Chapter Text
The familiar buzz of the watchtower enveloped Dicks senses as both he and Batman exited the zeta tubes. There have been rumors spreading that a new biological weapon was being manufactured and spread across the country, so an emergency meeting was being held to stop the problem. In other words, the superhero world was going to be losing sleep for the next few days until the problem was under control. Nightwing, who was rarely seen at the Watchtower and usually distanced himself from the Justice League, was Batman's usual choice of Bat when it came to crisis situations or interrogations. This was largely due to how long they have known each other, Dick guessed, because in his opinion Tim was just as, if not more capable, of dealing with these situations. If Nightwing were being perfectly honest, he would rather be anywhere else—not that he would ever tell Bruce that.
Their footsteps, perfectly in sync, echoed down the halls as a silence fell over the tower with their arrival. Although Batman is a founding member of the Justice League and every hero present has interacted with him in some way, he still scares them a little— though none would care to admit it. Nightwing perfectly mirrored Batman's movements as they entered the meeting room, taking the last two remaining seats.
“As you all know, a biological weapon is being trafficked across our cities.” Batman started; his voice gruff with severity, although the difference from his usual voice is barely perceptible to anyone not close to him.
“But,” he continued, “The traffickers do not know we are on to them. A few days ago a mercenary named Slade Wilson, more commonly known as Deathstroke, was captured by some heroes in Central City, and he is now being held here.” At that news, a murmur went around the table. Even Nightwing’s eyebrow twitched up slightly. Most of the chatter sounded curious, but a few voices of outrage sprung out, namely that of Green Lantern a.k.a. Hal Jordan, an air force pilot.
“You know, Bats, this might be a stretch but I just feel like we should be in on this critical information.” Nightwing had to agree with Hal, some low level crook, sure, it wouldn't matter, but Slade Wilson? That's a whole different story.
For the most part, no one was ever held in the cells the Watchtower had; they were mainly for decorative purposes. It made Nightwing uneasy to think of how close he was to Slade, especially given their history. Some small part of his brain resented the fact that Batman never told him anything unless it was absolutely necessary, though it's not like he tells Bruce anything either. In some ways, he felt as if their relationship was strictly professional. No emotion, just logic and skill and mission after mission after mission until he can’t even remember the last time he talked to Bruce about something not related to a mission.
Batman didn’t dignify Hal's comment with an answer as he pushed on with what he was going to say,
“Unfortunately, Wilson, who has ties to the traffickers, will not reveal anymore information about the weapon.”
“Big surprise there.” Hal muttered to the Flash whose civilian identity Nightwing knew to be Barry Allen, a forensic scientist.
“Let me talk to him.” Nightwing said suddenly. He regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth but some part of him needed to see Slade. His time as Slade's apprentice has been tortuous training wise and probably at least a little mentally scarring, the Titans certainly thought so, but Slade had been kind in his own weird way. He talked to Dick, he praised him even over little things. Batman never did that. In some ways, both Slade and Bruce were more similar than anyone would think. They both trained him in similar ways; the fighting itself was different, but their teaching style was very similar. It was easy, scarily easy, for Dick to slip into his routine with Slade and excel at what was asked of him.
He hated to admit this but he did like the attention and communication he got from Slade. Every year on his birthday, Slade visits him with presents ranging from various different weapons to gifts from Rose Wilson, his daughter who Nightwing sometimes helps on and off under Batman’s radar. Bruce hasn’t remembered Dick’s birthday since Bruce fired him from being Robin. Dick always thought it was some sort of punishment for not being a good enough Robin. Still it hurt him that a mercenary remembers his birthday better than his own father.
Batman raised an eyebrow at his suggestion, the lens of his suit boring into Nightwings as he tried to figure out what Nightwings angle was.
“Fine.” He said eventually. If nothing else, Nightwing was one of the League's best interrogators, aside from the Bat himself, and it would be foolish not to let him go. Nightwing slipped out of his seat and exited the room before making a left to go to where Slade was being held. He approached the door, which had a small window in which he could look inside. Slade was handcuffed to a table in the middle of the room facing away from the door. Nightwing took a breath before opening the door and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him engulfing the room in an oppressive silence.
On the far right corner of the room, a black security camera was mounted on the wall watching their movements, and Nightwing knew there were bugs planted around the room to pick up audio. He walked around the table, keeping about two feet away from Slade as he passed by. When he turned to look at Slade, he saw that the man’s lips were already stretched into a smile.
