Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

March 3rd, 2010. Five days before the anniversary.

If there was one thing Dick hated more than a homicide, it was one that involved people he knew. 

In all honesty Dick hadn’t known of it until he had stepped out of the car and crossed the threshold into the warehouse. When Electrum tainted his nostrils, filling his entire senses and giving rise to the anxious feeling pounding behind his heart, he knew it was one of his. 

“Don’t touch anything.” 

Neal looked to his right and glanced at the older man standing beside him. Special Agent Peter Burke had been his handler for almost a year now and still struggled to trust him. Not that Dick particularly cared. He tried to keep an arm's length from these people. Not because he feared them, no. It was because if he gave in and made a connection, he was afraid he’d lose them.

“I’m an alleged forger Peter, not a maniac with the need to touch dead bodies.” Dick threw on a teasing smile and hoped it wasn’t a grimace. “You know how I feel about dead people anyway. Not my expertise.”

“Just let Violent Crimes do their job and focus on the artifacts.” Peter put on the latex gloves. “Somehow these two things are connected.

Before he even stepped foot in Peter’s direction, however, his eye caught a glimpse of the murder scene itself. Years of working in Gotham and as a Talon made him desensitized to most of these scenarios. Yet this made the bile in his stomach shoot to his throat and burn it raw. 

He worked with this Talon before. A Rook in his parliament, if the colour of the shoulder pad was anything to go by. Specifically mutated with a mixture of Electrum and Venom to enhance him. He easily towered over the others and over most of the other Rooks. The muscles on him weren’t toned, but more so reminded him of people spending their days lifting heavy objects. 

Now this Talon lay dead on a strange metal table in the middle of this warehouse. Arthur was his name. Didn’t talk much, but cared for the Talons stuck as Children. Kept them curious without the court finding a way to punish them for it. Engaged them constantly in social interactions. It let them all have a break from the Death that clung to them like leeches.

Arthur hadn’t died quickly. Not with the kinds of wounds present on his body. They were cut in areas to allow blood to slowly ooze from someone’s veins, possibly to drain him. On his neck was an injection point. The needle had to have been thick and filled with some sort of paralysis or some dangerous substance that could somehow shut down a Talon. 

Dick didn’t realize he’d gotten so close until his hand was hovering just over Arthur’s eyes. They were glassy and far away. The golden hue, almost black from the lack of movement. 

In this moment, he wondered what colour his eyes really were. Was it a warm brown that looked amber in the sunlight? Or a dazzling green like those lovely emeralds.

“Isn’t it fascinating?” A woman slipped beside him and stared down at Arthur with an odd grin. 

“Not really.” Dick removed his hand and hooked his thumb under the belt loop. “This person died in a painful and slow way, so apologies if I don’t share the same enthusiasm as you.” 

A lot of that sentence came out more sarcastic and rude than he wanted it too. Or what the Neal Caffrey persona would allow.

“How do you know if they died like that?” She asked, lifting her brow.

“The wounds aren’t concerning, not until they become multiple. He wouldn’t have died from them.” Dick couldn’t help but go into detective mode. It had been far too long. “This spot on his neck. It’s fairly recent, which indicates the suspects had used a needle on him.” He walked around the table and gestured to Arthur’s wrists. “Not to mention no indication of restraints had been used, which means-

“A paralytic drug was most likely used.” Another voice cut in.

Dick startled and spun around, praying he didn’t look too guilty. The man in front of him was one of the higher ranking men in Violent Crimes. He looked older and like he’d seen many not so pretty things in his lifetime.

“That’s quite the detective work. Usually white collar CI’s avoid the gruesome bits.” 

A nervous chuckle passed his lips before he forced the mask of Neal back on. “You have to have a keen eye to locate forged paintings, so this is nothing too different. Though, I’m definitely trying to hold down the vomit on this one.” 

The man slowly nodded. “Special Agent Ed Barstow, I’m the one in charge of the operation.” He offered Dick his hand. “You can call me Barstow.” 

Dick took his hand and shook it. “Neal.” 

“I’ve heard about you.” Barstow smiled. “Though most are bad things.” 

“That depends on who you’re talking to. I’m actually quite the charmer.” Dick tilted his fedora down with a wink. 

“Organized Crime says you are a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” He moved past Dick and stared down at Arthur. “Every homicide just keeps getting stranger. Last week there was a vampire, now it’s some cult.” 

