, how he thought. 

Yes, Dick knew Deathstroke, but he barely knew Slade. 

Dick didn’t have time to ponder about that more once he arrived to the house and realised he didn’t have any keys. Dick chuckled at the irony, locked in and out on the same night? 

Dick had two options. He could knock on the door at three o’clock in the morning for Slade to let him in. 

Yeah, Dick’s lip curled. Not happening. 

So Dick went with the second option and peeked through the dark windows. Slade was probably asleep then. Dick’s bedroom had a window, and Dick was confident he could get in without triggering any alarms. 

So there he was, halfway through his window, one leg thrown in, cheeks, ears and fingers flushed red from the cold, when the lights turned on. 

Slade stood in the doorway, hand on the light switch, wholly unimpressed. 

Dick, unsure if he should go back out again or come inside, stayed in his half in half out crouch position in the window. 

He cracked a hesitant smile, “Hi?”

Slade narrowed his eyes before he stalked forward and grabbed Dick, hauling him inside. “Get in.”

Dick almost tumbled but Slade’s firm grip on his collar kept him upright. He gave Dick a once-over before apparently deeming him acceptable to let inside and shoving him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Take a shower and go to bed, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Oh boy. Dick thought before Slade closed the door in his face.

Chapter Text

Dick should have guessed Slade would be enough of an ass to put the batteries back in the alarm clock while he was gone. Dick groaned. He’d have to do something about that clock, that’s for sure. Which, by the way, was six o’clock in the morning. 

Dick contemplated crawling back in bed but knew Slade would drag him out by his ears if he did. A yawn overtook him and Dick noticed how stiff he was from yesterday’s sparring. He hadn’t stretched properly afterwards, and that workout had been exhausting. Dick managed to get to the kitchen, where Slade was, once again, already dressed.

“Is 6 AM really necessary?” Dick asked as he painfully lowered himself into a chair. “I’m a growing boy, I need sleep.”

“I doubt you’ll grow bigger no matter how much you sleep,” Slade said. “If sleeping fits your schedule, that is.”

Dick scowled but kept quiet. Yes , he’d been back very late last night, but not because he was out actually partying or blacked out on a couch, but he wouldn’t say that. Slade did not need to know Dick had been locked in a closet, broken out, climbed out the window and jogged home before breaking into his own room. Well, Slade knew the last part, but still.  

There were no pancakes for breakfast today, instead, there was a table of bread, butter, cheese, ham, tomatoes and cucumbers. Dick felt his stomach rumble and reached for it when Slade intercepted him and grabbed his arm. Maybe Dick should have flinched, attacked or reacted with some other useful instinct instead of the slight pout he just managed to fight back and replace with a glare. 

Slade met his glare and turned his hand over so his palm faced up. “Don’t climb through my windows again.” With that he pulled a keychain from his pocket and put it in Dick’s hand, letting him go and sitting down.

Dick’s stomach sank and the keys felt cold and heavy.  

Strong, warm hands grasped his. “Here chum, your keys home.” Bruce had smiled.

Dick held his hand up a bit too long after Slade had let go, trying to keep his face neutral as feelings washed over him and he chanted a mantra of logic. This was a house, and keys were a necessity. These were keys to a house. A house needed keys. They were practical tools to open doors. That’s what a key is, and all it would ever be. 

Dick stormed out of the manor and Bruce stood at the door, still furious from their fight.

“Leave the keys!”

Dick stopped in his tracks, a hastily packed duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.

Bruce and Dick had fought before. Dick had run away from home before, several times, but Bruce had never taken his keys from him. Bruce had never asked him to give them back. After a fight, Dick would often leave but he had his keys and would always come home eventually.

‘Leave the keys.’ Echoed in his head. 

The fight was the worst they had ever had. Dick didn’t remember exactly who said what, but it was harsh and angry, shouted words meant to hurt that left them both bleeding.

Dick, with his back to Bruce, felt like his heart was torn out of his chest. Taking Robin from him and then his home? Fine. Fine! Bruce gets what Bruce wants, after all. Dick ignored how his eyes stung as he tore the keys from his jeans and threw them to the ground. He let anger fill the void in his chest where his heart used to be. ‘Whatever’, Dick thought and let anger consume him. ‘Keep the keys, Bruce’, Dick clenched his jaw as he walked away. ‘Those don’t lead home anymore anyway.’

Slade pretended not to notice how Dick held and looked at the keys weirdly. Christ, was there anything Wayne hadn’t traumatized this kid with?

Slade cleared his throat as he held the basket of bread out over the table to snap Dick out of his thoughts. Dick glanced up, losing his focus on the keys. “Huh? Oh, thanks.”

He didn’t seem as excited to eat anymore but put the keys away at least. 

Slade eyed him as he leaned back in his chair with his coffee. “The meeting is at two, but I’ll leave before then to do some errands in town. I’ve made a list of chores you could get started on after breakfast.”

Dick nodded as he packed his sandwich full, feeling better already. Chores were good. Great, actually, because this was a mutual agreement. Keys for chores. The thought calmed Dick considerably, and he relaxed in his seat. 

Slade was puzzled why the kid seemed so happy to be tasked with chores, but wouldn’t dig into that. Instead, he inquired about how the party was and didn’t quite follow when Dick gave a vague answer before going on a tangent about capitalism, overconsumption, materialistic things, talking about ‘mountains of stuff’ for some reason, but Slade was just content Dick was back to his chatty self. He really wasn’t equipped to deal with Wayne-level trauma. 

When he’d caught Dick in the window last night he’d barely smelt any alcohol on him, mostly sweat actually, no smoke and his pupils had been normal so they didn’t need to have a talk about any of that, at least. Small mercies. After catching Dick sneaking in, Slade could finally get some sleep himself. He’d been lying half awake until he’d heard the window open. Not because he was worried, but because he knew sooner or later Dick would come back and probably wake him anyway.

—

After breakfast Dick went back to his room, keys burning in his pocket. Stop it, he scolded himself. It’s just a key. It doesn’t mean anything. 

Dick needed to take his mind off it and decided to clean his room, which had somehow already gotten messy. His Halloween costume from the night before was still crumpled in a corner, schoolwork covered the desk, and his bed wasn’t made. 

It was pretty nice to clean, actually. Dick opened the window to let some fresh air in as he smoothed out his pillow and blanket, organized his schoolwork and picked up from the floor so he could vacuum later. As he pulled his costume up from the floor, the mask fell out of the opened pocket. Dick picked it up and paused as it felt heavier than before. The texture was different and it was more smooth around the edges. Dick turned it around in his hand. It was a different material completely, rather than cheap plastic the texture and shine almost resembled porcelain or bone. It had two almond-shaped holes for the eyes and a small pointed nose. It reminded Dick of an owl as he held it up, the nose resembling a beak. Dick traced his hands over it, he’d never seen a mask quite like it before and realized it had probably been custom-made and was likely expensive. He must have mixed the masks up in that wardrobe. Figures the kid would have a mask so similar to his. Dick should probably return it, considering how expensive it seemed to be. What a bother, Dick sighed, but it would be the right thing to do. Still, that would have to be for another day. Until then, he put it in his closet with the costume. He still had a few other chores besides cleaning his room to do, and he’d like to take a long nap after that.

—-

Slade went to the meeting, and the information was dull. There was no reason for him to be here, or any other parent or guardian; the ‘kids’ were all adults or at least old enough to not need their consent, much less a mandatory meeting. It was really just a promotion of the trip and the school, hoping the parents would speak highly of them after this. 

Even worse, in the coffee break he was forced to mingle. 

As he held a cup of coffee that he had no intention of drinking, he observed the other parents, mostly middle-class citizens. They seemed excited for their kids to have an opportunity with this field trip, happily chatting with each other. Slade stood out like a sore thumb with the sour mood he was sporting. 

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” A man walked up next to him, hosting his own untouched coffee and glancing out over he other parents as well. He was wearing a suit and Slade recognized the brand as quite expensive. A woman joined right after, presumably the man’s wife, sporting an equally distasteful look on her face. 

”Not what we’re used to.” She glanced at the others before positioning herself so the three of them were forming a half circle, excluding others but still allowing a good overview of the room. She, too, wore causal but clearly expensive clothing, her hair in a tight bun. 

“I assume you’re not talking about the coffee.” Slade said. 

They smiled slyly and laughed. Slade didn’t like the sound. 

“Let me introduce myself and my husband,” The woman said, rambling some names and titles along with a last name Slade recognized from the upper class of Gotham.

He had no intention of socializing with these people, but they had cornered him, so he might as well get some information. If they were here that meant they had a kid that Dick presumably studied with, after all. 

“I recognize your name. You hail from Gotham, correct?” Slade asked, and the pair lit up like Christmas trees, delighted to be recognized, which apparently shone some good light on Slade as well. 

“Oh, how wonderful, it’s been long since we were recognized. Say, are you from Gotham too, Mr..?”

“Wilson, and no, but I am familiar with the system.” The system meaning the corruptness, the politics and the inner workings of upper society. That seemed to butter them up even more, loosening their tongues as well. 

“How wonderful! Tell us, what do you make of this school?” Not waiting for an answer, the man continued, “This school, the teachers, oh the trouble some of them cause. Especially that Wood teacher, it’s about time we get him fired.”

Wood had made a good impression on Slade and Dick clearly respected the man as well, so it was interesting why they spoke ill of him specifically. They somehow mistook his silence and blank stare of disapproval as agreement. 

“Our son has been homeschooled and went to a top-ranked VIP private school, but begged to go to a public school. I must say we were opposed at first, but William has a way of being persuasive.” 

The man chuckled. “He gets it from his mother.” They laughed and Slade suppressed the urge to cringe at how fake they sounded. They actually seemed pissed that their kid was going to this public school but tried to change the narrative rather than admit that spoiling and raising a kid that didn’t take no for an answer had backfired. 

The man continued. “We’re glad he’s taken the initiative to learn how people are different.” 

“What about your child, Mr. Wilson?” The woman inquired, basically asking How did they end up here?

“My kid takes the opportunities he sees to get him where he’s going, regardless of where.”

His answer seemed to stun them for a second before they nodded slowly. “Right, just like our William. Resourceful.”

This was the second time they had mentioned their kid. Slade turned to them as he realized. Rich parents, spoilt kid, hating teacher Wood -  

“You’re the parents of Billy.”

The woman waved her hand and scoffed.  “Oh, don’t play into his silly rebellion. His name is William, a proper and noble name, after his grandfather's uncle you see, not Billy .”

Slade filed that information away. “I see.” Well, at least their kid didn’t go around calling himself Dick , but he didn’t say that out loud. Still. They were the parents of the bully that had harassed Dick and punched him in the face. Slade gripped his coffee a little tighter. 

“I hope this trip will be good for William, to see a successful young man like Timothy Drake. He’ll be a positive influence. He doesn’t call himself Timmy, gosh, can you imagine?” The woman laughed and leaned into her husband, who chuckled with her. 

“We’re associates with his late parents, you see, and hope William will have the sense to socialize with more influential youth like Timothy.”

Right, Timothy Drake had taken over the company at the young age of 17 when his parents died tragically in a car crash abroad. He’d done well for himself, from what Slade had seen, the company thriving under his care. He was a lot less social than Bruce Wayne and other millionaires in Gotham, mostly keeping to himself and rarely being seen in public or at galas at all. Probably for the best; he wasn’t of big interest to the paparazzi or gossip magazines anymore. The teacher called them back from the break, and the man winked at him as they went to their seats again, the pair seemingly thinking they’d made a friend. 

Slade had made enemies.

Chapter Text

After a long nap and all the chores finished, (he’d double and triple checked if there was something more he could do), Dick was on his way to the manor for the Sunday dinner. He felt like he had already eaten a full plate of butterflies though, fluttering uncomfortably in his stomach. Dick had considered ditching and going back several times, was now hesitating every step up the stairs to the manor, to the house he once called home. 

He reached to top of the stairs and reached into his pocket from muscle memory. Dick only realising it as his hand was surprised to find it empty, grasping around. He pulled his hand back to his side. Dick’s pocket was empty, he didn’t have any keys. 

Dick knocked a few times, and tried to calm his nerves as he waited. Maybe things could be better. After all, time was said to heal wounds, right? Bruce had said he’d missed him. He said a lot of other things too over the years, and things he hadn’t said. But Jason would be there, and Alfred. They were used to each other. Well, Dick had barely seen Jason, but it was enough. Dick just needed familiarity right now. His life had been too chaotic lately, too unpredictable. He had looked forward to this a bit, to the familiarity of it all, even if it was tinged with pain. To know the layout of the house so well he could walk blindfolded without bumping into anything, to know the people like his own hand, for better or worse. Bittersweet, but familiar pain. 

The door opened, and a man Dick didn’t recognize stood there, towering over Dick and looking down at him.

“Grayson,” he said. He made no move to let him in or introduce himself. Dick wasn’t sure what to say, words caught in his throat. Who was this man? Why was he in the manor? Why was he huge, and why did he look so much like Bruce?

“Dick!” Jason yelled from behind the man, squeezed past and tackled Dick into a hug.

“ Oof- Hi, little wing!” Dick laughed at Jason’s easy affection. Dick hadn’t had a hug in a long time, it’s as if Jason knew he needed one. Jason was as tall as him now, and Dick tried to push down the guilt of not being there to watch Jason grow up. “Why are you just standing here? Dami, didn’t you let him in?” Jason scolded the man. Dami? Dick tried to sneak a glance at the man but he was already staring at him, causing brief eyecontact he quickly broke. Dick grounded himself with Jason’s firm grip on his arms, like he was scared Dick would run away. He wouldn’t, but was admittedly still considering it. 

“Don’t call me that, Jason.” The man said and stepped to the side to let them in. 

Dick was ushered into the hallway by Jason. “Bruce got a bit caught up at WE, he’ll be here in 40 minutes or so.” Dick breathed a sigh of relief that Bruce wasn’t here yet. That would give him some time to collect himself. When he’d taken off his jacket and shoes, he mustered up his charm and smiled, reaching out his hand. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name! I’m Dick, nice to meet you.”

The man looked at him with piercing green eyes and ignored his hand. 

—

Damian didn’t know what to expect when Jason asked him to come over for dinner that weekend. He’d been quite insistent as well. Damian didn’t know why Jason had refused to take no for an answer and had listed reasons why he must come, said it had been a long time, that he should visit, that he missed him, and that he had something to show him. 

Damian had never expected Richard Grayson to be what Jason wanted to show him. He knew about Richard, of course, how couldn’t he. His mother had conspired to kill the boy out of jealousy many years ago, and Damian hadn’t been opposed to kill the thief of his title as heir either. That was a decade ago, however, and since then he hadn’t spared Richard Grayson much thought. Except for the late nights when he lay awake aching from harsh training, his mother's scolding and expectations of perfection laying heavy on his mind. She’d gotten more demanding after she discovered Richard, and worse, Father’s apparent fondness of him. The child with a joyous soul and laughter who was easy to love. Nothing like Damian, cold and distant, an assassin trained for efficiency and murder. Damian, who Father didn’t know existed because he wouldn’t approve. Those nights Damian turned green with jealousy. He’d never met the boy in person, but from what he heard from mother and others, Richard was a sun of warmth and light. Unreachable, untouchable, larger than life. Someone who caught his fathers interest must indeed be spectacular.

But looking at him now, standing outside the manor and looking up at him with a complex expression, he was smaller than Damian had expected. Not only in his height and body structure, but his aura, his ... presence. Damian was almost disappointed. Was this the runt that had caused of so much of his pain and grief?

Jason tackled Richard into an embrace and ushered him in and as Damian looked at the man- no, the boy- in the hallway, he realized he seemed nervous or insecure to be here. Anyone who wasn’t paying close attention would think he was acting normally, but Damian was fully focused. How strange. Why would he feel nervous here? 

Then Richard asked for his name with a smile and an offered hand. Damian felt his lip curl. How dae he mock him like this, acting like he doesn’t know who Damian is. Damian crossed his arms over his broad chest, not amused in the slightest. What a spoilt, selfish brat- 

Richard’s face fell, and his hand hung in the air a little too long, as if he expected (hoped) for Damian to reach out, in a way someone who was joking wouldn’t. 

Another second and Damian’s train of thought derailed. Damian sought Richard’s eyes, bewildered, his anger replaced by confusion. 

Doesn’t he know who Damian is?

Before he had time to uncross his arms and grasp the hand, Richard had let it fall back to his side, insecurely. Damian felt something tug in his abdomen. Richard really didn’t know who he was. Damian’s arms fell to the sides as he stood slightly dumbfounded in the hallway with the two other boys. Bruce hadn’t told Richard about him? Damian was shocked and embarrassed at the revelation. Was he that much of an embarrassment to his father, their father, that he couldn’t bear to tell his chosen son about his relationship with Talia and his biological son? It had been years since Damian met both Jason and Bruce at this point, or course he would assume someone had told Richard!

Damian had long since accepted his father's disinterest in him, and he returned the sentiment. Jason, however, had brought him to visit the manor somewhat frequently, and he’d gotten quite used to both his little brother and Mr. Pennyworth. He’d gotten used to the idea of Bruce as well but wasn’t sure he’d ever get comfortable around him. Despite his best efforts, the deeply ingrained instinct to constantly seek the distant man’s approval hadn’t budged. Damian didn’t hold any grudge against Richard, despite what his actions might imply, and he had seemingly made quite a poor impression on the boy who looked at him fleetingly. 