“Nightwing, long time no see. Rose misses you” He said tilting his head slightly as he waited to see what Nightwings reaction was. It was clear Slade also knew about the bugs because he had just revealed that they had met before and are not on bad terms. Of course Nightwing could just say he knew him from run-ins with the Titans but it would be hard to pass off Rose, who he, officially, had not met before. He could practically feel Batman glaring at him from though the camera.
“Slade, let's just make it easy for both of us. Give me specific details about where the drop off for the weapons are happening and coordinates for the manufacturing sites.”
Slade laughed, deep breathy with a hint of mockery.
“Little Bird,” he sounded almost hurt, “You know that's not going to happen. Word on the street is your a hot shot interrogator for the League now. Surprise me.”
Nightwing rocked back slightly on his heels. He expected this. Slade was anything but easy and it was clear he wanted something from Nightwing. After all Deathstroke the Terminator doesn’t just get captured by a few low level heroes in Central City.
“You and I both know interrogation tactics won’t work on you so how about we negotiate. You give me the information, and I will do one thing for you of your choosing.”
“Anything?” Deathstroke questioned.
“Yes.”
Deathstroke hummed in agreement.
“I accept.” He reached across the table—as far as the handcuff would let him—and Nightwing shook it before giving him a crayon and paper to write down the information. After an incident involving one of the young heroes handing a pencil to an inmate, Batman had outlawed pencils within 20 feet of the cells.
Once Slade was finished, he slid the sheet of paper towards Nightwing, which Dick glanced over.
“If this isn’t accurate the deal will be nullified Wilson.” Nightwing warned.
Slade's overconfident smile didn’t waver as he nodded his head in agreement. Nightwing knew the information was sound. He knew Slade well enough to know if he was lying; he wasn’t.
Dick re-entered the meeting room and handed Batman the sheet of paper before sitting down in his chair. Batman made no outward comments but his body language screamed that they would talk about this later. He knew none of the other heroes were going to question him. He ranked higher than most of them, but that didn’t stop them from looking warily at the younger hero. The meeting concluded without incident and Nightwing and Batman began to walk back Zeta tubes in a tense, almost painful silence.
The familiar voice of the Zeta boomed as they materialized in the Batcave. Nightwing did a quick scan of the room, finding Tim alone in the large cave, his back to them as he typed furiously on the main computer. Bruce started talking almost immediately, his voice a low hush that carried across the cave. Tim glanced up at their arrival, but seeing that strained air around the two, he turned back to the computer—it wasn’t worth joining in what was looking to be a losing battle for Nightwing.
“When were you going to tell me that you have been hanging out with Deathstroke the terminator?” Batman said, the scorn in his voice palpable.
“I mean I wouldn’t say I’ve been “hanging out with him.” Nightwing countered, his voice rising slightly at the verbal attack.
“Oh really then what would you call it? Because whatever it is, it's stupid. You know better than that. I trained you better than that.”
“You haven’t trained me for a long time.” Nightwing said his words clipped and stinging.
“You're benched from patrol.” Batman all but growled.
“I'm not a child Bruce. You don’t get to control my life.”
“I'm not trying to control your life,” Bruce said dragging a hand through his hair, "I'm trying to protect you.”
“Well you're doing a pretty shitty job of it.” It was uncalled for but the lump of anger and disappointment clogged his throat and blurred his eyes, threatening tears and making him unable to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “You can’t even remember my birthday! At least Slade remembers it.” He hadn't meant for that to come out, but his chest felt like it was going to explode in a way that only years worth of emotional repression can cause.
He watched as Bruce's face dropped, feeling slightly satisfied that the words impacted him that much.
The roar of a motorcycle engine filled the cave as Jason entered. It was not uncommon for Jason to be around lately. He had actually been getting along decently well with everyone, but his arrival was still unexpected. Jason hopped off his bike, taking his helmet off in one smooth motion before analyzing the situation unfolding before him.
“Shit it's tense in here.” His gravelly voice commented on what everyone was thinking.
Batman just turned his back to Jason, stalking off to some corner of the cave while he figured out what to do about Dick.
“Hey Jason,” Nightwing nodded at him in acknowledgement, “how’s it going?”
“What did you do?” Jason said disregarding Nightwings inquiry.
Nightwing stiffened slightly. Jason wouldn’t really care, Dick knew, but it would change the way he looked at his older brother and Dick didn’t know if he could live with that.
“Richard has been affiliating himself with the likes of Deathstroke.” Damian reported, materializing from the shadows of the cave.
Jason's eyebrows shot up.
“No fucking way.” His full attention was now on Dick, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Is the kid telling the truth?”
Dick sighed, “Yeah. What about it?” He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to remain distant.
“How’d you meet?” Jason, it seemed, wasn’t going to stop until he had the entire story.