“Not a cult actually.” The woman (who Dick totally didn’t forget about) spoke up.

“Which is why we brought you on.” Barstow sighed. “Neal, this is Marge. She’s part of the Metahuman and Monsters sector.”

“My main focus is in the Avian-Human branch.” She looked down at Arthur and began peeling back the layers of clothing.

If Dick didn’t say his stomach churned as she did, then he’d be lying. “Really?” He asked, trying his best to sound interested.

“Yes. You can tell they’re Avian in nature from the suit, weaponry and physical characteristics.” Marge turned over his hand and pulled off the glove revealing the long sharp blackened claws underneath. 

When Dick was talonfied he gained the same mutations. The same dark claws, the same oddly shaped feet and the same cold golden eyes. Once the Electrum is flushed out of his system the only thing remaining is the claws and stupid feet. Of course specialized shoes and weekly nail care keeps him human looking. 

“It’s surprising that a whole branch is dedicated to these fuckers.” One of the agents shot over his shoulder. 

“I think it’s amazing,” Marge said. “An entire network of people with different customs and beliefs.”

“Have you ever met a live one?” Barstow asked.

“Sadly no.” She spun one of the throwing knives between her fingers. “If I did, it would be a breakthrough.”

If she met a living Talon she'd be slaughtered and eaten. No one met a Talon and lived to tell the tale. Or came out in one piece. Though, Dick liked the curiosity in her. It wasn’t often he met someone so interested in their work. Yet the idea of a talon mauling the poor woman brought dark images to his mind.

“I’m going to get some air.” Dick turned around and walked outside. Peter will be pissed, but right now the nausea was starting to set in and he couldn’t look at Arthur without wanting to throw up.

The stagnant air from earlier in the day had picked up and become a slight breeze. FBI agents roamed around doing their assigned tasks. Dick shuffled over to the curb and sat down. He took off his fedora and ran his fingers along the rim, breathing deeply. 

 A pang of sadness finally set in. He didn’t know Arthur on a personal level, but he knew him just enough. Just enough for there to be more grief than expected. The others didn’t know. If they did, Arthur’s body wouldn’t be in the government's hands. 

“Room for one more?” Marge hovered behind Dick. Her fingers fiddled with her latex gloves. 

“No one’s stopping you.” Dick shrugged as let out a long sigh. “Though I’m not sure it’s a good idea to sit next to me.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” She asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” A sly smile played across his face and he revealed Marge’s badge ID. “Never trust a con artist.”

A warm laugh bubbled out of Marge and Dick couldn’t help but smile wider. It’s been a while since someone has actually laughed with him. Since someone has really listened.

No, she was only charmed by him. This wasn’t her caring for him. People weren’t like that. They weren’t like him.

“Maybe, get a zipper pocket. I find it’s harder to pick pockets that require more steps to open.” He offered her badge back and let her take it back.

Her nicely trimmed nails grazed his hand and he couldn’t help but admire them. Then again, he couldn’t help but admire her. She seemed so… inquisitive. Maybe even someone who could be a good friend.

“Neal, there you are.” Peter crossed his arms. “Come on, I found the paintings.” 

Marge gave him a tilt of her head and a silly smile. Dick stood up, matched her smile and followed Peter back into the warehouse. His smile quickly fell as he walked after Peter. 

He stared blankly at the back of his neck and began compartmentalizing the death that was crawling its way back into his thoughts. Batman taught him when on the job he needed to put personal emotions on the back burner. Home was the time to let it out, not the field. 

The artifacts were the real deal. They were surprisingly familiar with their gold trim and leather handles. It only took a second to figure they weren’t forgeries. Somehow he managed to keep his persona up. Though, the cracks were there. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. 

William had a solo mission in France and decided to drop the parliament onto him. Now he was babysitting forty-ni… forty-eight talons. They spent the nights on his balcony and roof. Some of them had found their way inside and created a nest out of his blankets and pillows. 

Or maybe it was because the anniversary of his parents death was soon. The day after Mothers Day was when his parents took the fall. The number changed every year, but the day was still the same. That could be it. 

He thanked whatever god existed that Peter had lighted up on impromptu visits. He couldn’t deal with him coming in on those vulnerable moments.