Damian wasn’t raised to be social. He didn’t care much for social skills either, or other people in general, but he wasn’t a psychopath. He’d judged prematurely and misunderstood the situation, and now his new little brother was distressed because Damian had made him feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. 

Now, if Damian had been anything like Brucie Wayne, he would have soflty expressed an apology for the misunderstanding, said that he was happy to finally meet him, that his name was Damian and how he looked forward to getting to know him. That’s what he wanted to say.

Damian didn’t say any of those things. He choked out,

“Do you want to pet my cat?”

— 

Dick felt like he could crawl up in a corner of himself when the man stared at him and crossed his arms, ignoring his offered hand. Why was he so angry? Dick felt out of place and put his hand down, feeling slightly stupid. The man’s face suddenly changed as he uncrossed his arms and stared at Dick before blurting out an offer to pet his cat.

His.. cat?

He had a cat here? What whichcraft had they done to be allowed a cat in the manor? Dick had tried to get a pet his entire childhood here!

Jason laughed beside them and shook Dick’s shoulders. 

“That’s a great idea Dami! You two hunt the cat down, and I’ll tell Alfred you’re here, help with the food, so you two can get acquainted!”

Jason slipped past him and Dick wanted to grasp his arm to get him to stay but Jason was already gone, leaving them alone in the hallway. 

The silence that fell was strange. 

“Yes.” Dick said, with an attempt at a smile. You wouldn’t ask someone you hate to pet their cat, right? Maybe Dick had misunderstood the situation earlier. Honestly, Dick felt like he was treading on thin ice here. The man had obviously not even wanted to let him in the house, and suddenly wants him to pet his animal? He’s also caught Dick off guard, seemingly more comfortable in the manor than Dick, and his resembelance to Bruce is undeniable. Maybe Dick’s biased because the man looks like Bruce, interpreting everything as possible anger or disapproval. The man looked at him and seemed to light up a little. Dick swallowed and said with a slighly more genuine smile.  

“Yes, I would like to pet your cat.”

— 

Alfred had to usher Jason out of the kitchen, the boy was too helpful for his own good sometimes. Go spend some time with master Dick, he’d insisted, and Jason eventually left. Honestly, Alfred shook his head. That boy adored master Dick and when he finally visits, he’s suddenly shy? 

Jason wasn’t shy, but was perhaps, potentially, possibly procrastinating a little. Jason had some things he needed to tell Dick that weren’t all that fun. He dragged his feet a little after being thrown out the kitchen, and hoped he’d at least bought Damian some time to meet Dick. He found them sitting in a hallway petting Alfred the cat. 

They sat in silence but seemed to be comfortable with it, at least. 

Jason silently joined them and the three of them sat on the ground, playing with and petting the cat, who didn’t much mind all the attention. 

“Have you introduced yourself yet, Dami?” Jason asked. 

Damian only glanced at him. That’s a no, then. 

Dick glanced up at him encourangily. It would be nice to have a name to the face. Damian almost frowned at the bad impression he was making, not offering his name until now. Richard must think he’s shy.

“I’m Damian al Guhl Wayne, I’m Jason’s big brother.” Damian paused as Richard processed the information, his hand halting mid-pet along Alfred’s back. 

“... Talia, huh?” Richard cast his eyes down and resumed his petting. He didn’t sound surprised; Richard had probably known about his mother’s and father’s involvement to some degree. 

“I’d like to be your big brother too.” he added. ‘ If you’ll let me’, went unsaid. Richard seemed to brighten up at his invitation. 

“When did Bruce find out about you?” Richard asked after a few seconds of silence. His face was neutral but the tension in his shoulders was clear to see. ‘ How long?’

“A couple of years ago” Damian admitted and saw Jason frown as Dick’s jaw ticked. “That’s when I met Jason.”

Dick took a breath, seemingly wanting to move on from more revelations of secrets Bruce had kept from him, and turned to face Jason and asked in a lighter tone, 

“So, how did you two meet?”

Now it was Jason who looked down at his lap, and steeled himself. He hated to ruin the mood again, but he couldn’t put this off any longer. “Dick, there’s something I haven’t told you yet.”

Dick frowned. “What? What’s wrong?”

Jason stubbornly looked down in his lap, and when Dick touched his arm in concern he looked up, eyes a little red and misty. “I’m sorry.”

Before Dick could express anything else Jason continued and grabbed Dick’s arm. “I promised to honour your name, to carry on the legacy, hell, I even promised to kill the Joker, but Dick, I-” Jason’s voice hitched. “I killed Robin instead.”

“What?” Dick wasn’t sure what he was hearing.

Jason gripped him harder, silently begging Dick not to hate him as teares slowly ran down his cheeks. “I had to, Dick, after the Joker and everything after, meeting Damian, there was no way I could have kept being Robin, and Bruce he-” Jason rambled.

“The Joker? Jason, slow down!” Dick grasped his hands, scared. 

Jason took a breath. “You know I was Robin after you. Then I went and got myself blown up, and Bruce had to resurrect me in the Lazarus Pit, and I met Damian and haven’t been out in the field since then.”

The stones that had been gathering in his stomach were nothing compared to the rage, protectiveness and fear that bubbled up.

“Blown up? Resurrected ?” Dick whisper-shouted as he pulled Jason to his feet, who staggered in Dick’s grip. Damian slowly rose as well, keeping close. Alfred scurried down the hallway. 

“I- I - I never actually died though.” Jason said, like that would calm Dick down. “Just almost. Don’t worry, I got better!” 

“You almost died-” Dick had to take a claming breath, which did nothing to calm his racing heart. He hadn’t known. How didn’t he know? ‘ How much of a self-preoccupied bastard could he be to not even notice Robin was gone and his little brother almost died? Years ago?!’

“Dick, no, don’t blame yourself” Jason hurriedly said and was now holding onto him so Dick wouldn’t stagger.

But Dick had always been hot headed. He felt the rage almost narrow his vision and block out sounds as his mind breathed on sentence “Bruce didn’t tell me.” 

Bruce. Didn’t. Tell. Me. 

Not about Jason almost dying, not about Robin dying, not about the Joker or Damian, about any of it!

—

Damian knew all to well the pain of being kept in the dark, of not feeling important enough to be informed. He’d lived half his life in the shadows, kept unaware. He recognized what could be going through Richard’s mind right now, knew the pain. The wondering, the guilt, the rage. Richard needed to know it wasn’t his fault. That it wasn’t his responsibility, that it wasn’t ture that if his relationship with Bruce had been better, maybe he would have known. 

“I also avoided contact with our father for more than half my life. I understand your choice of cutting ties.” Damian said. “I would also like to apologize. I have known of you since father became your guardian but I never approached you or reached out. I should have made sure you were informed of Jason’s condition.”

Jason nodded eagerly. “It was kept very hush-hush, and I just couldn’t figure out how to tell you after the rehab, and-”

Dick pulled Jason into a fierce hug. “You idiot !”

Dick looked at Damian accusingly. “And you! You’re an idiot as well!”

He opened the hug, extending an arm out to Damian, who appreciated the gesture but wouldn’t intrude on such a momen-

Dick’s hand caught in his shirt and Damian was hauled into the group hug. Dick quickly sneaked his arm behind Damian’s back to prevent him from backing away.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Jason. I’m glad you had Damian, at least.” Dick sent a thankful throught to Damian. “I’ll be more present from now on, I promise . For both of you.”

Damian returned the hug, holding them close. He vowed to keep his little brothers safe.

Chapter Text

If you wonder who started the fight, you’d get a different answer every time. 

If you asked Bruce, Dick was looking for a fight.

If you asked Damian, he couldn’t stop it.

If you asked Jason, Bruce had it coming. 

If you ask Dick, dinner had been fine until Bruce crossed the line. 

Dick literally just met his new brother not an hour ago, and Bruce had to make this night about him? Was it too much to ask, just one night together without bringing up their issues? Bruce usually had a problem talking, but tonight he wouldn’t shut up. Even worse, the man who usually avoided any topics revolving feelings had suddenly developed the talent of a steel-toe-booted ballerina, stepping on every single one of Dick’s nerves. 

—

Bruce was anxious but excited for tonight. He’d gone over what his therapist had suggested and intended to use some techniques. Hopefully Dick could see he was trying to have better conversations. With some bad luck he’d been caught up in WE in the afternoon and was beyond thankful for Dick’s social skills and the fact that he took to new brothers like a fish to water, because when he got home he found Dick, Damian and Jason getting along fine, chatting in Jason’s room. There were some glances but Dick seemed to avoid eye contact, Bruce noticed as he searched for his gaze. 

Once they got settled around the table and their food, Bruce finally inquired, as he’d been excited and nervous to do the whole day.

“How are you doing?”

Dick didn’t want to talk about himself. After years with Bruce, he knew it just never ended well. Besides, it wasn’t any of Bruce’s business. He wouldn’t approve of whatever Dick did anyway. Like living with a mercenary, for example. That wouldn’t go over well with him. A small, chaotic and unhinged part of him wanted to tell Bruce just for the heck of it. See his reaction, watch him go crazy. Hopefully, Bruce would react that way if he knew. Because Dick, despite everything, wanted Bruce to care and the thought of Bruce not giving a shit was too painful to think about. 

“I’m fine.” Dick responded, eyes on his food. 

Bruce paused. His therapist had suggested he show more interest in Dick’s life, so he pushed on, with another vague question, giving Dick room to choose his answer.

“Good, good. Where do you live?”

Dick almost choked on his fork.

Bruce looked over at Dick as he coughed and his hand gripped the table. Maybe he’d swallowed wrong. 

“I- uh,” Dick wiped his mouth with a napkin, trying to save face, recover from his shock and deflect the question. “I’d really like to hear how Alfred the cat ended up living here, that must be quite the story.” Dick sent a playful look at Jason and Damian, eyes maybe a bit too wide as he desperately hoped either of them would take the bait and shift the conversation.

Jason grinned. “Oh, it is!”

But Bruce wouldn’t let that happen. He never got an answer, and wanted to show Dick he cared enough to notice he didn’t. 

“You didn’t answer.” Bruce left it as a statement, so Dick could keep talking.

Dick’s smile dropped. What was with the demand for answers?

“I wanna hear about the cat, Bruce.”

Bruce wouldn’t let it go. “And I want you to answer the question.”

Dick put down his pretence of not getting irritated. “Bruce, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Boundaries, Bruce had learnt, were important. But communication is key, he remembered. “Well, I do.”

Jason glanced between them. “Maybe we should-”

“Don’t interrupt, Jason.” Damian said in a low tone, watching the scene unfold. There was clearly a fight brewing, and he’d rather not have Jason get involved, or he’d have to as well. Richard knew what he was going up against, but Jason shouldn’t have to pick sides in his family. 

Dick didn’t like Bruce’s tone and said firmly, “Let it go.”

Bruce wouldn’t. He needed to show Dick he cares and that he’s missed him. “You never visit. I want to hear how you have it.”

Dick couldn’t believe this man. “I never visit? Like it’s my fault I never visit?” 

As if there is no reason he doesn’t come home once a month for dinner?

Bruce grimaced. Dick was jumping to conclusions and putting words in his mouth, so he patiently corrected him. “No one said it’s your fault.” 

Dick hated being talked to like he was a kid. “You implied -”

“Let’s not argue over the food, it’s getting cold.” Damian spoke clearly and just loud enough to get his point across, and both Dick and Bruce settled down. This fight was going to happen but Dick and Bruce had to do that alone. Damian wanted Jason to eat his dinner and leave before they sorted out their problems. The food was still warm, but the atmosphere was frosty and awkward. 

No one brought up the cat story as they ate in silence. Great job B, you broke your number one rule and killed the mood. Dick could feel himself being irritated just by the fact that Bruce seemed oblivious to what he’d done. 

Dinner went by with no further issues until they were clearing the table and Dick and Bruce were left alone for the first time that night as Damian ushered Jason away to the kitchen. Bruce tried to approach him again and Dick wasn’t fast enough to avoid him this time. 

“Dick-”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it! Any of it!” Because this was more than a simple question of where he lived. It didn’t help that that particular question was very touchy right now, but that’s beside the point. 

Bruce tried to calm him down. “Dick, I know we both made mistakes-”

Oh, this was about so much more than where he lived. Their mistakes? Bruce has the gall to bring that up?  “Don’t act like our mistakes were equal by any means.” Dick sneered.

Bruce squared himself. “You got shot-”

“And that’s my fault?”

“Yes, you shouldn't have-”

“YOU shouldn’t have!” Dick felt his voice raise. Shouldn’t have made me Robin? Shouldn’t have needed me to save you? Either option went unsaid. 

“You were irrational-”

“I was a kid!” Dick yelled. 

“So was I!” Bruce slammed his hand on the table. 

The silence echoed, and Bruce slowly straightened and ran his hand through his hair to regain composure.

“Dick. Yes, you were a child, but when I took you in, I was barely a functioning adult myself. I shouldn't have considered myself ready for such a responsibility.”

Dick’s throat felt dry. “You’re saying you regret me?” 

“I’m saying it might have been better - ”

“For me or you? Because it sure as hell wouldn’t have been better for me. Even with all you know, Bruce, you stand here and say to my face you wish I’d gone into foster care? In Gotham ? I would never even have made it out of juvie!”

Bruce needed to put his foot down, such thoughts were unacceptable. This wasn’t about Dick not being enough, he was trying to be accountable for his own faults and shortcomings!

“Everything doesn’t revolve around you, Dick!”

Dick felt like he’d been slapped, but felt a cruel giggle escape him at the irony. “Yeah? So what, you took me in for your sake?”

It was supposed to be sarcastic but Dick wasn’t ready for the heavy silence that followed and the complete absence of denial .

Dick’s heart fell to his stomach. Not even out of pity? Bruce had taken him in, to what, make good with his own dead parents? Could Dick have been any fucking kid, would Bruce have picked anyone of the street to- Dick’s thoughts ran to a halt. 

“Jason too?” He almost shook. “You took Jason in for the same reason?” While it hurt like hell, he could deal with the fact that he wasn’t special; he could handle it, but Jason? If Bruce weren’t careful with his next words Dick might do something he’ll regret. His brother didn’t deserve such a life, hadn’t asked for it. Robin and Batman were partners long before Dick and Bruce were ever parent and child, or guardian and ward. Jason had been a son before he became Robin.

Bruce shook his head, not trusting himself with words anymore. Dick seemed to hate everything he tried to communicate. This was going very poorly, Bruce thought grimly. 

Dick took a step away. “I need to be alone.” 

—-------

Damian tried to hold Jason back in the kitchen when they heard the voices get louder in the dining hall.

“Jason, stay here. Don’t get involved.” Damian said as he once again grasped Jason after he’d wiggled out of his previous hold.

“I AM involved!” Jason struggled. “Dick’s fighting with Bruce!”

“Exactly” Damian said calmly. “It’s their fight, let them have it. Richard knows how to stand on his own.”

Jason turned around. “That’s why we need to go, Damian. Standing alone is all Dick knows when it comes to Bruce. He needs to know we’ll be there for him now, that he’s not alone!”

Damian … hadn’t thought about that before, but realized Jason was right. Letting Bruce and Richard go at it like they had seemingly always done wouldn’t create new solutions. He let go of Jason and was instead dragged in a half run to the dining room, which had gone suspiciously quiet. Indeed, Richard was nowhere in sight, and Bruce stood with a mopey face.

“What did you do?” Jason pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. 

Bruce looked at him helplessly “I tried to communicate.”

Jason’s facepalm slap almost echoed. “You can’t communicate without a translator, we’ve been over this! I’m grateful that you’re trying, but this is too important for you to experiment with using words and expressing feelings, B.”

Bruce almost pouted and looked kind of helpless. “I realize that.” 

“Is it always like this?” Damian asked.

Bruce shook his head. “It wasn’t like this when he was younger, but over the years he grew more independent, and I had a hard time accepting that.”

Jason shook his head, irritated. “Well, now that you’ve properly messed up, I hope you take that as a lesson. Who knows how long it’ll take to fix the damage you just did.” 

Bruce frowned. “He keeps running away when we talk.”

“When you fight , Bruce. And maybe he’s leaving because you keep pushing him away?”

Something vibrated, and Bruce suddenly looked alarmed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Arkham’s had a breakout.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “Where’s Dick?”

- - - 

Dick didn’t feel guilty as he took his favorite bike from Bruce’s garage and threw on a leather jacket, gloves and helmet. He needed some space, and no amount of walking could get him far enough away from here in a reasonable time before either Damian or Jason came looking for him. Usually, he went outside after a fight, sometimes he’d sulk in his room or spend some time with Alfred, but he wanted to be alone now. Bruce took him in for his own sake. That thought left a strange taste in his mouth. What was even worse was that it made sense. To get some closure from his parents' murder, or repay some debt to Alfred for caring for him when he was a child, or even to compensate for Batman’s darkness. No, Dick mused. It had taken some time before Batman had calmed down; that was probably just a good side effect. That was slightly comforting, at least, to know he was a charity case before he became a child soldier. 