“I-I,” He paused, immensely uncomfortable, “It’s complicated.”
Jason stared at him silently, the moment stretching out for what seemed like eternity before he turned away and started walking up to the manor muttering about how secretive his family is.
Dicks phone buzzed in his pocket, no doubt Slade was calling to ask for the favor he was promised. He picked up the phone, walking in the direction Jason had just exited in.
“Hello?” Dick answered.
“I want you to do a mission with me. It’ll be just like old times.” Deathstrokes familiar voice whispered through the phone.
“Don’t worry,” he added as if sensing Dicks hesitation, “No murder; recon only.”
“When?”
“Next Saturday. I'll pick you up at the docks in Blüdhaven” Dick was free, although it's not like his schedule mattered to Slade.
“Okay.” Slade hung up the phone, leaving the room silent.
“Was that Slade?” Jason questioned, walking around the corner in front of Dick. Dick didn’t have to answer. He just kept walking past Jason. He didn’t know why it mattered so much to his younger brother anyway. Dick didn’t really know where he was going, but his feet carried him out the door; he needed to be outside. They walked in somewhat comfortable silence for a few minutes before Dick spoke.
“When I was first leading the Titans, he kidnapped me and forced me to become his apprentice,” Dick began, “said he ‘saw something in me that reminded him of himself.’ I-this is going to sound weird but he wasn’t unreasonably cruel. I mean he was about how you would expect but he was communicative and even kind sometimes.” Dick huffed a laugh expecting Jason to make fun of him but he stayed quiet.
“With him I felt like I was heard, like I was a partner. With B I felt like I was just a tool in his arsenal. I mean I know Bruce loves me and all but I need him to tell me, if that makes sense?”
“Yeah I get it. Well actually no I don’t, but I understand what you are saying.” Jason faced him suddenly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know you already know this but Deathstroke is dangerous. I just want you to be careful.” Jason eyebrows furrowed with worry as his piercing green eyes locked on Dick’s.
“It's almost like you care.” The sides of Dick’s lips quirked up in a smile.
“Oh fuck you.” Jason said, shoving his shoulder away, but Dick knew he didn’t actually mean it.
-time skip-
Dick waited on the docks of Blüd, the cold wind whipped through his hair and teared at his suit. Deathstroke wasn’t one to be late but then again Slade could just as well be messing with him. Gravel shifted behind him and he turned, coming face to face with Deathstroke. Before he could speak, Deathstroke put a finger to his lips, the universal gesture to be quiet. He turned away from Nightwing, gesturing him to follow, as they ran across cargo boxes stored along the docks.
They were nearing the end of the line of containers when Deathroke suddenly stopped and dropped to the ground, Nightwing mirrored his movements. He saw where Deathroke was looking; a large black limo had pulled up and three armed men exited, scanning their surroundings. Wordlessly, Deathstroke handed Nightwing a sleek black .45, which Nightwing knew without asking was fully loaded. Deathstroke had said this was a no-kill mission, but that didn’t mean people wouldn’t get hurt. Deathstroke had a listening device pointed at the group of people who were now exchanging words with another car that had pulled up. They stayed there for sometime, Slade listening to the conversation and Nightwing laying in wait, unable to hear the discussion happening below.
Finally, it seemed like Deathstroke had heard enough because he stood up suddenly and dropped down toward the group. Nightwing knew Slade didn’t want him to be seen, so he slipped down using shadows to hide himself until he found a good position. From there, he could protect Slade without anything ricocheting onto Deathstroke. All he needed was a signal from the older man. It was somewhat scary, he realized, how quickly he had fallen back into this rhythm. He could take all these men out right now. The power rush was almost intoxicating, but he shoved it down. Most of the men surrendered as soon as they saw Slade, but a few didn’t, aiming their guns at his head. Slade flicked his hand slightly, signaling Nightwing to action. He shot the man closest to Slade in the hand, his gun clattering to the floor as his scream cut through the air. The men looked around wildly for Slade's partner, but when they couldn’t find him, they scattered into the wind. Once everyone had cleared out, Deathstroke walked right to where Dick was hidden.
“Good shot.” He told Dick. He had almost forgotten how good the praise felt.
“You know,” he continued, “My offer for you to become my apprentice again is still open”
Dick shook his head.
“Sorry Slade, I really like my hero gig.” Slade just shrugged.
“I tried.” he started walking away from Nightwing before looking back at him, “Oh and you can keep the gun. You use it well.” He disappeared before Dick could think of a response. He fastened the gun to his belt before heading back to his apartment, his head filled with the events of the day.