He was also thankful Moz was out on a trip in Blüdhaven following a lead on one of his wild conspiracy theories.

The parliament was going to be angry when the news came in. It was going to get dangerous and people were going to be in trouble. 

“Angent Burke.” 

Peter looked up from his file and Dick turned his head. “Agent Barstow.” 

“Those paintings are somehow related to our case, one of the higher ups said we’ll be working together.” He put his hands on his hips and smiled. “Maybe I can use Neal here to help. He’s quite the detective.” 

Peter looked unimpressed. “He stays with my team.” 

“Right.” Barstow cleared his throat and slowly made his way back to where Arthur lay. 

Once Peter was nose deep in the file prattling on about the case, Dick slipped away and stood beside Barstow. Arthur was now in a body bag, his dead eyes closed, almost making it look as if he were only sleeping. Marge was back, taking some final pictures before the bag was zipped up halfway and left to wait for the right gear to move it. 

“You have a light?” Barstow asked. 

Dick pulled out a simple lighter from his chest pocket and handed it over. He didn’t smoke as often as he used to, but it was there in case the need to anxiously go through an entire pack overwhelmed him. Or if Jason or Konner hung out with him and wanted a smoke.

Barstow took out a flat candle and placed it at the head of the table, he lit it and gave the lighter back. Carefully he pulled out a white scarf with red trim, held the fabric under his chin and muttered a familiar phrase, “Akana mukav tut le Devlesa.” 

It was Lavari. A dialect under Vlax Romani. He’s heard it many times, mainly from the group in the more rough parts of Blüdhaven. 

His mother tongue was Angloromani or Pogadi chib, which meant it was an offshoot of Romani. It didn’t follow the same structure as Rromani ćhib, leaning more into English sentence structure.

However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand Vlax Romani. He spent many months learning from the older Roma folk in that part of Blüdhaven, and was too stubborn to forget it.

The phrase itself was one of mourning and involved helping the dead depart more peacefully. Dick didn’t have any red on him so he opted for pulling out his white handkerchief and held it between his fingers. He didn’t exactly need to hold it, but he felt Daj would have wanted him to be more protected.

The two stood in silence and occasionally Barstow muttered another prayer. At one point Peter awkwardly stood next to Dick and stared warily at the body. With his free hand, Dick pulled out a quarter from his pocket and tossed it onto the body’s chest. Barstow gave a curious glance before fully closing the bag and leaving elsewhere.

“What was that about?” Peter asked.

“It was nothing. Let’s just go back to the bullpen.” Dick pocketed his handkerchief and left back outside. 

“You weren’t conning him were you?” Peter fell into stride beside Dick, his voice stern. “That man isn’t someone you should-

“Okay I get it!” Dick snapped. “Geez Peter, can you just lay off for a second and believe I’m not always going to do something criminal?” 

Peter stared for a long moment, his eyes wide with shock. Regret quickly washed away Dick’s anger and he went back to walking. Neal Caffery wasn’t quick to anger. He always brushed things off and teased. If he was losing his temper this easily, clearly it meant he was more than just tired.

Taking a few grounding breaths, he once again compartmentalized the emotions and plastered on his Neal-esque smile. “You know I’m just joking around Peter. There’s no need to go all cop on me.” He winked and strode toward the car.

Dick was almost in the car when the scream happened. It was ear splitting and not human. The beginning had been, yes, but the rest sounded like a very angry owl. Anger that wasn’t his own flared in his chest and the need to tear apart every agent here boiled cold under his skin. 

Holding his ears, he grit his teeth and looked across the street between two other warehouses. In the darkness a small talon bolted out and into the daylight. Her sword drawn and ready to kill. The symbol on her gold medallion indicated her rank as pawn and if he got a closer look he knew engraved on the edge of the flat circle would be the name Grey Son. 

She was the oldest “child” talon in his parliament. A twelve year old in mind and body. Cindy is what they called her. She doesn’t remember her given one. Her death was too traumatic to remember. 

In a rush of movement, Dick snagged Cindy by the back of her suit. Latched his fingers around the holster for her blade and held her up in the air. He kept her back firmly to his chest as she screeched and clawed at the sleeves of his blazer. Her sword clattered to the ground and those who weren’t paying attention finally joined in with the ones watching. 