He drove pretty much on autopilot until he slowed to a stop in an area he recognized from his youth. He used to come here after he’d become Robin, when he needed time to reflect. Batman didn’t know about it, and would have thrown a fit if he knew Robin sometimes lurked in places associated with Dick Grayson’s past. The juvenile detention centre had since been relocated, and the building stood empty now, almost haunting. 

Voices echoed down the street.

“-eeps me out.”

“Course he does, that’s his thing, the clown freak.”

“Did you set the alarm?”

“Yeah, the cops will be running around the other side of town for a while.”

“Good, now let’s scatter. Joker said he doesn’t wanna be disturbed and we’ll draw attention by hanging around here. Our job’s done.”

The men left, still chattering and mumbling among themselves. 

The Joker? Dick thought. Another Arkham breakout?

Dick glanced at the building again. What are the odds of Joker hiding out in here while the cops are distracted? He should call Batman or Alfred and let them know. He should probably leave. But if the cops were already set on a false trail, it would take them too long to get here, and Dick knew Batman wasn’t on patrol yet. Call him stupid, but Dick couldn’t help curiosity mingled with apprehension to fill him. 

Dick glanced down at himself. With his jeans, biker jacket and helmet he wouldn’t be recognisable, and he just wanted to check the place out. If Joker was actually hiding here, Dick would call the cops and Batman. Maybe after he’d secured him, though. But still, he’d tell someone. Eventually. 

As he crept through the halls he eventually heard it, the silent laughter, one Joker probably didn’t realize he was making if he was trying to hide here. 

Dick contemplated what to do. Joker was actually here. Logic eventually won out and he sent a signal from his phone broadcasting his location to the cave. As he focused back on the situation however, he realized too late that it was quiet. As he looked up the Joker was peeking out from behind a corner, staring at him.

Dick didn’t move, and Joker stepped out from the corner, tilting his head. “Curious, curious..! Are you new in town? I don’t recognize you.”

Dick didn’t answer. He wouldn't have a conversation with the madman. Joker narrowed his eyes. “You must be, because you don’t seem to recognize me either.” He did a twirl, showing off his purple costume, and bowed. “I’m the clown prince of Gotham!”

As Dick once again didn’t respond or react, he paused. “Unless..” He started laughing. “I should have known!” Joker wiped a fake tear away. “I’d love to have a chat with the bat, I really would, but I’m awfully busy tonight you see.” 

Ah. The Joker seemed to have realised Dick might be stalling for time. He couldn’t let him leave, though. 

Joker noticed he wasn’t moving out of the way. “You know, the others were more talkative. Silence is the bat’s memo.”

Dick was still silent. 

Joker turned serious. “Alright, enough games. I’ve been in this business longer than you can imagine, kid. I practically started the business! And if there is one thing I know , it’s that if someone’s interfering and it’s not Batman or the cops,” Joker paused, “Then it’s a birdie.” The Joker screeched in triumph. “A birdie, aren’t you?! Did bats add another to his collection?” The laughter died down and took on a lecturing tone. “Tsk, tsk tsk, Haven’t I taught him anything?”

“Ah, I shot the first one and blew the second. Say, how should I kill this one?” Joker paced back and forth. Dick clenched his fists at the mention of Jason.

“Strangulation? Oh, acid, perhaps. Laughing gas, ugh, no no no , so unoriginal!” The Joker looked deep in thought as he contemplated how to execute murder like he was having trouble choosing a topping for his ice cream.

“The first time was too fast, a gun is no fun . I much preferred the second one. Did bats tell you about that one? Oh, he screamed and cried!” Joker laughed and Dick struggled to stay in place as the filth kept talking about Jason. “Cried and cried as I took my time breaking the bones in his body” Joker seemed delighted. “But do you know what the best part was?”

Dick tried to stay in control as his heartbeat sped up. “The best part was when he cried out for Batman. Oh- ohohohhahahahahhHAHAHAHHA but batsie wouldn’t come!” Jokes laughed until he clutched his stomach. “Bats always come when I call. He didn’t care much for the second anyway, weak brat. Couldn’t compare to the first, even.” 

It took every ounce of self control Dick had to not lunge at him. He needed to hold on. He’d sent the signal a while ago, Batman would be here any minute now, and Jason would be at home, safe with Damian. 

But Joker kept talking. “He wasn’t stupid, though, but he got delusional at the end. He stopped calling for Batman, and started calling for himself instead.”

Dick snapped his head up. “What?”

“Robin, Robin,” Joker imitated in a crying, broken voice, then laughed. “And people call me craz-”

Joker’s nose broke as Dick’s fist made contact. Blood sprayed out of his face and Joker fell to his knees, gasping as blood filled his mouth. 

Dick shook as hatred filled him. This piece of shit was laughing at how he’d tourtured a child. Tortured Jason . Who’d called out for him. 

And he hadn’t been there. 

No morals could stop Dick’s onslaught of kicks and punches. 

Two broken ribs, a dislocated jaw and a few teeth punched out, it still wasn’t enough. The more he hit him, the more unsatisfied he got. The Joker should scream louder, beg for mercy. Hands clawed at the floor beneath him and Dick set his jaw. Those hands had held the crowbar. Broken wrists, crushed fingers. Dislocated hips and knees. Dick knew how to make it hurt, and last . 

The Joker wasn’t laughing anymore, but that horrible paint and scars still imitated a smile. Dick couldn’t stand it. 

As he straddled the Joker, trapping his arms with his thighs as he hovered above him, his fists rained down on that face. He’d beat that smile off.

It kept echoing in his head. Jason had called out to him. His tourtured little brother cried out for Dick to save him. 

His fists were dripping with blood, and sweat lined his brow. As he looked down at the flesh that barely resembled a face anymore, a thought formed. Finish the job. Get rid of him for good. 

Dick would have liked to say he lost control. That he didn’t know what he was doing, that rage took over. But Dick was in control and every hit was aimed to hurt, every time he drew his arm back to land another hit it was a conscious choice. 

Dick didn’t stop.

Chapter Text

While Bruce had rushed to the Batcave to suit up, Jason and Damian had run out the door after Dick. Jason should probably have stayed in as Phoenix from the Batcave to help Batman get an overview, but Jason couldn’t stand the thought of not going out himself. 

He and Damian split up to cover more ground, not knowing in which direction Dick had gone. Jason had just gotten to the outskrits of the city when his phone buzzed -  Alfred had sent Dick’s location. Shit , Jason cursed as he saw the coordinates. Dick was far away, it’d take at least twenty minutes for him to run there. Thinking quickly, Jason scoured the area until he found his target and smirked. Jason hotwired the bike with practised ease.

The wind ruffled his hair as he sped through the streets. So far, he hadn’t seen any signs of villains, which was both a good and a very bad sign. 

Jason was seemingly the first to arrive, and the streets were deserted. Gothamites knew to stay in when the alarm of a breakout from Arkham sounded. Checking his phone again, the coordinates led him into the abandoned Juvenile Detention Centre building. He snuck down the hallways, to have the element of surprise on his side if Dick was in trouble. Soon enough Jason heard the sounds of a fight up ahead and quickened his pace, worried Dick might already be hurt. 

Jason wanted to rush into the scene but needed to get a look first to assess the situation, and slowly leaned over the corner of the wall. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Dick splattered in blood, beating someone pinned beneath him. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but Jason felt more queasy about not knowing how much of that blood was Dick’s, who didn’t seem to have noticed his arrival. They were the only people there, and Jason deemed the next course of action to be interference. 

Jason grasped his arm to hold back the next punch. Movement would aggravate possible injuries further and the pile benetah Dick was in no condition to fight back anyway. As Jason held onto Dick’s arm and pulled him to his feet, away from the body, Dick barely stopped himself from throwing him off.

“Dick, stop!” Jason grabbed his arms firmly, and Dick finally recognized him, and his posture relaxed somewhat. Jason couldn’t see any sources of the blood woulds so he quickly opened Dick’s jacket and checked for gun- or stab wounds, then peeled off the helmet to check his head, but was mildly surprised to see Dick wasn’t bleeding. At all. Jason was relived, but surprised, because that meant the blood was the other person’s.

Jason hadn’t paid much attention at first, his sole focus on Dick, but when he looked over again, he immediately knew. The suit and hair were the only clear identifiable characteristics of the person by this point, and Jason looked away, disgusted by the sight of him. Dick staggered a bit and held onto Jason as he was pulled further away from what now resembled purple suit packaged ground beef. 

Footsteps thundered down the hallway in their direction before Damian rounded the corner. He was panting, hair and clothing tousled, and his eyes widened at the sight of them. Dick had inevitably coated Jason in blood as well, and Jason had to fight off Damian’s hands prying at them, checking for wounds like he'd done only a minute ago. 

“It’s not ours.” Jason tilted his head in the direction they came from. 

Damian looked relieved, and his eyes followed the trail of blood on the floor to the origin. Dick was confused as he watched Damian crouch beside the Joker, call an ambulance and try to keep him breathing. 

“Let him die.” Dick’s voice was cold as he turned to Damian. He hissed, “He doesn’t deserve to live.”

“Of course he doesn’t! Dick!” Jason yelled and shook him, getting Dick’s attention back on him as he looked into his eyes. “I don’t give a shit if he dies, neither does Damian! But not by you. Don’t you dare to be so selfish! I don’t care if his life ends, but it can not be at the cost of yours!”

Dick paused. "What?"

“Don’t you think he’ll know?” Jason hissed, almost a whisper, and he grabbed Dick tighter. If Dick hadn't been wearing a leather jacket, Jason’s grip would have left handprint marks on his arms. “He’ll know. He will know and he’ll take you away from me. If you break his one rule about not killing, he’ll lock you up forever and you can’t be that selfish! You can’t! ” 

Damian agreed from his crouched position. “I’ve only just found you, Richard. I’m not letting him take you away from me.”

Dick deflated. They were right. What- what was he doing? He glanced over at the Joker and winced. He wasn’t sure the freak would survive the night. Not even the hour if help didn’t arrive soon. Speaking of, Batman came rushing in from the same hallway Damian had come from. He knelt next to Damian, helping put pressure on wounds. He looked up to assess the situation further, but it wasn’t hard to take in what had happened, with Dick’s fists still dripping blood. Jason held Dick tighter under Batman’s cold gaze and squared his shoulders. 

“I’m taking Dick back to the manor. That freak’s life is in your hands now.” Jason said firmly. If the Joker died now, Jason reasoned, then it was Batman’s fault for not saving him. 

— 

The ride back to the manor was quick. Dick wanted Jason to wear the helmet but realised it was too bloody to see through properly.

Jason ushered him into the manor where Alfred waited, who helped peel him out of the bloody clothing and into sweatpants, a clean t-shirt and a blanket. Then he was bullied into the couch as Alfred made sure he was indeed not injured, and started carefully wrapping his hands. He’d worn gloves, but after a while his knuckles had gotten bruised. Jason stuck close to his side the entire time. Dick wasn’t sure what to think. Death had been the plan for a while, but things had changed now. What would he do if Joker died? What would Bruce do?

Alfred was quiet as he cleaned Dick up, but his actions and mannerism told Dick he wasn’t had at him. Frustrated and worried, sure, but not mad. Not appalled, either. Dick bit his cheek to hide a sudden smile at the thought that Alfred might have done the same thing given the chance. Maybe not known to the public, but Alfred could be fiercely protective. Granted, he wouldn’t use brute force, his trusted shotgun would do the job just fine. 

Damian came back soon after, reporting the Joker had been alive when the ambulance left. He also said Batman was in the cave and wanted Dick to come down immediately.  Dick took a deep breath as he stood up, and felt his heart warm as both Damian and Jason plastered themselves at his side. 

Alfred stayed behind to deal with the bloody clothing Dick had arrived in, but gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder as they walked by. 

Dick hesitated and turned to his brothers. "What if Joker dies?"

Damian huffed. "He already did." As Dick's jaw dropped, Damian continued. "Batman and I had to revive him once after you two left, but he is stable now. Don't worry, Richard."

Jason smacked him, holding a hand to his heart. "Don't say it in that order, then!"

Dick felt some satisfaction from knowing the clown had been dead, at least for a little while. 

Once they got down the staircase, Batman stalked over. Both Damian and Jason stepped in front of him protectively, while Dick hesitated. Not because he regretted what he’d done, but because Jason was squeezing his hand, and Damian’s shoulders were tense. “I-”

“You need medical attention.” Batman interrupted. “You two, keep a distance, it might be contagious. Dick, get on the medical bed, I need blood samples and a check up to see if the compund is still intact.”

Dick felt dumbstruck. 

What?

Jason and Damian were taken by surprise too, apparently, as it took a second before they hurried after when Dick was ushered onto a medical cot. Batman sent a glare at them for not ‘keeping a distance’ (which they ignored) before going to collect a tray with equipment. 

Dick watched him move and he knew he was tense, but Bruce’s gloom didn’t seem to be directed at Dick at all. What ‘compound’ was he talking about? Contagious?

“There were reports of a new airborne pollen by Scarecrow, possibly in collaboration with Ivy, being released in the area you passed through. It triggers aggression and uncontrolled rage, a gas composed mostly of fly agaric, very toxic and known to make people lose their minds upon consumption.” Bruce grumbled as he shone a light in Dick’s eyes and pressed fingers to his neck to feel his pulse.

Dick didn’t comment as Bruce almost … fussed over him. He caught Jason and Damian looking at each other over Bruce’s shoulder and shared a confused look with them. There had been no pollen or gas. Scarecrow and Ivy hadn’t been anywhere near them, either. Nor had Damian or Jason been affected. Where did Bruce get the information? Who had reported that?

But hey, Dick wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he really wouldn’t. If Bruce believed he acted under the influence of rage-gas then he couldn’t be held accountable, which suited Dick just fine. He wasn’t ashamed, but Jason’s words had gotten to him. He would never risk such a thing again. 

The blood test came out clear, and Bruce concluded it didn’t have long lasting effects and must have passed since Dick had been calm since he’d arrived to the manor. 

Then he pulled down the cowl, took Dick’s hands and sat down next to him with a deep breath. Then Bruce, because this wasn’t Batman anymore, pulled him into a hug. Not just a brief hug, but a full on bear hug that swallowed Dick whole and he felt … safe . 

“Taking you in was the best decision of my life. I’m trying to apologize to you for not being the support you needed at the time.”

Dick deflated. “You were enough, Bruce.”

“I should have been more. I know I am responsible for a lot of the issues we have today, and I want to work on that, I really do.”

Dick hugged him back. 

- - - 

Everyone tried to make him stay at the manor for the night, but Dick promptly refused. He was fine, and the the field trip to Drake industries was tomorrow. He also had a mercenary that expected him home in an hour or so, but Dick didn’t mention that. Eventually they let him leave on the condition that Damian drove him home. Jason had begged to come too but Bruce, Alfred, Damian and Dick had all ganged up on him that he should go to bed. The look on Jason’s face had been scandalised, but the door closed before they could hear him screech that he was 17 and did not have a bedtime. 

As they got in the car Dick realised he wasn’t sure what directions to give to Damian. Hoping he could get away with it, he gave his old address to the rotting apartment. 

However, once they arrived, he realized his mistake. The building was being renovated, half of the windows and pieces of the walls were missing. Dick quietly groaned as he realized Slade must have reported the landlord. 

Damian glanced through the window at the building and gave him a look.  “You don’t live here.”

Dick felt some shame for lying, and being so obviously caught. “No. I don’t.” He admitted. 

Damian was silent for a while. “Then what are we doing here?”

“Well, you don’t have to drive all the way. I can walk from here.” Dick unbuckled his seatbelt but Damian caught it and buckled him back in, all with one hand, not buying it. Dick glanced at him, formulating another lie.

Damian grabbed his shoulder. “Richard, I’m not like our father. I don’t mind murder. I’m not like our brother either, I don’t need protection. If you need help, you can talk to me.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s fine too, but either you give me your actual address or I drive you back to the manor.”

 “..You promise not to look into it more later and just drive me there?”

Damian looked him dead in the eye. “I promise.”

—--------

Dick should have known Damian was twisting his words, because once they were outside Slade’s house Damian unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. 

Dick’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Damian stepped out of the car and Dick hurried to follow him out.  “I’m making sure you get home safe.”

“I can walk up the driveway alone!”

“Yes.” Damian said as he took the lead towards the door. “But you don’t have to.”

“Damian!” Dick hissed in panic as he rushed after him. “You promised!”

“I promised I won’t look into it later, and I won't. I’ll do it now instead.” Damian raised a hand to knock on the door before Dick could throw himself in the way.

Three confident and loud knocks sounded before Dick pushed himself in between Damian and the door, frantic. “Okay! Okay, thank you! I’m at the doorstep now, I got it from here! Go, go go! Leave!” 

Dick tried to push him back towards the car, but Damian wouldn’t budge, patiently waiting for someone to open. Then the door opened and Dick gulped.

“Good evening.” Damian greeted, unfazed. 

Dick, ever so slowly, turned his head to peek over his shoulder and confirm they were at the right house, concerned at how casual Damian sounded.

Slade tilted his head a little as he looked down at a sheepish Dick, and noticed his bandaged hands.

Slade looked at Damian. “What happened?”

Damian calmly turned Dick around so he was standing with his back against Damian’s chest, his hands on Dick’s shoulders.

“My brother set some things straight.”

Damian sounded proud. Dick didn’t know where to look, so he kind of looked past Slade’s shoulder, in slight terrified confusion about what was happening.

