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“No. No. No!” Dick takes off the Renegade helmet and throws it at the wall, breaking the drywall. The helmet falls to the ground with a thunk. He grabs Slade’s lamp from beside the couch and throws it at the wall, too. The glass shatters and flies across the room.
Reaching forward, Dick grabs the side table and flips it over. He screams in rage as he grabs the leg of the table and slams it back down. The table splinters under his hand, cutting him. Dick drops the table and kicks it. He flails as he spins around, his eyes bouncing around the room frantically searching for something else to take his anger out on.
Destruction decorates the room as Dick continues his rampage. He throws his knives into the wall, flips the couch, and knocks over the bookshelf. Leaning down, Dick picked up a book to throw. He pulls his arm back.
“You sure you want to throw that one kid?” Slade asks, resting his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed. Slade raises his eyebrow at Dick, glancing from Dick to the book and back up. “That one isn’t my book for you to destroy.”
Slade peers into the room farther and looks around. He scoffs, “Though you don’t seem to mind breaking all my shit.”
Glaring at Slade, Dick’s hands clench the book he’s holding. He huffs in ire at Slade before finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the book. Dick drops to the ground, his legs giving out. Slade’s right. This book is one that Dick brought with him. It’s a classical copy of Jane Eyre.
It was supposed to be Jason’s 16th birthday present.
“Fuck,” Dick mutters, staring at the book with blood covering the spine from his bloody hand. Dick pulls his sleeve up covering his hand and starts rubbing at the blood. The blood smears on the spine.
Dick freezes as a hand towel is dropped down in his lap. He grabs the towel and starts wiping the book. Scrubbing the book, Dick mutters, “Thanks.”
Slade looms above Dick, looking down at the younger man, sitting on the floor atop pieces of wood and glass. Slade watches at Dick scrubs viciously at the book. Slade rolls his eyes, “You do realize your other hand is bleeding, too?”
Dick stops and looks at where the book opens, where his other hand has been holding onto the book.
“Shit!” Dick screeches. He falls forward, pressing his forehead to the book. His eyes burn as he takes in a shaky breath.
“I didn’t sign up for this.” Slade states. He bends down, grabbing a hold tightly of Dick’s arm and pulling him up. Dick startles as he moves up with Slade. Slade grabs Dick’s face with one hand, tilting the younger man’s head up. Slade stares at Dick’s glassy eyes as tears fall down his face. “You are being ridiculous. You are still getting what you wanted.”
Slade drops Dick’s face and rips the book out of Dick’s hands. Dick’s hand lurches out to grab the book back, but Slade pushes the younger man slightly. “Stop it, Little Bird. Your hands are bloody and will just keep getting more blood on it.”
Grasping Dick’s wrist with an iron grip, Slade practically drags Dick out of the room. Pulling Dick down the hall, he pushes Dick into the bathroom and pushes him onto a closed toilet seat. Slade sets the book on the counter by the wall away from Dick. Opening the cabinet, Slade pulls out a first aid kit.
Putting the box on the counter, Slade looks at Dick, who is sitting on the toilet, staring down at his hands. Dick slowly opens and closes his hands into fists.
“Stop that,” Slade orders, “You already have splinters in your hands. I don’t feel like spending all day pulling them out because you dug them in there deeper.”
Sitting on the edge of the tub, Slade grabs Dicks hands and pulls them under the bath water, rinsing out the cuts. Dick winces at the harsh water against his hands, but doesn’t pull away. Slade watches as the water goes from a red to brown to clear, then he pulls out Dick’s hands and turns off the running water.
Silently, Slade pulls one of Dick’s hands into his own and starts meticulously pulling out pieces of wood and glass left behind after the rinse. Slade works in silence, unwilling to start a conversation and Dick being unable.
The smell of alcohol hits Dick’s nose moments before the burn hits his hand.
“Ow,” Dick gulps, pulling his hand away from Slade. “Why’d you use alcohol? I know for a fact that there is antiseptic in that kit.”
Slade smirks at Dick, “Where is the fun in that?”
“Besides,” Slade adds, pulling Dick’s hand back towards him to wrap it up. “I did use antiseptic first. You just weren’t zoned in, and I needed you back with me.”
Dick raises an eyebrow at Slade.
“After all, our deal isn’t done yet.” Slade stands up, smacking Dick on the cheek as he stands. “I need Renegade to actually be able to fight and not be catatonic.”
Slade leaves Dick in the bathroom, yelling over his shoulder, “Clean that up before you leave that room, or you’re doing extra rifle training with those hands.”
Dick slumps down against the edge of the tub. He stares down at his hands. Wrapped by the man who terrorized him and his friends for years. The man showing him more compassion than his guardian has shown him in years.
And fuck, isn’t that just the cherry on top.
Bandages wrapped around hands that were meant to help him fly. Hands that became messengers of pain and anger. Hands that became a saving grace, reaching out into the darkness of Gotham. Hands that are now coated in blood, once again encompassed with despair and vengeance.
Picking at the bandages that Slade just wrapped, Dick lets his tears fall. Slowly, a build-up of chaos and turmoil, of never truly grieving.
Another pair of hands join Dick’s own, calming down Dick’s fidgeting fingers against the gauze.
Dick looks up at Wally who is squatting in front of him, smiling sadly.
“Hey, babygirl,” Wally says softly. He keeps his hands on top of Dick’s and sits down crisscross facing Dick. Wally rubs his thumb over Dick’s hand.
Dick rubs his sticky, wet cheek against his shoulder, unwilling to pull his hands out of Wally’s.
Sniffling, Dick mumbles, “What are you doing here?”