Many of the agents from violent crimes had their guns drawn and raised at her. It wouldn’t do much to keep her back. Even if all of them had good aim and were able to hit her, she’d still manage to kill them all. Dick was the only reason they weren’t bleeding out. He was the highest ranking in the parliament and only lost that rank when William took over. Every talon within it answered and listened to him. Cindy could easily slit his throat, but she didn’t.

His own instincts were fighting with his morality. The screeching brought it to the forefront of his mind. It wanted to join her and help gut them. The FBI weren’t the murderers though. They were only the ones with the body, not the ones who killed Arthur. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dick began to hum a soft tune. It was the same one he always whistled or hummed when he performed a trick or comforted a person. Usually there were lyrics to accompany it, but right now he only hummed. 

Blood soaked through his sleeves and made his arms slick. Cindy’s claws dug deeper into his flesh, but surely enough her screeching died and became small lamenting chirps. 

“My god! That’s a living Avian!” Marge pushed past the agents and trotted over. “There’s no need to point your guns at it! I got this under control,” she said.

Something about the way she approached made the Dick’s skin crawl. Protectively, he slotted Cindy beside him and held her against his hip. Her claws wrapped around his arms and squeezed. Forcibly getting her off would take the act of breaking her fingers, so Dick just let her hold onto him. When she is ready to let go, she’ll let go.

“You must be my good omen Neal!” Marge exclaimed. 

“Neal, you better put that thing down.” Peter cautiously stepped forward.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to.” Dick tugged at his confiscated arm as a demonstration. 

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course not. It’s never that easy with you.” 

Dick smiled awkwardly and for (hopefully) the final time today trekked to the car. He opened the back door and sat down. Cindy curled into him and rested her head on his shoulder. The chirps had faded into light breaths. 

Marge hopped into the passenger seat. She turned to face them with a stupid grin and pointed a camera at Cindy. Dick forced his lips together and put on a neutral expression. If he bared his teeth and screeched it would not be a good idea. Especially to someone he found was actually well attentioned.

At one point on the car ride Marge had begun chatting away about the fantastic ‘Avians’ and all the interesting things they could do. 

A lot of it was false. She believed they were born like this. That they had colonies under the city and lived peacefully. Personally, Dick thinks Marge should go pull her head out of her ass and actually look at all the weapons they carry. 

What a rude thought. 

“…. Not to mention they most likely had wings at one point!” Marge walked just behind Dick. 

Dick has seen some talons with wings. It was a work in progress and only aided in gliding. They were too small and the muscle points weren’t in the right places. Many of those talons just ripped them out on their own from how painful and annoying it was. 

“I wonder if they can speak like us? Oh isn’t this exciting?” She leaned close to Dick in the elevator and cooed at Cindy. If Cindy was awake, she’d have torn her throat out by now.

“Very.” Dick was way too close to losing it. Not because of her necessarily, but from the gripping protectiveness that latched onto him like a vice.

By the time the elevator door opened, Dick was ready to break Batman’s no kill rule. He rushed out and popped into a meeting room where one was taking place. It was about a case he didn’t care about, but it seemed better than listening to Peter or Marge at the moment. 

Dick sat down next to Diana who did a double take at who was in his arms. Cindy had woken up and was staring at her with a tilted head. The person giving the meeting, Hughes, rambled on. Not taking notice of Dick and his companion. Or he saw and was too done with Neal’s shit to care. 

Diana leaned forward and whispered, “Neal. Why do you have a kid in a Halloween costume?” 

“It’s a long story.” Dick pulled down Cindy’s mask and handed her over to Diana. “Can you watch her for a bit? I have stuff to do.”

“What?” Diana held Cindy with ease, but looked extremely confused.

“Thanks.” 

He sped out of the meeting room while Diana hissed a very frustrated, “Neal!”

The bullpen was even more cramped when Dick found his way out of the meeting room. Agents from Violent Crimes and some people who were with Marge talked with the White Collar agents who were on their case. Which involved Peter and in tandem, one Neal Caffery.

“So this is most definitely bigger than we thought.” Barstow rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

“Where is the Avian anyway?” A man with wild hair asked. 

“Neal had it.” 

“Not anymore.” Dick stood beside Peter.

“Neal.” Peter narrowed his eyes.

“I gave her to Diana to look after for a bit. Besides, I need medical attention.” He pulled up his tattered sleeves revealing the deep claw marks and shredded skin.