Slade felt his jaw tick. Dick was supposed to eat dinner at the manor but got in a fistfight with Bruce Wayne? What kind of bastard was that man-

Damian added, “Richard should go to bed, while we have a word.”

Dick snapped his head up to Damian. Go to bed?! No way would he-

Slade nodded. He sidestepped and motioned for Dick to go in. “Come on.”

Dick snapped his head back to Slade. What? No questions? No interrogation? Slade put a hand on his back and led him in. “We’ll talk later.” Slade said, and Dick nodded. Right, better with no witnesses, he thought, before realizing that wasn’t a good thing for him at all. He turned around, brows furrowed and a hand up, in a wait a minute gesture.

“Mr. Wilson is right, Richard. Go to bed now.” Damian agreed.

Dick was speechless. Why was Damian so calm about this? His brother, for sure, knew who Slade Wilson was, but didn’t mind? At all?! 

He managed to argue, “I don’t have a bedti-” before they closed the door in his face.

• - –

They both waited until they heard Dick leave the hallway and close the door to his room. Once Richard had left and was out of earshot, the air changed slightly between the two men.

“Deathstroke.” Damian greeted with a small nod of his head in respect.

“Al Ghul” Slade returned the gesture. 

They weren’t well acquainted, but Damian did not consider Deathstroke an active enemy. 

“I must say, this is unexpected.” Damian mused. For Richard to live with Slade Wilson, and be quite comfortable around him, was not something Damian had foreseen. Still, Damian wasn’t exactly against it. Slade had respectable qualities and Damian could see how the two complement each other. 

Damian knew Dick’s relationship with Bruce left him scrambling for affection and validation from other father figures, heroes and villains alike, and this was one Damian could approve of. 

Superman had his heart in the right place but that man was a recipe for disaster. Seeing the best in everyone was, in fact, not a good trait, and such a contrast between his superhero persona and civil ID was conflicting. While Superman was confident and strong, Clark was shy and naive. Batman was much the same but the complete opposite. Batman was a dark figure of efficiency and a code, while Bruce Wayne lived easily and dumbly. The Flash and Green Lantern were disasters of role figures, but Jason had told Damian that Dick had seen them as fun uncles rather than fathers. 

There was a reason Dick took to personalities like Catwoman, Poison Ivy and Deathstroke. Predictable in their personalities, passionate, capable and deadly, while selective in where they put time and energy. However Catwoman moved around a lot, and her on and off relation with Batman made her less reliable and unbiased. Poison Ivy had good qualities but was often either in Arkham or causing trouble with Harley. Meanwhile, Deathstroke was stable, independent and not from Gotham, guaranteeing minimal relation with Batman. He was respected in the business, not a senseless killer and a skilled fighter. Yes, Damian could see why Dick had chosen Deathstroke. 

While Damian somewhat approved, there were still some things to settle.

“I will make myself clear. If Richard calls, I will come. I will not hesitate to do what it takes. However,” Damian paused. “Until then, Richard has chosen this, and I will respect that.”

Slade tilted his head in agreement. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I will take my leave, then.” Damian took a step back and turned towards the car.  

“Say,” Slade called after him, “Why do you trust me?”

Damian turned halfway. “I don’t. But I know your morals will not be swayed by money or threats, and that you’ll do the right thing in times of danger.”

After a moment, Damian added. “Truthfully, I recognize traits in you that I value in my mother.”

Slade was slightly taken aback at that, and Damian suppressed a small smile. Assassins and mercenaries, somehow ignorant of their obvious protectiveness. 

“You may seem tough, Slade, but you’re a family man.”

-

Dick hadn’t gone to bed after he’d been shut out from Damian and Slade’s conversation. How could he? If a fight broke out, he’d need to intervene. Between an assassin and supersoilder mercenary Dick wasn’t sure how much he could do, but at least he’d try. His plan to stay and eavesdrop by the door fell through as he realised they refused to talk until he left. Naturally, he paced in his room until he heard the front door close and Damian’s car drive away. A soft knock sounded on his door, and Dick called for Slade to come in.

Slade stayed in the doorway and eyed Dick’s wrapped hands. Dick pulled them behind his back.

“Did you get in a fight?” Slade didn’t sound angry, not at him at least.

Dick was silent for a while before he took his hands out and turned them around, inspecting them. They’d be bruised for a while, but Alfred had done a good job bandaging them. “Well, I suppose Joker was fighting for his life. Which he lost, by the way.” Dick added as an afterthought.

Slade straightened from where he’d leaned against the doorway. What did he say? Dick didn’t correct himself or claim he was joking. It took a second before Slade’s brain functioned properly and he rushed forward, grabbed Dick’s shoulders, looked right into his eyes, as he slowly stated what he hoped was a misunderstanding.

“You’re telling me you impulsively committed murder. On the Joker. In Gotham?”

“Yes?” Dick grimaced, but upon no worse reaction than utter disbelief (and despair), Dick hesitantly smiled a little. “I think you’d be proud.”

Slade didn’t look proud. He looked horrified. Dick’s smile faltered.

“Well. Maybe not proud. I mean, I didn’t have a plan, and the evidence was pretty damning, and I was caught in action, and the target is technically still alive,”

Slade felt his lifespan shorten with every mistake Dick listed. Slade’s to-do list changed drastically from punching Bruce Wayne’s face in (since the fistfight hadn’t been with him, apparently) to doing some heavy damage control from his kid’s sudden murder debut.

As Dick was mumbling something about not wearing a mask either, Slade grabbed his face with both hands firmly and leaned in, saying pointedly, “The next time you want to commit murder, you ask me first.”

Dick puffed his cheeks out, which Slade squished. Dick looked like a fish, unable to squirm away, but Slade was not amused. This was not a game. Slade was not opposed to murder, but for fuck’s sake, do it properly! Had Dick learnt nothing over the years when they’d clashed during Slade’s contracts? Always be one step ahead, fully informed and prepared, with at least five backup plans. Dick killing someone on a whim was not behaviour Slade wanted to encourage.

“Am I making myself clear?”

Dick nodded.

“I need verbal confirmation, Dick.”

Dick had no intention to kill anyone again, so this promise didn’t mean much anyway.

“I promise.”

It was good enough for Slade, and he let Dick go with an order of brushing his teeth and going to bed.

Slade had work to do.

Chapter Text

Since Tim can remember, he’d always been followed by a shadow and the feeling of being watched. He never caught a glimpse, but Tim knew who it was. He just wished his fairy godmother wasn’t so shy. 

He called her Shadow most of the time, and spoke to her sometimes when he was alone. She never responded but Tim knew she was real, because glasses of water would appear on hot summer days, or fruits and snacks when his stomach rumbled. The staff members in Drake Manor pitied him when he talked about his ‘invisible friend’ (as they referred to her as), while they muttered about him being too alone, and his parents being too absent.

Jack and Janet were rarely home, and Tim had been young (practically still newborn) when he realised they would hand him over to someone else when he was loud or messy. As per baby instinct, he tried to prevent that, and consequently sat still, was quiet, and did nothing. Because of this, Timothy Drake came to be regarded as the exemplary child of Gotham's high society. Never screamed, cried, had tantrums or spoke out of line. He didn’t mess up his styled hair or dirtied his suit by playing, didn’t eat with his hands and sat still in his chair. Other parents looked at him and sighed, as their own children had food in their hair, dirt on every piece of clothing, endlessly asking questions and being too blunt or honest about their opinions. 

A quiet, clean child was a sight to behold, until he turned five. He had a routine checkup, and in a rare event, his parents were present instead of his nanny. Tim knew to be extra good, and as usual, he sat quietly in the waiting room, hands in his lap even when surrounded by toys. He didn’t talk, flinch or cry when a door slammed or a bell rang. Tim even heard the doctor comment on how quiet and still he was! He felt pride, and glanced at his parents, hoping they liked how good he was doing. The doctor seemed to think otherwise, because they asked if Tim was known to have developmental issues. Tim didn’t know what that meant, but he never saw the doctor again and Tim was firmly instructed to read books when seen in public from now on and respond with full sentences when spoken to.

That was Tim’s first negative reaction to his practised method, but it wouldn’t be his last. It got worse the older he got and once he turned eight, there was no denying it. Sitting quietly by himself was not impressive or proper; rather it was concerning because adults deemed he should have friends at this age. There were whispers that Tim was ..  special, always being by himself. His previously approved behaviour was now strange and unacceptable. He was no longer allowed to rely on the rules he had built his entire life around. 

Instead, he was forced to meet kids he’d never met before and their parents, while being expected to play and make friends. His first time in the park on an arranged play date with a group of kids was horrific. 

Tim didn’t know what to do. When a kid yelled “You’re it!” before running away, Tim stood rooted.

I’m.. it? 

With some trial and error (Tim eventually figured out you pass the ‘it’ on to the person you catch), he was participating successfully in the game. Then another kid called to play pirates, confusing Tim by the sudden change. Was ‘it’ not a good game anymore? 

Apparently not, as everyone else scrambled to find sticks or small rocks on the ground. 

Tim understood the concept. He knew they were ‘playing’ pirates. He’d just never played with others before. So when a kid came up to him, saying “Arr! Give me ye gold, landcrab!”, Tim was lost but she looked exceptedly at him. Like Tim was supposed to do something, or say something. 

He had a stick in his hand. Wasn’t that enough?

Another girl appeared beside her friend, “Then ye walk the plank!”

Tim held his stick up to prove his meek accomplishment and participation in the game, but she was encouraged to attack instead. Stick on stick, she smacked it and Tim let go immediately. It fell to the ground at Tim’s feet, and he stared at it, then at them, unsure. The first girl stared back. “You aren’t even trying.” The other girl muttered, “Weirdo.”

Play date after play date, birthday parties and gatherings with other children, Tim was forced to endure all of it. Most of them ended with him crying silently afterwards from the sheer stress of not knowing what to do. The games, the other kids, they were too unpredictable, and there were so many rules he didn’t know or understand. The way they walked and talked, what was and wasn’t funny, Tim couldn’t catch up with all the social cues and he was repeatedly deemed as odd.

His parents eventually gave up and stopped forcing him to socialise, as it hurt their reputation faster than Tim learnt to adapt. While thankful to go back to known territory and rules, Tim was jarred. He’d been exposed to how other children live. How most children live, actually. He’d thought everyone had parents like his, mostly absent, because he never knew otherwise. Now he’d seen other families. Parents hugged their kids, and even when they screamed and were messy, their parents didn’t leave. Actually, Tim realised his own parents were away a lot more than other kids. 

Which is also about the time Tim realised he had free will and not really anyone to stop him. 

When he heard a circus would be coming to town that same week, he knew what he’d do with his newfound freedom on his first night sneaking out. For this special event, Tim took his camera with him. He’d rarely been in public areas before outside of galas or theatres, and when Tim got to the tents and crowds of people, he was so distracted that he bumped into someone’s legs. Tim almost fell back on his butt, prioritizing holding his camera firmly instead of regaining balance, but the person thankfully grabbed him in time. 

“You alright, sport?” The man knelt down to his eye level and Tim held his breath. Still holding his arms gently was Bruce Wayne, his freaking neighbour . Of all the people to run into! He recognised Tim for sure. 

But Bruce didn’t haul him out or call his parents immediately. “The show’s about to start. Have your parents already gone in?” He asked and stood up, looking around. Tim thought quickly. 

“Yes, sir. Would it be alright if I go in with you? Then I can find my way.”

Bruce nodded and turned around, expecting Tim to keep up with him. “Sure.”

Tim was ecstatic as he followed his dumb playboy neighbour. He pretended to see his parents and walked further into the crowd after thanking Mr. Wayne again. Idiot , Tim grinned, as the thrill of lying filled him. 

Tim found a place at the front where several other children had gathered to see better, and blended in perfectly. No one blinked twice or wondered why he wasn’t in the immediate company of adults. There was chatter and laughs, but eventually the crowd settled down as the lights dimmed. Tim felt the thrill of his night out going so well. Music boomed, and the ringleader walked out to everyone’s cheers. No one clapped softly or politely, but rather as loudly as they could, some screamed and whistled. Tim didn’t know people could be this happy, this.. excited . He felt his own heartbeat quicken and couldn’t stop the smile spreading on his face. 

The show was amazing, and The Flying Graysons had Tim’s jaw on the floor. He didn’t know humans could move like that, or practically fly. He was so mesmerised and couldn’t tear his eyes away long enough to take pictures with his camera. After the show though, he got a picture with Dick Grayson! The boy was so kind and seemed happy to take a picture, and Tim didn’t feel out of place or stupid during their conversation at all. Dick even called him Timmy. Tim had never been given a nickname before, and he loved it! That was something Tim had learnt friends did. Tim’s heart swelled at the thought and he got giddy with glee. I’ve made a friend.  

The circus left town just a couple of days later, but Tim didn’t let that bring him down, even if he missed Dick. He snuck out almost every other night after that, doing all sorts of things, but most of all he started exercising. He wanted to be like Dick, and do those cool gymnastic moves. If he did good, maybe they’d let him join the circus, and then he could run away with them. The circus seemed fun, and everyone was considered a weirdo there. Tim wouldn’t need to understand jokes or strange rules if he could do cool tricks too. Then he and Dick could be together and have fun all the time! Tim was already thinking of names. Timmy the Talent… Timmy the Tough…. 

One thing was for sure. Timmy would be strong and cool and finally fit in.

-

It was another whole year until the circus visited Gotham again. At this point Tim was so confident in his sneaking that he decided to go backstage before the show this time. He could show Dick all the moves he’d learnt! He hadn’t decided on a stage name yet, since he didn’t know for sure what position he would get. He needed to be flexible in that regard, and maybe Dick had some expert advice he’d need to consider as well. 

Tim was ecstatic as he went to the trapeze setup, but no one was there yet. As he turned to try his luck in another tent, he heard footsteps coming right his way. Quick thinking allowed him to duck behind stacked boxes, just large enough to hide his body when he crouched low. If he got caught he could say he got lost, but then whoever it was would lead him back out in the crowd and he wouldn’t be able to sneak back here again. It was better to hide and let them pass by before he continued. 

They didn’t pass by though, but stopped in front of his hiding space, and Tim listened closely. It wasn’t Dick or his parents, but two or maybe three people whispering to each other as they moved things back and forth. His nose itched at the sudden smell of acid, and he had to cover his nose with his arm to not sneeze. What were they doing? Tim didn’t dare peek his head out until he was sure they had left a few minutes later.

Cautious, but curious, Tim emerged from his hiding place. They had cleaned up whatever they were doing, and there was no smell anymore. Tim glanced around but only managed two steps before hands grabbed him and lifted him up. His mouth was covered to muffle his scream, and he thrashed as he was quickly brought outside the large, crowded area of the circus. Tim was held in an iron grip but could tilt his head just enough to see his kidnapper’s face for a few seconds. A man with dark black hair and pale greyish skin, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. 

He tried to glance back at the tent and struggled harder when he realised he was pulled even further away from the circus. Not because he was getting kidnapped and possibly murdered, but because he’d miss the show, and Dick. He’d waited an entire year for this!

The man carried him to the street and put him into a car with tinted windows, as he himself got in the driver's seat. Tim didn’t have much choice but to sit in the car and sulk. He tried the door handles but he was firmly locked in. He didn’t have a phone, and no one knew where he was. He wasn’t sure if the man was taking him for ransom, or just decided to kidnap and murder the kid who strayed to far from adult supervision. 

The car ride was quiet, but decently quick, meaning he hadn’t been brought out of Gotham at least. Once he was pulled out of the car, Tim looked around and was surprised. He hadn’t been kidnapped a lot of times, but knew kidnappers usually didn’t bring their victims to their own front doors. Hm. That proves he knows who Tim is. Maybe his parents had figured out he snuck out and sent some kind of bodyguard to track him down. Nah , Tim scoffed. No way they knew. This was something else. 

Tim was pretty certain murder was off the table and felt safer with the man he assumed was some sort of security, which checked out with his strength and the stereotypical sunglasses. Tim was accompanied to the front door and he’d expected to be left there, but the man let himself in. It was late enough that no staff were working, and the man seemed to know it too. Tim sighed. Someone had clearly hired him. Who would even know Tim would go to the circus tonight? No one knew - Tim halted his step. Bruce Wayne. Tim felt himself fume. No way had that playboy neighbour of his hired a freaking bodyguard to catch Tim at the circus, maybe he’d figured out last year Tim had lied to him. It didn’t really make sense, but it was the best theory so far.

When Tim stopped, the man put his hand on Tim’s back to urge him further in the house towards his room (he even knew where that was, apparently), and Tim was surprised at how cold it was, even through his shirt. The man must have poor blood circulation.

Even after that, the man wouldn’t leave. He made Tim brush his teeth and get ready for bed before stationing himself in a corner of the room. Tim sat in bed and stared at him. 

“You don’t expect me to sleep with you standing there?”

The man didn’t move.

Tim was usually quiet, as we know, but his annoyance at missing the show and attitude towards Bruce Wayne made him vent.

“I won’t. Do you know what I will be doing? Missing the circus. And Dick! I’ve waited all year for this day.” The man didn’t react, and Tim crossed his arms. “The Flying Graysons are incredible, who knows when I get the chance to see them again!”