Wally shrugs. He breaks one of his hands free and runs it in Dick’s hair, pushing it back.
“You know that murder uncle of yours is surprisingly soft.”
Dick scoffs, “Slade messaged you, asking you to come here?”
Wally chuckles nervously, “Asking is being generous.” He rests his hand against Dick’s face. “I would say that it was demanded that I show up or be down an appendage.” Wally wipes a tear away. “Apparently, my boyfriend was having a moment and Deathstroke the Terminator” Wally puts a lot of emphasis on the name, “had reached his quota on emotions.”
“He’s secretly a big softy,” Dick chuckles wetly. He leans into Wally’s hand. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, counting in and holding. He blows out the air and opens his eyes. Dick stares into Wally’s bright green eyes.
Swallowing, Dick bites his lip and lets out a sharp breath. He clicks his tongue. “Did you see that there’s a new Robin?”
Wally nods. “Yeah, I saw a news article yesterday.”
“So you haven’t met him yet,” Dick asks. He reaches up and grabs Wally’s hand from his face. Taking both of Wally’s hands, Dick squeezes them. Dick looks down at their hands together. Hands made for each other, uncaring of the blood and the rage and the emotions.
Dick watches from his peripherals as Wally shakes his head.
“I met him today,” Dick whispers, “as Renegade.”
“Oh,” Wally breathes.
Dick laughs, “Yeah, oh.”
“And, fuck, Wally,” Dick pulls Wally’s arm towards him. Wally gets the message and maneuvers himself on the bathroom floor, rotating until he is sitting next to Dick. He wraps his arms around his shoulders. Dick rests his head on Wally’s shoulder. “This kid is going to get himself killed, Wally. He really is.” Dick takes a deep breath. He licks his chapped lips. “He is so small. He’s fast though. And sneaky. I see his potential. And damnit, I hate that. I hate that. I hate that I see potential in a kid.”
Dick laughs sadly, the kind of laugh that almost sounds like a sob. The kind of laugh that might be a sob, but passes too easily as a laugh.
“He can’t fight for shit though. I could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. I could see the potential outcome of every move he thought of. And if he was trained better, those moves would have been winning moves. But right now, how he is, they are just impossible dreams.” Dick sighs. “I have to go back.”
Wally pulls away minutely from Dick to look down at him. He brushes the hair out of Dick’s face. Wally tilts his head, giving Dick a questioning look, his own eyes filled with something akin to pity.
Dick closes his eyes, unable to take that look. He breathes in and out like he was trained.
“I can’t let another Robin die.” A tear slips out of Dick’s closed eyes. “I can’t . I won’t.”
His breath shakes as he breathes in. He blows out the air from pursed lips. Hands cup the sides of Dick’s face and a forehead presses against his own.
“I know.” Wally whispers.
Keeping his forehead pressed against Wally’s, Dick continues. “I have to tell Slade. Renegade has one more month before retirement. Then Nightwing’s undercover mission will be over within two months. And the clown-,” Dick pauses, he blows a hot breath against Wally. He shakes his head. “The clown will have to wait. Just for now.”
Dick opens his eyes and pulls apart from Wally. Dick looks down at his hands. “A lot of people are dead.”
Wally grabs Dick’s hands and cups them together. He brings them to his mouth and presses a kiss against them. He smirks, “I think the anti-hero thing is sexy.”
Dick laughs softly, which was Wally’s only goal.
Tilting towards Wally, Dick kisses him softly.
“Okay. Well, I have to go talk to the big teddy bear.”
Wally stands up and grabs Dick by his wrist and pulls him up. “Yup, let’s go talk to Deathstroke the Terminator. ”
“Stop saying his name like that.” Dick says, bumping his shoulders into Wally’s. “You can leave.”
“Leave?” Wally gasps, putting his hand over his heart. “No way. I was invited into the lair of Deathstroke the Terminator. No way am I just leaving.”
“Oh my gods,” Dick laughs, “Fine, then let’s get to the training room.”
Walking Wally through the converted warehouse, Dick finally stops in the training room where Slade is cleaning off weights.
Wally leans over and whispers in Dick’s ear, “Does he always clean his gym equipment?”
“He has enhanced hearing,” Slade drawls without looking up. “He also isn’t a heathen and equipment needs to be cleaned to stay in its best shape.”
Slade drops a towel onto the table next to him and looks up. “So, when are you leaving, kid?”
“Renegade can’t leave immediately after a run in with Batman and Robin, so at least a month.”
Dick responds.
Slade lifts and eyebrow and hums. “And then another month or so before Nightwing pops back up, I assume?”
Dick nods.
“All right, kid.” Slade picks back up the towel, turning away.
Dick takes another step into the room, dropping Wally’s hand.
“Renegade isn’t done.” Dick states. Slade looks back up. “The clown still needs to die. And if I can do it, great. But there is another Robin at risk now. And whether I know the kid or not, he’s family.” Dick swallows. “So, whether I like it or not, I might not be able to kill the clown.”
“Here’s the deal for you, Slade. If you get a chance to kill Joker, take it. If you succeed, I will come back as Renegade as payment.” Dick pauses for a moment and then shrugs, “But who knows, maybe Nightwing will end up with the clown’s blood on his hands.”
Slade smirks and shakes his head. “You’re setting all this up right now like Renegade is already done. I still have a month left, don’t think I’ll go easy on you know.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dick says with a smile. He turns around and grabs Wally’s hand and walks out of the room.
“You have such a terrifying relationship with him.” Wally whispers.
Dick just laughs.
A new plan is in sight. He has another brother to meet and this time Dick is going to keep him safe. No matter what.