“Shit, Neal!” Peter yelled.

Half the group began scrambling for medical supplies while the other half forced Dick into a chair. There was a lot of angry shouting and wild curses being thrown around. 

One trip to the hospital later, Dick was back in the office that was almost empty with forty stitches and tight bandages around his arms. He had been given a shirt from lost and found that was too itchy and tight. Cindy was back in his lap with her own clothes that were also pulled out of lost and found. Diana somehow managed to cut her claws and file them down. They were even a sparkly pink from nail polish that she kept in her bag to entertain kids.

Barstow, Diana, Peter, Jones, Marge and a few other agents from VC were still in the bullpen. Well, Peter was still here because he drove Dick to the hospital. They sat at the desks in silence with most of them eyeing Cindy. 

“So.” Jones cleared his throat.

“Anyone hungry?” Diana asked.

“Barstow, don’t you know a nice place we can go?” One of the agents asked.

He lifted his brow and narrowed his eyes. “Which place?”

“Y’know that Gypsy restaurant you talk about so often.” 

Dick bit his tongue and forced himself not to curse the man out. You can’t be Romani and mention your culture around gadjo’s without becoming the focal point of the conversation. 

“Ćhavo’s?” Barstow’s voice shook, but he kept the rest of his demeanour calm.

 “Yeah that! You talk about it all the time, so why don’t we go there?”

“I’ve never tried Gypsy cuisine before.” Jones joined in. Though he didn’t use the word like a slur. “Is it any good?”

“I grew up eating it, so yeah.” Barstow shrugged.

“Alright let’s go then.” Diana clapped her hands.

Oh boy, this was going to be a nightmare.

The minute Dick stepped inside the restaurant, he felt at home. The smell of it reminded him of his youth, when Daj would make those warm meals on cold days. It brought him back to the weeks Alfred spent learning to perfect every recipe in Daj’s book. The aroma of it always stayed in the house for weeks afterward.

“<Andrei, it’s been such a long time!>” An older man pulled Barstow into a firm hug. “<You’re doing well?>” He asked.

Dick recognized the dialect as Cerhari. It was more closely related to Lavari and was a form of Northern Vlax. He spent a year or so of his circus days travelling Hungary and loved meeting the Romani people there.

“<I’m fine.>” Barstow smiled. “<I brought some friends if you don’t mind.>”

“The more the merrier!" He switched to English and pulled away. “Please come! New faces are always welcome.” 

Cindy slowly slid out of Dick’s carry and began walking, her fingers carefully wrapped around his hand. At the booth she was given a colouring sheet and crayons which she carefully examined before giving Dick a curious glance. A smile and nod was all she needed from him before she gingerly began to colour.

It took a few moments before she gave Dick a crayon and twittered. He took the green crayon carefully and began colouring with her. Though it only lasted a few minutes before she angrily hooted and ripped the crayon out of his hand. She clearly didn’t like what he was doing.

“Since this is your first time, I’m thinking we will order the Family meal. We can pick multiple dishes in smaller portions and go from there.” Barstow tapped the menu’s front side. “I’ll pick what I think you'll like.”

Dick looked down at the menu he had been given and looked at it thoughtfully. Many of the dishes were from different regions with some he recognized as more associated with his own group Romanichal. The one that caught his attention the most was Hočiwiči. He bit his lip and stared at the word for a long time. 

He remembered when he tried making it the first time at the manor and nearly burned the oven down. It ended in tears from Dick and a patient Alfred gently reminding him he can try again with some extra help.

After a few minutes of settling in they were given Bodag as a starter. Dick had to refrain from immediately tearing into it and instead took a chunk and put it on a smaller plate for Cindy to try. 

He wasn’t sure whether or not she’d like it, but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to be picky. Thankfully he was right and she ate it relatively fast. Dick bit into his own piece and all of his problems melted away. The bread was that perfect texture and evenly spread with warmth. 

The drinks, Romano Cajo, were even better. He used to steal his parents' Cajo after he finished his on those scorching August days. Or in the winter when it was served hot. This one was chilled, but it still did the trick of bringing back the sense of nostalgia.

“Who knew Gypsies were good cooks?” An agent had finished the Cajo and was chewing on a piece of Bodag. 

“Just because my people are different from yours does not mean we are inferior in making home cooked meals,” Barstow said evenly.