Tim caught the slight tilt of the man’s head at the mention of the Graysons and pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“See, you’re probably mad for missing them too. We could both have seen it, and Wayne wouldn’t need to know.” Tim glanced at the clock, hopeful. “If we leave now, we could probably still catch them!”

The man didn’t react, and Tim deflated. 

After a minute, he asked, “You’re really going to stand there all night?”

Nerves kept him awake for an hour and then pure stubbornness for another, before his eyes felt heavy, and eventually he was fast asleep, as the man watched over him from his corner.

- - - 

The Court of Owls had no interest in Janet and Jack Drake. Wandering fools who barely lived in Gotham had no place among their ranks. Their son, however, would be a useful asset. The Drake influence and wealth in Gotham were nothing to scoff at, after all. Since the failed recruitment of the latest Wayne, after the orphan was shipped off to international schools abroad and returned dumber than a box of rocks with no understanding or appreciation for the history and culture of Gotham, there were seats open. They needed younger recruits to ensure the future of the court, and Gotham high society didn’t exactly produce a lot of offspring, and a lot had to align for them to join. 

And so, the Court schemed. Their most formidable Talon, William Cobb, was instructed to morph young Timothy Drake into an owl worthy of his seat. To mould him after their ideals and free him of the foolish influence of his parents. 

As ordered, Talon has followed Timothy Drake since he was young and protected him. Talon’s orders hadn’t been explicit or detailed, only that he was to care for the boy, ensure his survival and educate him until he could be recruited into the Court.

Talon took a liking to the boy straight away. Not only was he adorable, but intelligent. The owlet had an uncanny sense of his surroundings because he understood at an early age he was being followed. Talon hadn’t let himself be seen, but hadn’t bothered with extreme stealth as he assumed the child would be oblivious. Instead, Talon was given the nickname Shadow, and the misunderstanding that he was the boy’s fairy godmother. Talon never showed himself or responded when the owlet spoke to him, but he listened. 

Then the boy spoke of the circus for the first time, and decided to try his wings and leave the nest. Talon followed him closely the entire night, just out of sight but always within reach. 

After his owlet got a taste of freedom, he snuck out repeatedly. Talon worked hard to keep him safe, and had to babyproof Gotham. The quality of fire escapes and locks on warehouses in Gotham increased drastically the first weeks. Talon was proud of his owlet's bravery and disinterest in his parents’ rules. Rebellion grew an individual and Timothy had to make his own mistakes and grow before Talon could insert the Court’s ideals in his head. Otherwise that rebellion could be directed at the Court, but would now be approached with interest as a new way of life, that his owlet would choose willingly. Talon would make sure of that. 

For a whole year, Talon followed his owlet on his adventures. Then he mentioned the circus again, and how excited he was to see Dick again. Talon didn’t approve of his ‘friendship’ with Richard Grayson, but also knew his owlets perception of friendship was skewed. Richard was unlikely to even remember Timothy after the year. Talon didn’t want his owlet hurt, but the sooner he realised his friendship was one-sided and that he would be rejected, the sooner he could seek comfort with the Court and with Talon. 

Timothy decided to sneak earlier and further this time, and Talon had to adapt. In areas as crowded as the circus, Talon knew his suit would be noticed by someone, and opted for simpler clothing on top and sunglasses to cover his eyes. 

While his owlet hid, Talon saw what was done to the trapeze setup, and knew what the outcome would be. He didn’t want his grandson or great-grandson to die, but he had orders to protect Timothy Drake at all costs. If the lowlife thugs saw the boy or realised what he’d seen, even if he didn’t understand it himself, they’d kill him, and Talon’s priorities were set. 

Talon appreciated that his owlet had the correct response to a possible kidnapping, screaming and trashing, but it hurt a bit to know he thought Talon was a danger. Talon had greatly enjoyed quite a few assassinations over the years when he caught wind of hits or contracts on his owlet, but also allowed and supervised a few harmless kidnappings as to not rouse suspicion. Sad as it was, a young rich kid was expected have a few kidnappings under their belt before they're teenagers.  

Talon brought Timothy back to the nest from the circus without much trouble, and after a few pointless protests, his owlet fell asleep, safely in his bed. Talon stood guard the whole night, finding peace in the rise and fall of the sleeping boy. 

Timothy woke up slowly the next morning, groggy and seemingly confused. His hair was sticking out like ruffled feathers, and Talon resisted the urge to coo from his corner, and possibly preen his hair back into place. 

Talon saw the gears turn in his owlets head as he observed Talon more closely, likely confused as to why he was still there. Another second of staring at him before the boy rushed out of bed, and Talon quickly followed, ready to catch him lest he try to escape outside again. Suddenly, the boy spun around mid-step and jumped up at him, and Talon caught him underneath his armpits. With his hands occupied with precious cargo, he couldn't stop the slap across his face. He didn’t feel pain, and the slap really only took his sunglasses off, which Talon then realised had been the point as he stared down at the boy with his golden eyes on display, who stared back up at him. The boy didn’t freak out or scream at his unnatural appearance; rather, he sagged into the hold.

“You’re Shadow.” Timothy pouted. He didn’t seem as excited at this revelation as Talon had maybe expected him to be. Was it because he was not a literal fairy? Talon thought he was probably as close as you could get in Gotham. 

That was all the owlet had wanted to confirm, and then demanded to be put down. Talon did, and Timothy straightened his pyjamas out. 

“I’m so angry at you, Shadow.” Tim glared, then turned his back to walk briskly to the door to collect the day’s newspaper, probably to see if they had printed any photos from the circus last night. 

Talon saw the boy freeze when he held it up. He watched as his owlet tore the newspaper open to read more, hands shaking and frantically reading the highlights, his eyes fixating on the picture next to them. Richard Grayson, wrapped in blankets, surrounded by ambulance personnel and Bruce Wayne. While Talon was relieved Richard survived, he mentally grimaced at the image of his great-grandson with the Court’s defect. The boys knees buckled at the sight of Richard alive and Timothy ended up on the floor, clutching the newspaper close to his chest. He was crying, his eyes and cheeks wet. 

Something pulled at Talon's still heart at the sight of his distressed owlet, and he cooed as he offered him water, but the boy sniffled and turned away. Emotionally exhausted, scared and angry, Timothy glared at Talon. 

“Just leave.” His owlet whispered. 

Talon became worried. His owlet refused any food or water as he pulled his knees up to his chin and buried his head in his arms, silently crying. Talon didn’t have feelings, but he understood the concept of them. He knew death was .. sad , for mortals, but he didn’t understand what owlet was grieving. He hadn’t known John or Mary Grayson. Was he this sad for Richard’s sake? That seemed excessive. But regardless of why, his owlet was in distress and Talon had to fix it. After contemplating it, he crouched down and opened his arms. His owlet glanced up at him, and when Talon didn’t move closer or further away, he slowly uncurled from his ball and crawled into Talon's lap, heaving out sobs as Talon held his owlet close. 

Timothy poured his heart out and wailed for Richard’s sake, how he could never join the circus now, for both of their shattered futures and dreams.

Talon held his owlet close and listened. Owlet could rest assured vengeance would be dealt to the meddling idiots that caused the death of John and Mary Grayson, which would take a hit on the Court. Their expected future talon, Richard Grayson, had not completed his acrobatic training and is too young to be turned. Talon’s bodies don’t grow, and thus the humans have to be at least young adults before they’re harvested to be of best use to the Court. While children were small and suitable for spying or scouting, the Court demanded lethal assassins to hold their own against any enemy. A child was not sufficient. 

Owlet shouldn’t worry too much about the safety of the Grey Son. The Court would let Richard grow, under distant but watchful eyes. While it was less than ideal to remove him from his acrobatic environment, he could always be trained further later. 

Eventually his owlet’s breath evened out and Talon realised he’d calmed down. Talon didn’t let Timothy go, but adjusted him so he was perched on Talon's hip instead. As he stood, he nudged the glass of water toward him again. This time, his owlet thankfully took it.

— 

Tim was sad for quite some time after the devastating news, but eventually he took an interest in his old hobbies again and started going out at night. He found a new passion that he called birdwatching. It wasn’t really, but owlet thought he was being clever with the double entendre as he secretly photographed Batman and Robin. Talon stuck really close to him to ensure Batman never caught wind of his owlet. The Batman was a skilled fighter with morals that defied the Court, and although Talon allowed harmless admiration from a distance, any further interaction was strictly forbidden. 

-

Tim told Shadow almost everything, but when he figured out Robin was Dick Grayson, and Batman was Bruce Wayne, he kept it to himself. He’d never forgive Shadow for taking him away from the circus that night, so this was a secret he deserved to keep to himself. It didn’t take long until Tim figured it out, really. 

Tim realised that a suit and gadgets were expensive. And the Batmobile ? No homemade superhero would have that thing parked casually in their garage. No, Batman was filthy rich. Someone with little understanding of the safety of children, considering he brought Robin along. Don’t get Tim wrong, Robin was badass, but he was a kid. A very acrobatic kid, who would be driven to take justice into his own hands after something unforgivable had been done. A Robin, whom Tim saw do a quadruple flip from a rooftop.

Tim knew Bruce Wayne had taken Richard Grayson as a ward, and it was surprising at first, but fit perfectly. Dumb billionaire playboy at day, dark superhero at night, who would ever suspect him?

Talon accompanied Tim when he went birdwatching (because he wasn’t really looking at Batman anyway), but never let him get close or talk to Robin. Tim was okay with that, he was happy as long as he could see Dick continue his acrobatic passion and his legacy, even just from a distance. 

Tim wanted to be like Dick. Fearless, fighting for justice. He couldn’t be like Robin, but Tim realised he could do other things. He was still young, but he started studying the basics of law and crime under the guidance of Shadow. As Tim grew into a teenager, he pursued justice in his free time. He didn’t go out and punch criminals in the face like Robin did, but he made sure they stayed locked away by pulling ties and connections. As Tim grew, and with Shadow’s silent encouragement to use his power and influence, he realised he could crumble entire empires if he wanted to. 

Then, right before his 18th birthday, his parents died in an 'accident' abroad and all of Drake Industries was left to him. He didn’t cry when he heard the news, or when they held the funeral, but Tim felt the weight. This was the responsibility and influence that Shadow had prepared him for. This meant power, and it fit perfectly in his hands, like he was made for this. 

On the day of his 18th birthday, Shadow gave him the greatest gift. He brought Tim to equally powerful and like-minded individuals to further learn and understand his place in society. 

Timothy was introduced to the Court as the newest Owl of Drake. From then on, behind the scenes, Tim controlled Gotham.

Chapter Text

Tim leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. He’d stayed late at Drake Industries, as he usually did, when he’d gotten an alert of an Arkham breakout and decided to check in on the situation. 

As a member of the Court, Tim had nearly unrestricted access to Gotham and its citizens, with Talons were stationed across Gotham for regular updates on villains whenever they broke out to ensure the safety of Owls and plans of the Court. 

Occationally Tim (mis)used it for his own (stalker) observation purposes. 

Since he’d hacked into Barry West’s trackers in Dick Grayson, digital birdwatching made up some of his freetime every now and then. Helped him keep the kid out of trouble. 

And so, within an hour he’d successfully published ‘legitimate’ reports of an Ivy and Scarecrow gas spreading in Gotham, freeing Dick from any consequences of his actions. Tim closed down his computers and adjusted the cuffs on his shirt as he left his office. By this point, the trackers on his phone showed Joker in the ICU and Dick on his way home. Well, his other home. And boy, that had been a surprise to say the least. While Tim was thankful Dick had moved out of the rotting shithole he’d been living in, he wasn’t sure what brought this change on. Tim didn’t peg Deathstroke the Terminator as someone Dick would gravitate towards as a mentor, but he was irritated to admit he didn’t know much about the man. Slade Wilson kept to himself, knew how to make almost any trace or trail of himself disappear. The man had been impossible to trace for years at a time throughout his career, and since he didn’t originate or operate from Gotham, Tim didn’t have the his usual extent of resources. When Dick left Gotham to start the Titans, Tim was left in the dark. He went from knowing Dick’s favourite buildings and routes in Gotham as Robin to only knowing major events, not much more than what he could find in the news, fan websites or street cameras. 

It helped dim his childish obsession though. Tim could concentrate on Drake Insustries and devoting himself to the Court, working hard to prove himself to earn trust and access. While Tim repeatedly showed his intelligence and competence, his age wasn’t in his favour. The Court was old, and so was most of it’s members. The idea of a youngling advancing the ranks too fast didn’t sit right with any of the elders. He was 24 now but still had to tread carefully and show outmost respect and submittment to their opinions, as to not earn himself a target on his back.  

A few weeks ago he got a golden opportunity. There was interest in recruiting a boy who was just about to turn 18. His family was rich and hailed from Gotham, but nothing about them was elegant, which it worked perfectly in Tim’s favour. His advancements in the Court had hit a plateu and he desperatly needed to shake the ‘greenie’ title to have any chance of further progress. A new recruit would get some eyes off his back from the sceptical oldest Owls. A common enemy in the form of a new recruit, an incompetent 18-year-old no less, would put Tim in wonderful light. The elders would realise Tim’s a genius, and Tim was more than ready to sweep in and save the day when the kid would inevitably screw up. 

Tim’s eyes caught a yellow Post-it note on the door to his office on his way out. His secretary reminded him of the school class visiting tomorrow. Tim was well aware, as he’d arranged it. The kid was in that class, and this was his chance to get a first look at the meat before the Court did (officially). The kid’s 18th birthday was still a few days away, and he would not be formally introduced before then. Tim smiled to himself as he walked down the stairs, his coat slung over one arm and his other hand in his pocket. 

The kid was pathetic, but in a cult that valued bloodlines, even vague bloodrelations ensured him at least an audience with the Court since they’d shown interest. 

Tim detoured to the coffee machine on his way out. He’d probably been awake too long already but swept a cup of coffee for himself before heading out the door. 

He’d make a to visit the hospital.

—--------

To be fair, Tim had not expected to run into anyone on his little murder mission, least of all Damian Al Ghul Wayne. As such, he hadn’t thought to hide his identity with as much as sunglasses or a scarf. If he’d entered through the door he might have been able to play it off as a mistake, but entering through the window made it harder to backtrack. 

Damian was equally unmasked and shifted his body into a more defensive stance upon his entrance. He hadn’t been expecting company, and wasn’t appreciating it either. 

“Drake.” Damian said, and Tim responded, “Damian.”

They stared at each other but no one moved, carefully trying to read body language and intentions. They’d gotten quite good at that, over time, despite their rocky relationship. Yes, they’d met before. Several times, actually. That’s what happens when you’re both members of assassin cults, apparently. Tim got to know Damian quite well a couple of years ago during his first visit (read - imprisonment) at the League of Assassins when Ra’s invited (read - kidnapped) him. Tim was quite flattered, all things considered. Might even have taken Ra’s up on his offer if he wasn’t already deeply devoted to the Court. 

During his stay Tim relised many things. For one, Damian didn’t like him. Tim concluded that after his first assassination attempt (which had been more of a threat, if Damian wanted him dead Tim wouldn’t be here today), but summed that up to Damian being jealous of his grandfather’s interest in Tim. Still, Tim liked to think they developed a better relationship over time. Not good, but better, as they passed each other in hallways, occasionally shared meals and frequently exchanged insults. Whenever Tim teased about Ra’s liking him more, Damian would call him a replacement since Ra’s first choice, Bruce, refused. Damian didn’t talk to him for a week after Tim pointed out that meant Damian wasn’t good enough to even be a replacement. Kind of a sore spot, that topic.  

They hadn’t seen each other face to face in quite some time, so meeting Damian in this hospital room of all places was unexpected. Damian was mostly his own man, but this didn’t seem like him. Had Batman or the League stationed him here? Why? 

Damian made no move toward him, or out of the way. He might assume Tim’s not here to harm the Joker, because Timothy Drake really has no business with that, and Damian knew the Court would never send an Owl to finish their orders. Tim might be able to use it to his advantage, to talk Damian out of the room just long enough to pull the plug.

As Tim contemplated how to start the conversation, the window opened again. Tim turned so he could see both Damian and the newcomer, shocked at another surprise tonight. Deathstroke was equally surprised to have company as the other two, but they couldn’t tell because of his mask covering his face. He quickly got in and closed the window, shutting the blinds. 

Tim narrowed his eyes. Deathstroke being here was not a coincidence. It wasn’t unheard of for him to take bodyguard jobs. Had Batman stationed Damian as a civilian guard in the room while Deathstroke had been staking out in the area and entered as backup when he noticed Tim enter? How paranoid was Batman? Tim didn’t think too much of the ‘ rightfully so ’ comment supplied by his brain, as he was indeed here to murder the clown in his sleep, he was more betrayed that Deathstroke would take a contract on this when Dick was at his house as they speak. Either he was as twofaced as his mask or a greedy bastard. Tim needed to seriously reevaluate that situation later. Right now, he was slightly screwed. Against Damian, he might have had a chance with his silver tongue and quick mind, but with the two of them he didn’t stand a chance if a fight broke out, even if he’d trained himself to be a decent fighter over the years. 

—---

Damian couldn’t believe this. He trusted the man wouldn’t be swayed by money, but here he comes crawling through the window like a cockroach to protect the replacement that undoubtedly hired him to protect the clown. Damian didn’t know what Drake would gain from that, and he doubted the Court was involved since no talons were present. Damian clenched his fists. The Joker was not seeing dawn, he’d make sure of that, billionaire and bodyguard be damned. 