“Was the candle also something part of your culture?” Peter asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“It was a smaller version of a mourning ritual. Lighting a candle and saying a prayer in someone’s death or just before is supposed to help them find their way into the afterlife.” He explained. “I may not have known the person, but everyone deserves to be mourned and grieved.” Barstow looked at Dick and smiled softly. “I’m glad you joined me in prayer.” 

Dick shrugged. “I don’t think it’s any fun to pray alone.” 

The group flitted off into silence once the food arrived and ate without much complaint. Dick enjoyed every part of the meal and helped Cindy understand how to properly use a fork. She didn’t listen much and ate with her hands and a knife.

Halfway through the meal, some of the employees came out onto the small stage and began singing. Their instruments and voices carried through the air and gave a warm ambience to the restaurant.

A few tables away, he noticed one of the waitresses struggling with carrying too many dishes. Dick quickly excused himself and strode over to her. He put on a small smile and gently took some of the load off by taking some of the dishes and balancing them on his arms.

“<Thank you.>” The waitress looked up and her eyes blew wide. “Oh, sorry I thought you were- no no, you don’t have to-

“It’s fine.” Dick laughed. “You looked like you needed help, so let me help.”

“This is my first day on my own. Usually I’m trailing behind one of my brothers.” She chuckled, and began moving to the kitchen. “I’m Daisy. She quickly flustered. “But you probably already knew that from my name… tag.” Daisy looked down at her shirt and her face became redder. “Or not.”

“Don’t worry, my first day of my job was way worse.” Dick used his foot to push open the swinging door. 

“Thank you.” 

The kitchen had four people inside moving about. One was an older woman with speckles of grey in her hair. Two of them were men that looked to be a few years older than Dick and a younger man washing the dishes had to be younger than Daisy. 

“<Csilla! Don’t start using customers as your help!>” The older woman scolded. 

“<Sorry Mom, I tried to stop him.>” Daisy set the dishes next to the sink followed shortly after by Dick.

“<Did our little sister find herself a boyfriend?>” One of the men asked with a wide smile.

“<Shut it József!>” Daisy stamped her foot. 

“<Twenty-seven, and she finally pulled.>” József laughed.

“<Go easy on her. Everyone knows she looks like a troll.>” The other man, stage whispered.

Angrily, Daisy kicked the man’s shines. “<Sándor! You jerk!>” 

“<Hes kind of right, it would be a miracle if you finally pulled. Especially the pretty boy over there.>” The youngest pointed at Dick.

“<No, he’s a non-Roma.>” The mother waved a pair of tongs around. “<We don’t need gadjo in this family!>”

“<Relax mom. Antal is just joking around!>” Sándor waved dismissively which earned a smack on the head.

Daisy slowly backed out of the kitchen with Dick in front. Once outside of the busy space she sighed. 

“As you can see my family is very chaotic.” She ran her hand through her hair.

“Probably not as bad as mine.” Dick smiled but quickly it became a grimace. He wondered if she'd seen anything. Mostly because his penthouse was pretty close around here. “I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Has there been any rumours of murders going around? Or anything that involves things being moved?” Dick asked.

The tension rolled off Daisy in waves. “Of course you ask me,” She spat. “Always asking the poor gypsy girl.” 

Dick’s eyes blew wide. “No no, I didn’t ask because you were-

“Have a good night.” Daisy turned around and left for the back.

Dammit. 

At the end of the meal, Dick decided to walk home. The restaurant was close and in his radius, but the look Barstow gave him after the father of Daisy came out and told him what happened was not a good one. 

Cindy followed close behind jumping in the shallow puddles from the rain that fell while dinner happened. She nearly screamed her lungs out when they tried making her go with anyone else. Peter looked ready to pass out when she glued herself to Dick. Diana only laughed while Jones snapped a photo.

More missing posters than usual lined the lamp post outside June's place. It only was two a week or so ago. Now it’s up to ten. The worst thing is it’s people society wouldn’t particularly miss.

The door clicked open and Dick crashed to the floor. Cindy carefully shut it behind them and scampered off to the bed where the rest of the parliament had most likely went in to hide from the rain.

A bath would be nice. 