—------

Deathstroke had misjudged Damian, if he’d foreseen Slade’s plan of murder and come here in advance to intercept him. Why, he wasn’t sure. Damian had seemed pleased enough when Richard beat the shit out of Joker. And what was Timothy Drake doing here? 

Well, no matter. Slade stepped forward, daring them to stop him. “He’s dying whether you like it or not.”

Damian eyed him, slightly less hostile, but still apprehensive. “You are.. not here to protect him?” He cast a side glance to Tim. 

Tim’s eyes turned to Damian, surprised. “Aren’t you ?”

Damian looked back, lips curled in disgust at the thought. “No.” Damian narrowed his eyes. “ Your presence here makes the least sense of all.”

Tim put his hands on his hips. “Does not . I’m cleaning up.”

Damian eyed him. “You usually have others do the work for you.”

Tim glared. “I’m not here on official business. It’s private.”

Slade stepped in. “We’re all here to kill him?”

Damian and Tim glanced at each other as no one objected. “Seems so.”

“Then let it be done.” Damian pulled out a knife from his sleeve and turned to the bed. Tim lunged forward and grabbed his arm before he had a chance to slit an artery.

“Are you crazy ?” Tim scolded. Damian glared and shook him off. 

“We agreed. The clown dies.”

“Yes, he dies, preferably without a knife in his throat! Cutting an artery, could it be more obvious that he was murdered? We don’t want the police involved in this and you know Batman won’t stay out of it either.”

Damian’s jaw ticked, and Tim went on. 

“The electrical wires in the roof behind the vent. They are local to each room and independent of the main electricity, in case of a power shut down. I can cause an electrical failure in this room, and voila his machines will stop supplying him with life.”

Slade crossed his arms. “It’s more discreet than a knife, but won’t such a local and specific shutdown be suspicious too?”

“No, it won’t, because I’ll turn them back on afterwards. There’s no record of the electricity flow so they won’t detect it was cut off. It’ll look like he died in his sleep, which, judging by his chart and injuries, is already likely. No one would suspect murder or foul play on a patient who’s already got a foot in the grave.”

Slade nodded in approval and Damian tucked his knife back, “It’ll suffice.”

Tim barked a laugh. “ Suffice ? It’s brilliant, unlike your half assed-”

“Kids, stop fighting. Timothy’s got a good plan here.” Slade interrupted. Tim made a mocking victory smile to Damian behind Slade’s back. “Damian, stand guard. Tim, over here.”

Slade crouched, allowing Tim to climb onto Slade’s shoulders to reach and crawl into the vent. He got to work, and put his small flashlight in his mouth as he crawled in. This was child’s play, he just needed to get the wires in order. Wouldn’t take more than a minute. Tim couldn’t really hear what was going on below him, and was unprepared when Slade suddenly reached up and shoved Tim’s ass further into the vent. “Oompf!” Tim grunted as he overbalanced and went face-first into the vent-floor. 

He turned around to his back and was about to yell at Slade when he heard some silent but aggressive shoving and roustling of clothing before a hissed “Wilson! Don’t you dare!” Tim lifted his head just in time to see Damian pushed up into the vent too. Tim could have sworn he heard one of Damian’s kicks make impact and a grunt before his legs were grabbed and shoved in all the way before Slade put the hatch back. Tim’s eyes bulged. Was Slade locking them in here? Damian had certainly not joined him willingly up here, judging by the struggle. Tim couldn’t see much in the dark but could guess Damian’s face was flustered. He might have laughed but he was in the same boat as Damian, and within definite strangulation reach as Damian was now half crawled over him after the last shove.

He tried to poke his knee in Damian’s stomach to get him to back off, but was turned to the side and pinned. Tim grunted as Damian’s elbow dug into his side, and was about to give him a mouthful when Damian quickly covered his mouth with his hand, and put a finger to his own mouth. 

Be Quiet . 

Tim stilled, sensing the seriousness. Just then he heard the door open, and someone come in. He strained his ears and heard someone sigh.

“Oh Mista J, I just had to see it for myself.” Tim and Damian made eyecontact, as they listened in. Harley?

“What goes around comes around, huh.” She tsked. “About time .”

She seemed to walk around the room a few steps before stopping. “I can live with what you did to me, but killing Robin? Unforgivable .” She growled the last part. “So screw you for all you’ve done, and you can rot in hell now.”

“Good job, Harls.” A second voice sounded, low and smooth.  

“Let’s go home now, Ivy.”

Ivy stopped by the door after Harley left, speaking to the open room. “You fellas better finish this tonight, or I’ll make sure nature takes its course by morning.”

The door closed and it was silent for a while before Tim and Damian heard the hatch being removed again. Tim breathed a sigh of relief as Damian quickly retreated from his personal space. Some shuffling and another well-aimed kick, Damian had dropped back down to the floor. Tim wormed around in the vent until he could peek his head out. 

Damian was aggressively dusting off his suit and pants.   “Sorry, only enough space for one behind the door.” Slade looked somewhat amused, and not apologetic at all.

“Drake, finish the job.” Damian snapped, still embarrassed to have lost the scuffle and been manhandled into a vent. 

Tim felt some pity, knowing Damain valued his pride. “Aye, Captain.”

He made quick work of the remaining wires, and listened as the beeping machines slowed to a stop. Once Slade and Damian gave the vent a tap for confirmed death he turned it back on and shuffled backwards until he could jump out of the vent. 

He was caught of guard when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and patted twice. “Good job. Now let’s get out of here.” Slade said, and went to open the window. Tim felt the warmth of the hand linger on his shoulder until he got outside.

Slade bid them goodnight and climbed to the roof while Damian and Tim ended up on the parking lot. Tim hadn’t planned to walk Damian to his car; they were simply going in the same direction. 

Damian opened the car door to the passenger seat.

Tim paused. “You know the driving wheel is on the other side, right?”

“Get in, moron.”

Tim put a hand to his chest. “Giving me a ride? That’s awfully nice.” He got in the car and Damian went around to get in the driver's seat. 

“We’re neighbours, it’s not a detour.”

Chapter Text

Dick was going to smash that alarm clock into pieces sooner or later. Deciding to dissect it later though, he dragged himself to the kitchen. 

Slade was already awake and in a more chipper mood than usual. Dick stopped in the doorway, suspicious. 

“Why are you so happy?” He asked and approached the table cautiously. Dick wasn’t sure Slade was capable of happiness if it wasn’t at someone else's expense.

Slade tried to look nonchalant as he handed over the newspaper, which Dick accepted and unfolded. 

“THE DEATH OF JOKER” The headlines screamed. 

Dick’s feelings were torn between misplaced satisfaction for being right that Slade was indeed happy at someone else's expense, relief that the Joker had died, and sudden clarity. This was real, not some fever dream from last night. Dick read through the leaked hospital journal stating the Joker had died during the night from his injuries. Speculations were that Batman had gone too far, his goons had turned on him, or some elaborate scheme of other villains.

“He’s gone, huh.” Dick stated as he put the newspaper down and leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t overjoyed or proud, because even if it was deserved, it was still murder on his hands. He didn’t feel sick or regretful, but Dick wouldn’t pat himself on the back for this.

“And he’s not coming back.” Slade hummed as he sat down with his coffee. He changed the subject when he saw Dick getting lost in his thoughts. 

“Exited for today?”

Dick had almost forgotten the school trip. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Slade passed the bread. “Need a ride?”

Dick shook his head. “Thanks, but Mr. Drake’s hired a bus to pick the whole class up. Isn’t that nice?”

Slade looked up from his coffee. “Why do you call him Mr. Drake? Weren’t you neighbours? You’re close in age, I thought you two had known each other for years.”

“Not really.” Dick shrugged, loading up his sandwich with cheese and tomatoes. “I mean, we were neighbours, I suppose, but the mansions aren’t exactly close to each other. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him there, actually. Last time I saw him was probably at some gala when we were kids, before his parents died and he retreated from the media.”

“Hm.” Slade sipped his coffee. He hadn’t questioned why Tim was there last night, at the hospital. “Personal reasons, to clean up.” he’d said. Now, any Gothamite would have personal reasons to want the clown dead, but Slade got a feeling he couldn’t shake, that there was more to Tim Drake than met the eye.

“What about you? Plans for today?” 

Slade hummed. “I have some things to do, errands to run. I figured we could have lasagna for dinner. Up for sparring this afternoon?”

Dick smiled. “You bet.”

—

The building was impressive, and once their teacher had ushered the whole class in, they were handed visitor passes.

“My family’s known the Drakes for years.” Billy whined over the chatter of the class. “I should get a VIP pass. Timothy and I are practically cousins.”

Dick spotted Tim standing at the front of the group, who looked like he couldn’t decide between a grimace or a forced smile at Billy’s comment. Dick would bet his inheritance that Billy had never met Tim a day in his life. 

He was proved right when Billy also spotted Tim at the front and spoke out of his ass. “Hey, you! When will Tim get here?” 

Tim didn’t grace that with an answer, but cleared his throat to gain the class's attention as everyone had gotten their pass by now.

“Hello class, listen up please.” Tim spoke loudly and confidently. The chatter died down, and he had everyone’s attention. 

“First, I’d like to welcome you to Drake Industries. I’m Mr. Drake, and I will be showing you around today. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. After the tour, you’ll have some free time to roam and eat lunch. For now, follow me!”

The class started chattering again in excitement and Billy shrank back. He tried to say, “Where’s Tim?” was some kind of inside joke between them. No one paid him attention. 

The tour was cool, and Dick felt growing excitement for this field of study and work. 

“Hey Dick, check this out!” Alice called, and Dick laughed as he saw his friends trying out some interactive machine prototypes on display, and ran over to join them. 

–

Once the tour was over, the class scattered to entertain themselves and Tim singled out Billy immediately. A tap on his shoulder and asking if he could have a word did the trick just fine. Tim took Billy to an empty room, so they could be alone. Leading a tour had been somewhat fun, but this is what this whole ordeal had been set up for. To check out the potential newbie and see what he was made of. At first glance, it didn’t look good. Billy didn’t seem to mind his appearance that much, with barely combed hair and wrinkled clothes, in a state Tim knew his own parents and housekeepers would never let him leave the house in when he was that age. That either pointed to a rebellious teenager, parents without control and/or a lack of respect to his status in society. Billy was probably trying to stay low-key in this public school, despite his constant bragging about his family. People know his bark is worse than his bite when he’s dressed like this. If he’d held his appearance to any type of standard, he’d be expected to act as such as well, which Billy probably couldn’t live up to.

Being loud and proud was not the behaviour of an owl, where grace, patience and sophistication was valued, and Tim started doubting this kid would even make it through the audition. Billy was immature for his age; that much was clear. No matter, Tim would benefit from his foolishness whether he made it into the nest or not. 

Tim gestured to a chair and Billy hastily took a seat. Tim side-eyed him as he paced the office before stopping at the desk.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk for a minute, William.” Tim said, and plastered a kind smile on his face. 

“Of course.” Billy responded, fidgeting his fingers in his lap, looking anywhere but at Tim, who almost felt a vein pop in his forehead at the lack of confidence and grace. 

Tim pushed on. “You turn 18 tomorrow, I wondered if you got the present I sent you and your parents?”

The Court had sent a mask as an invitation, and Tim had taken on the responsibility of delivering it. The recruitment of owls was almost considered degrading, as the Court had supplied new owls through their own children for generations. The dwindling population and increasing age of founding families the past decades called for new methods regarding recruitment though, and there was no set way of doing it. 

His own had taken his entire life, close to how it was meant to be, with Owl parents raising their to-be Owl child. Billy’s family was an uncertainty to begin with, but an approach the Court was willing to try. Tim had been the one to suggest they send the mask, to symbolise the honour and responsibility it would bring. 

“The mask?” Billy asked, as if it wasn’t worth more than his life. It irked Tim how casually he talked about it, how clueless he was. 

Tim held up his hand quickly. “Ah, don’t speak of it out loud.” 

Billy shut his mouth, then nodded. “Yes, my parents were delighted.” 

“Good, good.” Hopefully, the parents would understand the meaning, the heaviness of the mask and not see it as an early victory or token. “Make sure to bring it to your introduction. Don’t be late.”

Billy nodded. “Of course.”

“Good luck.” Tim added. You’re going to need it. 

Tim walked out, decently pleased with himself, when he saw a face that threw him off guard. Dick Grayson, standing with some other students, talking. 

What was he doing here? 

The strap with the pass around his neck clearly marked him as a student and a part of the class, but Tim had looked over the names beforehand and knew Dick had not been listed. Under his real name, at least. 

Was Dick undercover? Tim hadn’t kept up with Dick’s personal life the last few years, but Dick being an actual student seemed too ordinary for him. Tim paused. Surely not. 

Regardless, Dick suddenly being here didn’t sit well with him. Tim felt the gears in his head turn as he speculated. Was Dick looking into Tim? No, Tim knew he couldn’t be. There was no cause for suspicion, Tim carefully concealing traces of himself and his activities. This was something else. 

He couldn’t help his curiosity or slight puzzlement, and walked up to Dick, who looked up, startled. 

“Oh! Hello, Mr. Drake.” Dick smiled.

Tim smiled back. “I left some boxes in my office and could use some help bringing them up. Would you mind helping me?”

Dick glanced back at his friends. “Don’t worry, it’ll only take a minute.” Tim assured. 

 “Sure, I’ll help.” Dick waved his friends off, saying he’d find them later. 

They got in the elevator and a silence settled. Tim didn’t know how to start.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” He settled on honesty. 

Dick looked over at him. “Sir?”

Tim smiled tightly, maybe a bit apologetically. “We’re neighbours, Dick, I do recognise you.” 

Dick realised what he meant. “Oh.” he then rubbed his neck with a small chuckle. “I guess it was rude of me not to say hello earlier. I’m just trying to stay out of the spotlight at the moment, and knowing the CEO of Drake Industries isn’t very discreet.” 

Tim digested that information. Could it be that Dick wasn’t undercover and was just trying to live a normal life? He decided to prod a little. 

Tim chuckled, “I get it. Don’t worry, I won’t pry. I know the relief of escaping the media, after all.” and gave him a knowing look. Dick seemed more at ease, shoulders relaxing. They had something in common, at least.

“So, how’s the family? Everything alright?”

Dick nodded, a little too quick. “Yeah! Yeah, everything’s good. How about you?”

Liar. Tim nodded. “Good to hear. I’m busy with work, you know how it is.”

Another silence settled until the elevator stopped and they entered Tim’s office.

Tim feigned hesitance. “Actually, Dick, there was something I was hoping to ask you.” 

Tim chose his words carefully as he circled the office. An opportunity had fallen into his lap and he wouldn’t fumble. 

“Drake Industries is at the frontier of science and research, but I feel like I could do more. Help more people, you know?”

Dick nodded. “Of course”

“I’ve been hoping for a collaboration with Wayne Enterprises for a while, but Bruce is.. hard to reach, in more ways than one.” 

Dick had a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, he’s always busy.”

Tim turned around. “So I was thinking, what better way for us to be gently introduced than through you?”

Dick looked up. “.. I’m not sure I’m following.”

Tim continued. “Seeing as you’re in education, I think an internship here would work wonderfully.”

Tim walked up to him. “A couple of times a week, you get experience and strengthen the relationship between our companies. Together, we could do good, do more.”

Dick felt his heartbeat quicken at the offer he was given. An internship here was worth more than his weight in gold, and students all over Gotham, hell, all over the world , would go to war for an opportunity like this. This was amazing. This was crazy. 

This, 

This was - 

…… Nepotism, wasn’t it? 

Dick deflated. To bring our companies together, Tim said. He didn’t want Dick, he wanted his connections to Bruce. Dick felt a bit crushed and slightly used. He tried to decline,

“With all due respect, sir, I feel bad taking such an opportunity because of my connections to Bruce.”

“Ah.” Tim nodded, realising his misstep. “You know, that came out wrong.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’ll be honest with you, Dick. Bruce is hard to work with because he lives in the past. He has trouble envisioning what could be . He’s old-fashioned, comfortable doing what has gotten him this far in life. I’m an entrepreneur. I want to explore, to expand.” Tim gestured with his hands and went to the window to see the city below. “I want a better future for Gotham, and I don’t think the answers I’m looking for can be found in the past.”

Dick was speechless. Tim described Bruce so similarly to how he’d felt for years. Dick felt the need to tell the truth, though. “It sounds amazing, but I’m sorry, I’m not involved with WE at all, I don’t know this..” Dick gestured around the office “..stuff.”

Tim raised his eyebrows, then laughed as he went forward to put his hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Even better! No experience means you’re untainted, uninfluensed.”

Tim led him to the window so they both looked out on the view of Gotham. The view was beautiful, despite Gotham’s typical cloudy weather.  

Dick frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. Why me? I can’t give you connections to Bruce, I’m not fully educated, I’ve got no experience - ”

Tim stopped him. “Why do you doubt yourself?” And that hit Dick like a brick in his stomach, the way Tim sounded so confused, like Dick not being enough was unthinkable. Tim turned to him. “I like you, Dick, and I know you’ve got your heart in the right place. That is rarer than you can imagine in this business.”

Sure, but.. 

Tim kept going. “Bruce or not, I know you’ve got potential. You’re smart, kid. I could use someone like you here.”

Dick grimaced. “But the cooperation you wanted-”

Tim waved his hand. “Bah! Bruce and I were probably never going to work out anyway. You and I, though? I think could be the start of something grand.”

Tim saw Dick hesitate, and decided he’d pushed enough.

“You know what?” He scribbled down a note and handed to Dick. “Here’s my private number. Why don’t you think about it? Give me a call or text when you’ve thought it over.”

Dick took it and carefully put in his pocket. Tim looked around the office. “Now, let’s get those boxes I was talking about.”

—

Dick sat on a park bench afterwards, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Timothy Drake had noticed him and asked him to work at Drake Industries as an intern. 

This was huge. This was.. this was serious. Dick felt butterflies in his stomach as he held the paper in his hands. Tim had written his private number, and he wanted Dick there. With no judgement. No prejudice. Tim welcomned new ways of thinking, new approaches. Maybe Dick’s thoughts and ideas could bear fruit there, unlike with Bruce, who shut them down immediately. Tim was like Dick, in a way. The man  couldn’t even approach Bruce, although he’d probably looked up to him as a peer in the business when he started out. 

Should he say yes? He couldn’t think of a reason not to. A few times a week after school wouldn’t be so bad, he’d tell Slade and he’d-

Dick’s heart fell to his stomach as their contract flashed through his mind. He wasn’t allowed a job. 

Fuck.

But.. it’s only work if you get paid, right? Dick could probably ask Mr. Drake to let him work without a pay and just have this as awesome work experience for the future. 

He could ask Slade if they could modify the contract but if Slade said no, Dick had no way of even trying to sneak to Drake Industries again. He couldn’t risk this opportunity. 

This was his golden ticket.

Chapter Text

Billy felt a lump in his throat. Today was the big day. His birthday and their invitation to the prestigious, rich club. Billy didn’t know all too much about it, really, but knew this would be a game changer for his parents. Although they’re well off now, their family doesn’t have centuries of generational wealth and his dad had been upper middle class before he married into the family. Billy was their way into real Gotham higher society, their way to finally be accepted. Not looked down upon, excluded or scoffed at when they were just as good as the rest. It hurt Billy to see his parents embarrassed when they were denied entry to galas or without invitations to grand parties. They were rich enough not to want to be with the middle class, but not recognized enough to be accepted in higher society. 

If Billy had a therapist or the capacity to self-reflect, he’d realise his bullying of others was a projection and his way to try and take control. However, all Billy knew was that he should be entitled to more. When Timothy Drake came to his parents' house a week ago, and extended an invitation to this exclusive club, and their interest in letting them join, his parents had been ecstatic. This was what they had been waiting for. Billy was also excited, for his parents' sake but mostly to get what should be his. He hadn’t realised he would be the main character for the event though, until Tim pulled him aside yesterday on the field trip. Billy thought it would be like all other times, where his parents mingled, charmed and laughed politely, and he just went along with what they arranged, but Tim had barely even mentioned his parents and spoken directly to him . 

Slight problem, regarding that. Billy’s parents had always done the talking, and while he’d listened somewhat, being expected to speak for himself was new territory. Billy wasn’t confident. He wasn’t clever or charming. He was just full of it, as people used to say behind his back. Billy tried not to pay them attention, as he regarded their opinion as inferior to his. Now, however, he’d be faced with people more important than him; Billy didn’t know how to act in that situation. All he had to go off was what he remembered his parents used to say and do, and what Tim had said. Bring the mask, and don’t be late. 

Simple enough, right?

It was just that Billy couldn’t find it. 

He had torn half the house apart looking for the mask. He was sure he’d put it in his closet, but it wasn’t there. All he could find was a cheap Halloween mask, that he wasn’t even sure was his. 

Billy tore through his wardrobe a seventh time, hoping it would have magically appeared, but alas. He was out of options. He’d looked everywhere, several times. 

“William?” His mother called from the hallway downstairs. “Are you ready? We need to leave soon.” He could hear the anticipation and excitement in her voice, and felt his stomach tie in a knot. 

“Coming!” He called while running his hands through his hair. He only had a few minutes to find it now. He couldn’t leave without it, but it wasn’t here. How bad would it be not to bring it? Being late was worse than not bringing the mask, right? It was just symbolic anyway, right ? Billy dragged his hands over his face as loathing came over him. So much depended on tonight going well, and he’d lost the mask. 

“Are you ready?” The door to his room opened wider as his dad peeked in. He was dressed in his finest suit, the one he’d bought when he married, to have at the grand parties and galas they’d go to, and the yacht trips. The one he’d bought golden cuffs for just to match with those tiny golden binoculars they had at the theatres and operas. The one that had hung in the closet for years, unused. 

Billy quickly stuffed the Halloween mask into his suit to hide it and turned around. His dad looked appalled at his appearance.

“What have you done with your hair!” He chided as he pulled a comb out of nowhere and fixed it back in place. 

“Come now, we need to leave.” His dad put a hand on his back and led him downstairs where his mother waited, who also took time to dust off his shoulders and straighten his collar. She wore her oldest and most valuable jewellery, the ones she stored in their bank deposit box, and had insured for possibly more than their house. They were the only family heirloom they had, and proof of their, although not ancient, history or wealth. When Billy was a kid, probably 5 years old, before they lived in this mansion and before his mom had put them in the bank, he’d found them when he was playing in her room. He’d gotten stars in his eyes at those shiny diamonds. He called for his mom and told her how pretty it was. She agreed, and Billy asked why it was hidden away in a box. She said it was valuable and only to be worn on special occasions, but she took it out and put it on when Billy insisted. Dad, dad! Billy had yelled, Look how pretty Mom is with the diamonds. His dad came in the room and smiled at the sight. These’ll be yours one day, he said. Billy wanted to try the necklace on, but his dad laughed. William, that’s a lady’s jewellery. Your future wife can wear it, though. Billy frowned. Lady jewellery? You said it’d be mine! His mom and dad shared a look, and his dad sat down. You know, you’re right. Of course you can wear it. The earrings might be tricky though, unless you want to pierce your ears. It could maybe double as brooches? His mom gasped with a hand to her chest, and Billy giggled. My earrings, hung on like brooches? Absolutely not. His dad laughed, You sound like your mom.

His parents hadn’t been so carefree since they moved into the mansion when his grandma passed away. Inheriting the house was supposed to be the start of a new life. His mom had been so excited when they heard of the first Wayne gala in Gotham since they moved in, and she had stood in her wardrobe for hours trying to pick a dress to wear with her diamonds. That night, Billy stood behind his parents in the gala queue, in his own brand new suit for this special occasion. He peeked through their legs and into the crowd, where he saw Mr. Wayne talk with the Drakes, and a kid who looked just a few years older than him. Billy lit up. Maybe tonight would be fun after all, not just grown-ups. He zigzagged through legs and ran up to the kid. “Hi, I’m Billy!” He gave a toothy grin. He’d lost his front tooth last week and gotten a dollar from the tooth fairy. 

The kid didn’t smile back. The look he gave Billy is one he remembered for years. He looked down on him, expressionless, not acknowledging Billy had even spoken. Then his mom appeared behind him and grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

“William!” She looked up to the Drakes and Wayne, apologising profoundly, while security and his dad came too. Billy didn’t understand why the kid had looked at him like that, and why his mom had pulled him away. Couldn’t they play?

Mr. Wayne held up his hand to security, “Don’t worry. Invitation must have gotten lost on the way, you’re new in town, right?” He laughed and smiled. “Please, enjoy yourselves, have a drink, mingle!”

Wayne was then pulled away by some other couple and they were left with the Drakes. Bless his father’s charm and his mother’s elegance, for they managed to make a decent impression despite their dramatic entrance. Billy was displayed at one point, and they presented Tim formally as well. 

When they got home, he was told harshly and repeatedly to never, ever approach Timothy Drake like that again. His mom said he’d embarrassed them in front of the whole gala, and only Mr. Wayne’s compassion had saved them from humiliation. Wayne knew damn well they weren’t invited, as the guard had told them several times before they relaised Billy was gone, but played it off as his own mistake.

“What you did was wrong, William, but it did introduce us to the Drakes. I’m not sure we could have approached them otherwise.” His dad tried to soothe him and his mom. “We did arrange for golf next time they’re in Gotham, that’s a good start.” Billy lit up. “Can I play with Tim then?” His dad shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Although his parents kept sporadic contact with Tim's parents, Billy had never met or spoken to Tim since the gala. None of the middle-class people he was surrounded by needed to know that though, and since Tim had retreated from the media, there was no one to call him out on his bullshit. He’d clearly too comfortable bragging though, to the point where he said “Where’s Tim” to Tim in front of his entire class. Tim didn’t seem to mind though, didn’t seem to care at all. He’d been pleasant and nice, like Wayne had. Tim had grown up to handle situations like this, with indestructible charm, while Billy fumbled and embarrassed himself instead. 

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this after all, he couldn’t even compare to their grace. 

The Halloween mask weighed heavily against his ribs and his conscience as they drove, but he couldn’t say anything. His mom and dad were smiling but showed signs they were nervous too, with the way his dad kept checking his hair and tie in the car passenger seat mirror and his mom tapped her finger rapidly against the steering wheel. Normally they had a driver, but tonight was so exclusive no one else could know where it was. Apparently, that was a good sign, his mom spoke of some woman she had heard the same from when she joined an exclusive club in Italy. 

Billy tried to remember what his mom and dad had told him. Keep your back straight, don’t mumble, represent us. Billy felt his armpits wet with sweat and rubbed his palms over his pants. 

Once they got there, Billy’s heartbeat was loud, and he could feel each beat through his chest. The outside of the building was very ordinary, but inside, after quite a while of walking, it was breathtaking, and so much worse than he’d imagined. His parents weren’t allowed in and had been told to wait in another room, so Billy was by himself in a huge room with levels of seats circling the walls in a way that resembled the colosseum in Rome. There were no windows, only one bright light source directly above him as he stood in the centre. People in suits and gowns looked down on him with their masks on, in complete silence. It was creepy, and Billy would have preferred to see faces. They barely seemed human behind the expressionless masks and stiff bodies.

“You stand in audience with the Court.” A voice rang throughout the room, crystal clear and cold. Billy couldn’t tell where it came from. 

“I am honoured to be here.” Billy responded, hoping his voice didn’t shake as much as his hands.

“ Where is your mask?” The voice asked, slowly. Offended.

Billy tried to breathe. Rows and rows of people, he couldn’t count how many, were staring at him behind their own masks. Shame crawled up his neck as he pulled out the Halloween mask, covering the front it with the palms of his hands. If he was careful, maybe they’d buy it. He was pretty successful, until he fumbled and dropped it. It rolled away a few paces before landing face up, exposed to all. Billy threw himself over the mask, hastily putting it away again, eyes wide.

Something slammed, like a judge would with a hammer in court, and Billy flinched. 

The voice hissed, and Billy couldn’t breathe. “You mock us.”

“N-N-No, No -” Billy stammered.

“You have failed the audition,” The voice boomed.

Billy was in despair. He’d ruined everything. This was their chance, and he’d messed it up, not even a minute in. 

Somehow, a small amount of gratitude found him. He failed, but it was over. He could deal with his parents later; now he just wanted to leave. He wanted to go home. He wasn’t cut out for this. They could live a happy life without Gotham's high society and the galas. Once they got home, Billy would -

“And the Court of Owls sentences you to die.”

—

Tim hit the sandbag, and sweat dripped from his brow. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like that.

He turned and kicked, then punched again. The bag swung with the force, chain creaking.

He’d been the latest recruit, so he hadn’t witnessed any other auditions. He hadn’t considered what happens if you don’t pass. In his own case, failing hadn’t been something he realised you could do. Yes, thinking about it, he understands that you can’t be introduced to the Court, say no and walk away with your life, but he hadn’t thought of it before. 

He thought the mask was a good idea, to ease them into the introduction. Tim kicked as hard as he could with a yell. He’d only tried to help !

Now the family was murdered. Quickly, thankfully, but dead nonetheless. The story would be the usual, that they moved abroad, and all traces of their contact with the Court were erased. Their house was burned down, the real mask supposedly with it. 

Tim didn’t understand. The parents wanted to join right? Billy should have been informed and realised that this was serious, not something you could pull a prank with. Billy was a fucking idiot and he dug his own grave with his immature, childish behaviour. If he’d just taken it seriously! Tim panted and sat down with his hands to his head. He couldn’t look away when a talon emerged from the shadows to obey its master’s order. Tim was powerless to stop it. 

It made him sick that his plan worked. Afterwards, he got pats on the back and comments of appreciation, some saying “We did a good job with you”. 

Tim tried to even out his breathing. He couldn’t break down over something like this. It wasn’t his fault. 

—

“Did you hear that the house we were at a party at this weekend burned down?” Sam said as they sat down for lunch after their lecture. They’d been given a ton of homework, which Dick had gotten lost in thinking about.

Dick looked up. “What?”

“Yeah, they say it was an accident, something about poor ventilation systems and something electrical catching fire. I don’t know the details, but apparently it’s not uncommon with old houses in Gotham.”

“It burned down?”

“To the ground. The family moved abroad, I heard.”

The Halloween party mansion. That’s where he got the mask from. Dick hadn’t had a chance to return it, but there was no point in doing so now, either, it seemed. 

Dick had a bit of bad conscience for not returning it earlier, but this wasn’t something he could have predicted. Besides, of all the things they lost in the fire, the mask was probably insignificant. 

—

At dinner, Slade asked about the field trip again. He’d asked yesterday at dinner, but Dick had quickly changed the subject. 

“It was good.” Dick said. He hadn’t decided about the internship yet, and wasn’t sure if he should tell Slade at all.

“Good?” Slade eyed him. “You sounded very excited about it a few days ago. Did something happen?”

Damn, Slade saw right through him. Dick shook his head. “No, no, it was good, I promise.”

Slade put his fork down. “Then what’s with you? Something’s on your mind.”

Dick needed to keep his cool and distract Slade, when a filthy idea of a lie came to him.

“Well.. I’m thinking of starting gymnastics again. A couple of times a week, maybe.”

Slade leaned back. “Hm. Sounds like a good idea.”

Dick went back to eating, trying to seem nonchalant. “Yeah.”

“There’s a gymnastics centre in town, not far from here.” Slade suggested.

Dick looked up. “I was thinking of the old one I used to go to. I know some trainers and it’d be nice to connect with some of my roots there.” Dick smiled as he lied through his teeth. 

—

After dinner Dick was tinkering with his alarm clock, trying to distract himself from the fact that he’d lied, and involved gymnastics in it. It didn’t have to be a lie though, he hadn’t accepted the internship yet, so he was still able to fix this. For some reason, lying to Slade didn’t feel right. He’d picked apart an old comm to get the alarm clock to receive radio signals, and soon he held up his work, proud. No more horrible alarm! He’d be woken up to songs from ‘Old but gold’ radio station from now on. 

“What are you doing?” Slade had been walking past his open door when he saw Dick hunched over something on the floor, screws and pieces spread out around him, and stopped in the doorway to peek in.

Dick turned around, proudly holding up his alarm clock, that now had a small antenna, and Slade tilted his head to show that it was still not obvious what Dick was doing.  

Dick saw his confusion and huffed. “I’m improving it; the factory setting sound is inhumane to wake someone up to.”

Slade eyed all the pieces around him.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” 

Dick turned back around and waved a hand over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I used to pick apart Bruce’s things all the time as a kid. This was easy.”

Slade realised that he’d been dismissed when Dick didn’t turn back around.

–

“Lower.”

Slade had made him go through basic defense and attack formations one by one to see his baseline. Dick did them all perfectly (Bruce had drilled him on this on a regular basis).

“I said lower.” Slade tapped Dick’s arm with his bo staff. 

He didn’t lower it. “This form is fine.”

Slade didn’t agree. “You’re limiting the momentum and leaving your right side open for several seconds.”

“I’ve always done it like this. If I go lower, I could seriously hurt someone, and it would throw me off balance.”

Slade circled him. “Firstly, you’re fighting. You’re supposed to hurt people. Secondly, you’ll compensate with your left arm here,” Slade adjusted Dick’s other arm, “so you won’t lose balance.”

Dick stood up straight. “I don’t fight to hurt people, Slade, I fight to stop, disarm or immobilise them.”

Slade nodded. “And with the right form, you can do it quicker, with less energy, and more permanent results.”

“ Permanent immobilisation means I’d paralyse someone, you realise that?”

Slade stood in front of him. “Those moves work on average thugs and henchmen, Dick, but when you’re in real trouble, you can’t rely on them to save your life.”

“I’ve always been fine without.”

“You will be, until you’re not.”

“Are you trying to say something?”

“I am. Don’t be so arrogant that you won’t even learn. If you then choose not to use it, that’s fine.” It wasn’t fine , in Slade’s opinion, but that’s an argument for later. The first step was getting Dick to agree. 

Dick was about to argue, get angry that Slade was trying to change his fighting style, change him. But he looked at Slade, and his anger deflated. He didn’t look demanding. His face wasn’t behind a cowl, and his words held reason. He was trying to teach Dick something new, to improve his fighting skills, but not force him to use them. Bruce only taught Dick how to cause as little harm as possible while still getting the job done. Don’t get him wrong, Robin still beat the shit out of some people, but that was, as Slade said, always average goons that wasn’t experienced fighters.