Shakily, Dick got to his feet and made his way into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and put the plug into place. While the water warmed and filled the tub, he peeled off his clothes and wrestled out of his shoes. Usually he took them off at the front, but the exhaustion from today left him forgetful. The bandages were quickly discarded leaving scarred arms beneath. The stitches sat uncomfortably in the healed skin, but would eventually degrade on their own time. 

In the mirror, Dick stared at his face. He was paler than usual (though that didn’t mean much since he had lacked proper sunlight since entering jail) and a thin band of gold outlined his pupils. A sign that his above average healing had worked (other than the actual healed arms showing it, that is).

Hot water worked out the aches in his muscles and allowed exhaustion to set itself into his bones. This was the time he finally allowed his compartmentalism to crack and fall apart. 

First it was the anger. The horrible anger that always sat just below the surface. Dick bit down on his hand and let out a muffled scream. It was inhuman and loud. He screamed and bit until his throat was raw and the blood pooling in his mouth, rapidly flowing past his lips, dripped off his chin. 

Then, the lamentment came. It formed into tears that fell down his face and disgusting snot that plugged up his nose. It became ugly rib rattling sobs which wracked his body and shook his usually strong frame. 

He didn’t know Arthur well. He probably misunderstood him more than not and most likely ignored him. Yet, he let him die. Dick’s one job was to keep every talon safe and accounted for, but somehow he let one out of his sight and they died because of it. 

Dick wondered if Arthur died scared. If his final breath was one of fear because he knew he’d never see the others. Or was it peaceful? To finally die and move on from this cruel world. 

Whatever the feelings were, he died alone and Dick grieved for him.

Chapter Text

The dark hallway stretched on. Every time he got close to the end, there was a shift and he was back at the start. Dick’s boots thunked against the ground, echoing down the silent hall. His eyes glanced sidelong at the dancing shadows, watching as they flew past and traced the granite and limestone.

His suit moved along his skin like sludge and the blue of its crest glowed faintly. The little light cast the floor in a pale light that soon became a sickly yellow. Cold air nipped his nose and sent shivers down his spine.

Every nerve buzzed with a sense of fear, his legs trembling with each step. Hot breath blew on his back as the creature prowled behind him.

“Look at me,” Its sultry voice whispered in his ears.

Dick ignored it and kept moving. Rain pattered just behind the walls and helped ease the trembling.

“Look at me.” Its claws dug into his shoulders, drawing blood.

His footsteps thunked against the ground, echoing down the hall.

“Look at me!” It snarled, shoving him forward.

The shadows scrambled to the furthest parts of the ceiling and walls, their once elegant dances, turned to terrified shaking.

“LOOK AT ME!” The creature put its entire weight on Dick and forced him onto the ground. Asphalt filled his nose as he pushed against the force. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed heavily.

The creature screeched and clawed at his back, tearing it open and eating away at his suit.

“Get off! Get the fuck off!” Dick pushed back as he cried out in frustration. “Get off!”

The ceiling stared back at him in the early morning. The warm bodies of the talons pressed against him like a shield from the outside world. Some of them twitched and chirped in their sleep while others snuggled closer.

The rain outside thundered down and tore against the glass of the window. The wind howled and took the rest of his thoughts with it.

Chapter Text

March 4th, 2010. Four days before the anniversary.

“Hello?” Dick picked up the phone off the wall. He held it firmly between his shoulder and cheek while he cut a few strawberries.

“Chum?” Bruce’s baritone voice crackled through the line. From the sound of all the voices and shushing on his end, multiple people were in his house, probably having family breakfast.

“Hey Dad, what's up?” Moving the phone to his other ear, Dick put the berries in his cereal and walked over to the couch.

“I wanted to let you know I’m coming into town for a few days and was hoping maybe we could set up a time to visit.”

“That’d be great!” A wide smile stretched across his face. “What day are you thinking of?”

“This Sunday. Can I come over for lunch?” Bruce asked. “I was wanting to keep you company before Monday.”

“You don’t have to ask, B.” Dick laughed. “You’re always welcome.”

“I- right. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, love you.” Dick hung up and began eating.

Cindy appeared next to him and quietly curled close. Dick ruffled her hair and picked up the remote. Another talon hopped over the back of the couch and squatted next to Dick. This one went by Beck.

Dick turned on the TV and flicked to a channel playing morning cartoons. Beck twittered happily and Cindy chirped loudly in his ear.