Dick looked at Slade and took the form again, as he had before, and slowly went through the motions. Slade let him and stood still as Dick used him to judge. Dick stopped to analyse how he was positioned once he reached Slade. His right side was open. Dick also knew he had cracked a rib or two when Slade himself had taken advantage of that vulnerability years ago and kicked him across the roof. Goes to show, if Dick’s fighting someone, it won’t be a hero with good intentions and a dislike of foul play. An experienced fighter would take the opportunity, and to land such a hit could be vital.

Dick went back to the original form and sank lower. He looked at Slade.

“Like this?”

Slade was pleased as he watched Dick listen to him and understand. Robin had indeed grown up. Years ago, he would have refused to even try, but now he was open to learning.

“Good.” Slade tapped Dick’s left arm. “Lift as you follow through.”

Chapter Text

Dick tried to turn his head and look in the mirror at his back while flexing, which was proving harder than he thought. He’d started on the homework they’d been given, an assignment dedicated to different major muscle groups in the body. Dick’s group had gotten the back muscles, but their textbook wasn’t very helpful. A fter today's sparring session with Slade, Dick felt the pump and decided to check out some real scenarios where the back muscles were used. Dick knew the basics, but practical examples really helped. So there he was, in his sweatpants low on his hips, flexing in front of the gym wall mirror (looking good, by the way,) when Slade came back after refilling their waterbottles, halting in his step, a smile creeping up his face. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Dick relaxed his stance and threw his head to the side to rid some of the hair that had fallen into his face with a huff. “No.” He said, a bit disappointed his post-workout pump would go to waste. He took the offered water bottle and noticed the veins going up Slade’s lower arm to his bicep, which was also pumped from the workout. Dick’s eyes lit up. 

“Hey, take off your shirt.”

Slade blinked at him, then looked down as if he’d spilled something on it. “What?”

Dick grabbed the hem of Slade’s shirt and was about to lift it up, but in a split second Slade slapped his hand away. 

Dick wasn’t deterred and tried again. “Come on .”

Slade stood solid and grabbed Dick’s wrist in a warning tone. “Watch it.”

Dick didn’t sense Slade’s seriousness. As Slade had his arm grabbed, Dick took a chance and dropped down, Slade tilting with the sudden weight. In that second Dick twisted to hook around his leg, and grab the shirt from behind. 

His joy was short-lived as Slade, faster than Dick could comprehend, slammed him to the ground, his back on the mat. When he looked up, Slade was standing over him, no trace of amusement on his face. Dick started to sense he’d overstepped.

–

Slade reacted faster than he could think when Dick snuck down and around to grab his shirt. Dick hit the mat hard, too quick for him to dampen the fall with how Slade had grabbed him and shoved him down. Some part of Slade’s mind knew he’d been too rough when Dick blinked up at him, almost dazed and confused at how he’d ended up on the ground, but most of his focus was on keeping Dick away from him. He felt a lot more at ease with Dick on the ground and himself in a position of power, but unease lingered in his mind. 

Dick had probably been joking or playing around, with no ill intention, but his body wasn’t something Slade showed to people. His armour covered him head to toe, and Slade was never in a state of undress outside of his job. In his life, Adeline was the only person who had seen all of him. Grant or Will had barely seen him without a shirt while he’d known them, because Slade had scars he didn’t proudly show. 

Dick was shameless, even with his scars on display, because they were from honourable fights. They marked him as a survivor, as a warrior. They were proof of his resilience and devotion to his work, to keep going and get up again, no matter what. When not in public, Dick had no reason to feel shame or hide them, so of course he didn’t hide them from Slade either. He’d given Dick some of those scars himself, after all. Had helped patch him up on rare occasions too, catching handfuls of his torso and back of scars. 

Slade’s scars held no honour. 

Dick slowly held up his hands in surrender from his sprawled position, an apologetic and apprehensive look on his face. Slade realised he was still standing over him, and backed up a step, but didn't offer to help him up. 

Dick sat up slowly. He was acting predictably, movements slow and obvious, the way he would treat a spooked civilian. He spoke slowly,

“I have an assignment on the muscles in the back, and I learn better from practical examples. I would use my own back, but as you noticed, I can’t really see.”

Dick judged Slade’s expression as he was listening. “So I hoped I could study yours.”

Images flashed in Slade’s mind, voices filled his ears. 

"Study him."

Slade was on a bed, oxygen mask on his face. Blurry images and voices around him, sweat on his forehead as he shivered and ached from fever. Where was he? Slade couldn’t remember how he got here. Who were these people? A light flashed in his eyes, and Slade tried to look away as a flared headache up, but hands grabbed his head and others pried his eyes back open. Slade couldn’t get away, they were grabbing him everywhere, keeping him still when he tried to get away, barely lucid.

Another memory flashed to life. The smell of iron and taste of blood on his tongue lingered even in his sporadic sleep and fits of unconsciousness. Slade couldn’t tell the time anymore, he couldn’t think straight. His arms strained against the ropes digging into his arms, skin chafed and bleeding from his pulling and struggling. The wood dug into his back and arms from behind, to which he was tied like a scarecrow. His head hung down most of the time, unable to keep it up. He didn’t want to see their faces anyway, but seeing his own blood accumulate on the floor and his body littered in scars wasn’t appealing either. Slade kept his eyes closed as often as he could, which unfortunately heightened his other senses. The taste and smell of iron became sickening, the wounds opening across his skin like fire. 

After a while, (hours or days, Slade couldn't tell,) they let him down, hosed him clean with water and strung him back up, this time with his back exposed. It was worse, primal instincts of fear heightening with his back exposed. 

They didn’t talk much when they worked on him. Mumbles here and there, drowned by the heartbeat in his ears. What he remembers most are the scribbles of notes on paper. Noting down the time it took until a wound stopped healing, noted how easily a bone would break. They noted how hard he could be hit before he fell unconscious, and how long it took before he woke up. They killed him more times than he remembers, always noting something down when he woke up again, thinking of new techniques to try.  They strapped him to wires and machines, and called him anything but his name. A scientific wonder, a perfect subject, a super soldier. Their serum had to be studied, how it interacted with human physiology and how it responded to outside factors. 

The second it was injected into him, Slade was no longer a man, but their machine. Their result. Theirs , to be studied. 

He was 19 when he got it, and was the first and only one to survive the process. Not that they told him the previous trials had been fatal, or what they were doing to him. They were fascinated and curious. What made him special? Why did he stand out from the rest? What was his limit?

He was strapped up, electric shocks going through him, and they’d given him a wooden piece to bite down on to drown out his screams and avoid him biting his tongue or lips out. Look at the muscles flex, they’d say, and scribble something before increasing the voltage. To them, Slade wasn’t human. He was to be studied as a freak of nature. 

That's what Slade realised, eventually. They would never stop. He wasn’t even meant to survive; it didn’t really concern them, as long as they noted what finally killed him. He was a lab rat for gathering information. The soldiers they’d eventually keep and put out to the front lines would be chosen more carefully. They would never let him go.

“Slade?” Dick said carefully, and Slade snapped back to reality. Dick was still sitting, looking at him, and Slade realised he’d spaced out for a second. 

Slade steeled his jaw. “No,” he said, and left for the shower. Slade locked it, even though he knew Dick would stay sitting on that mat until he’d finished and left. Slade was grateful for that, but he was angry that Dick treated him like this. Slade should have gotten over it; it was decades ago now. Slade had murdered them all. He’d blown the lab up. He’d gotten revenge, and this should be in the past now. He should be over it.

So why wasn’t he?

Slade took his usual 5-minute shower, only what was needed to rinse and clean properly, and then put his clothes back on, avoiding the mirror.

—

Dick had taken his time after Slade had left and let him be alone for a while, but eventually came looking for him, as Slade knew he would. 

Slade was in the living room, typing on his computer absently, when Dick knocked on the doorway softly, lingering in the hallway.

Slade hated the obvious space Dick was giving him. Hated how Dick had been considerate, noticed his reaction and realised something was wrong. How he’d given Slade time to himself and now came to check on him. Hated how Dick knew something was wrong, no matter how much Slade tried to tell himself it was fine. When he was alone, there was no one to follow up on these moments. Slade could convince himself it was fine. But in reality, he wasn’t, and he didn’t know why. It frustrated him. Why couldn’t he get over it?

“Can we talk?”

Dick hadn’t moved, but just oozed with the want to comfort. To make it right. Dick had noticed something was wrong, and his hero complex just had to step in. Well, maybe it wasn’t Dick’s business. Maybe, Dick should leave Slade alone with his persistent emotional unease. Maybe, he should fuck off-

Slade took a breath to calm his thoughts. There was no reason to get angry at Dick; he hadn’t done anything wrong. Slade was angry at himself for lingering in the past, and he wouldn’t project that onto Dick. That would make it worse. He needed to prove he was a functioning adult and that this, whatever that had yet to go away, wouldn’t affect him. 

Slade nodded, closing his computer. Dick walked in a few steps, and Slade gestured to the chair next to the couch. Dick sat down, hand in his lap as he leaned back.

“About earlier,” Dick started, and Slade braced himself. Dick would tell him his reaction was weird and ask him to explain. Ask him to unpack it all, and that he’d be there to listen and share his burdens. Be there to pity him. Slade had to fight down his irritation again. He wasn’t something to be fixed . Nothing was broken. He. Was. Fine.

“I’m sorry.” Dick said sincerely, and Slade’s train of thought crashed. 

Instinct told him to deny it. Slade was the one to blame, the one who’d overreacted, not Dick. 

“You don’t have to apologize.” Slade tried, but Dick shook his head.

“I do.” Dick insisted. “I’m truly sorry Slade, I shouldn’t have grabbed at you like that.”

Slade wasn’t sure what was happening, and was quiet, trying to process that Dick was .. apologizing to him.

Dick continued after a while. “I tend to get physically close to people and was ignorant of your space.”

Dick paused to clear his throat. “I’m so disappointed and angry at myself. I mean, I know what it’s like when people touch you without consent.”

Slade felt his jaw tick and his gaze snap to Dick, who was now looking down at his hands. What?  

Dick glanced up and saw his look. Slade hadn’t asked him to elaborate, but Dick wanted to share. “I was 15, at the typical gala. One of the last ones I went to.”

Dick was in his usual ‘suit and tie’ outfit, hair combed with gel to stay in place. He’d been going through a growth spurt for a while, and had outgrown his tailored suits every other month. That was a clear downside to having clothes tailored to the centimetre of a teenager in puberty. The clothes were like baby clothes, doomed to be outgrown within months. Still, Bruce had money to spare and public appearance with suits not tailored would cause havoc in gossip magazines. For a multi-billionaire like Bruce, that could probably be considered child neglect. So there he was, in his brand new suit that he doubted he’d get to wear more than one more time before he outgrew it. Dick wasn’t likely to get as tall as Bruce, but he was definitely not in a child’s body anymore. As he got older, Bruce left Dick alone at galas more often, trusting him to be able to hold conversations on his own and practice some civilian independence.

However, with Bruce out of sight, people took the liberty to let their hands wander. As a child, he’d gotten used to ruffled hair and pinched cheeks, which slowly but steadily changed to pats on the back, hands on his shoulders, hands squeezing his biceps and hands grasping his face. Dick tolerated it, knew he had to deal with it and not overreact, brush it off. He’d seen Bruce do it countless times and tried to follow his example. Bruce trusted him to handle himself now, and he would prove he could. 

But when hands eventually touched his chest, thighs and lower back, in a way that made the hairs on his neck rise and gut sink in discomfort, his determination to stay strong shattered. He jerked back violently, and they stared at him with accusing eyes, like he’d done something wrong for reacting. Dick felt his heartbeat through his chest and ran. He pushed through the crowd until he reached Bruce, grabbed his arm, his heart calming at the scent and warmth of him. Safe . Bruce glanced down and saw the pale look on Dick’s face, his hands grasping his arm, and knew immediately what had happened. Dick had been ashamed and not looked at Bruce’s face, burying it in his arm, but if he had, he would have seen murder flash in Bruce’s eyes. He’d prioritised, though, and led Dick out the back to a private area, and sat down so Dick could throw himself around his neck in a hug, and be embraced by the arms he knew would protect him. They had fights, more frequently nowadays, they had bad moments, but whenever Dick was truly scared, he felt the safest in Bruce’s strong embrace. Bruce had let him take his time and asked if he wanted to tell him what happened. After a while, Dick did, and Bruce thanked him for being brave. He had then swiftly dealt with the predators.

“I felt their handprints on my skin for hours afterwards. I felt tainted.” Dick looked at his hands. If Slade had been there, he’d have broken some wrists. And arms. Fingers too, for good measure. 

“But Bruce listening to me, fully being there, it lessened the burden. He told me shame wasn’t for the victim to bear. He also let me help people, and by opening up about what had happened I felt like I took power back in the situation. Later, the Daily Planet did some intensive background checks on those people, and more dared to come forward after I’d told my story.”

Dick paused. 

“I.. I don’t know much about when Bruce was a teenager, but I think he was also too rich and good-looking for people to keep their hands away. When I came to him, he knew . I feel bad sometimes, how no one probably taught him what was inappropriate and what he needed to deal with or not. His ‘Playboy’ facade doesn’t exactly help, either. I could expect it, but not accept it, he said. And I know that back in his day, a woman being touched was considered her own fault, so never mind a man being touched, because there shouldn’t be anything to be grabbed anyway. I bet he was told to man up and not be a wuss. You’re even older than Bruce, you might have grown up with even worse bullshit, and being in the army couldn’t have been easy either.” 

Dick looked at him. "I'm sorry."

Slade was a bit speechless. He’d spent so long repressing feelings and discomfort that it felt natural, rather than something he’d been taught to do. 

“I appreciate that.” He said, still at a loss for words. 

Dick smiled, more at ease. “Wanna watch a movie tonight? I can make us some popcorn.”

—

Dick had gone to sleep an hour ago and Slade stood in the bathroom, shirtless, thinking of what Dick had said. 

Slade had never stopped to consider his .. feelings regarding his scars. He was often ignorant of his emotions. He knew anger and he knew love, and that was it. Anger was easy because anger demanded action. Anger had a target. He thought that when he murdered the scientists, officers, and blew up the base, his revenge was complete and would satisfy his anger. It might have, because Slade wasn’t angry anymore. Other emotions were intertwined in his head and body, and it caused him confusion when he couldn’t place them. He needed to sort them out and feel them. Let them be heard, let them be felt. 

He took a moment to really look, and feel. He didn’t feel embarrassed, but they were a reminder of inhumane treatment. They were, more than his superhuman abilities, a reminder that he was a freak of nature, a scientific result created in a lab. They marked him. Slade could never escape that. He felt wronged. Helpless to the injustice he’d been through. 

He felt sadness. Hurt and despair from the situation he was in when they turned him. He felt isolated from his humanity, fragile in the face of these emotions that demanded attention. He felt exposed, with his vulnerability on display. As he looked and felt them, Slade got tears in his eyes. His hands traced his scars, slowly. He was getting overwhelmed. He hadn’t realised he’d suppressed this much. He ended up on the floor, sitting with his hands on the ground, focusing on the tiles on the floor under his palms. Bringing himself back to the present. He knew it wasn’t over, and there was more work to do, but he felt.. better. His head wasn’t as dimmed; the incomprehensible cloud he’d pushed to the edge of his consciousness for decades was more tangible and digestible. It was a lot, but it wasn’t unexplainable anymore. It brought him a sense of calm, a sense of self that Slade hadn’t realised he’d lost. 

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Dick tossing and turning in his bed down the hall, mumbles getting louder. Dick’s room was pitch black, and although Slade could practically see in the dark, he left the door ajar to let some light in when he entered. Dick’s face was scrunched in a nightmare, his fists grabbing the sheets.  

Slade took the chair to reach him, gently calling and then touching Dick’s shoulder to shake him awake. This nightmare was well on it's way to a night terror, and Slade wanted Dick to wake before that. Dick’s eyes opened, he grabbed Slade’s wrist and threw a punch to his face.

Slade caught it in his hand, and Dick’s eyes locked onto his, narrowed as he recognized him in the dim light, and muttered, “You.” Slade couldn’t even blame him; before this past week Dick would have reacted correctly to attack if Deathstroke was standing over his bed when he was sleeping. 

Slade was sure Dick would try to wrestle or throw another punch, but recognition slowly spread across Dick’s face. His muscles relaxed, and he muttered, sleepily and assured this time, “Oh, it’s you,” and sank back into his pillow, hand still around Slade’s wrist. Slade gently tucked Dick in, smiling softly at Dick’s face smushed into the pillow, already fast asleep.

Slade looked at his hand that Dick still held onto. They’d murdered countless people, pulled thousands of triggers, punched and strangled, but they’d also built a home. They’d held his newborn baby. They’d picked flowers for his family’s graves. They’d tucked Dick to sleep after a nightmare.

Slade realised something as he watched Dick sleep. Yes, he was a scientific lab test and his abilities were artificial. His hair, his strength and endurance, his healing and lifespan were unnatural, created and crafted in a lab. 

But his nature to be gentle wasn’t. His instinct to protect had always been there, before the enhancements. His willingness to build a home.

He wasn’t just a serum super soldier weapon.

He was Slade Wilson. 

And he was a dad.