After breakfast, he got ready for work. He put on a casual tux and carefully slid the molding bands over his feet. Without them his toes definitely would not stay together and most likely rip every pair of socks and shoes he wore. Oh the joys of having feet that looked like an owl’s.

Trying to get Cindy in something similar was a nightmare. She squirmed and screeched vehemently.

“Come on- hold- ow!” Dick put his finger in his mouth to smother the pain. “Seriously?”

Cindy chirped innocently and padded off. Beside him a talon chortled.

“Oh shut up, George!” He slapped the talon's shoulder gently and went after Cindy.

“Get over here!” Dick held a pair of shoes in one hand while using the other to try and grab her. “I can’t let you go without them!”

This only got a hoot from her as well as a knife embedded in the wall behind him. He looked at it and turned around exasperated. “Oh come on! This isn’t even my house!” He dove for Cindy and grabbed her ankle. “Gotcha!”

After another thirty minutes of fighting to remove every sharp object from Cindy’s person, he carried her screaming and kicking to Peter’s car. She made a clicking noise as she was seated in the back seat and crossed her arms. Dick hopped into the front and fastened his seatbelt, but not before giving her a death glare.

Peter pulled out onto the street and began the commute to work. Oddly enough he didn’t say anything. Usually a conversation would have started by now.

“Good morning to you too.” Dick teased, adjusting his fedora.

“You need to apologize to Barstow,” Peter said curtly.

“What?” Dick bristled, his eyes narrowed.

“Look, I understand other people's cultures can be hard to understand, but to target someone of a different ethnicity because of stereotypes is beyond disrespectful.” His eyes looked towards Dicks’s and gave a disappointed glare.

“You think I targeted her?” Disbelief washed over him and his fists clenched tightly.

Peter stayed silent, his face contorted into frustration .

“Oh don’t give me the silent treatment now!” Dick threw his hands up in the air and glared at him for the rest of the ride.

When they were finally in the parking lot Peter said, “Gypsies are like you and me. To use her for questioning because she might know something shady, is wrong Neal.” He pulled into a parking spot quickly and stopped abruptly.

Dick opened his door and left for the building. Anger flared hot in his chest as he strode to the stairwell doors. With more force than he should have used, he threw it open and gripped the railing. His body shook as he forced himself to breathe.

This wasn’t what he wanted to spend his time undercover doing. Getting angry at a petty misunderstanding was a stupid thing to do, and something he could not afford. What Peter said about Roma and Gadjos being the same, however. It brought that anger back. Sure they were all people, but Peter, even without realizing it, treated them like they were some sort of saints who could do no wrong.

Bruce had told him years ago that discrimination, like everything in this world, has two extremes.

The first extreme was from the bigots; They were the ones who deemed the minority as inferior and of lesser importance. Always somehow finding a way to push their ideologies onto them and dictate the others’ choices.

The second extreme was from the far reaching activists; They were the ones who deemed the minority as pure and nothing except for benevolent. Like the bigots, they put the minority into a group and used one person as the marker for how they should be perceived and treated. Most of the time they used misinformation without realizing it, just to prove a point.

What was so ironic about it was how both were two sides of the same coin.

Dick met people like him who were cruel and scum, but he’s also met those who were your everyday people. He recognized the grey area. In no way did he quote un-quote “target” Daisy to get information because she was a Romni. He asked her a question because it came to mind that she was a waitress in a restaurant and it wasn’t uncommon for workers in any sort of store to overhear things.

Yet, he probably should have asked the question in Romani to ease her suspicion and assumption of racism.

Sighing heavily, Dick finally shook himself out of his angry stupor and trekked up the stairs and to the bullpen. Once at the door he fixed his hair and took one final grounding breath before stepping inside.

The walk down the hall to the bullpen was quieter but the destination itself was not.

VC had returned from yesterday and were moving in and out of one of the larger meeting rooms. Marge had set up shop with a few of her own colleagues. Jones was running between stations with different forms and equipment. Peter had obviously got there before Dick and was in his office looking very ticked off. Lastly, Diana sat on Dick’s desk with Cindy kneeling on the floor, patiently waiting for a task.

“There you are,” Diana said, eyeing Dick with annoyance. “Peter came up with her and she immediately went to me and I have no idea what to do to make her stop staring at me like that.” She gestured to Cindy’s soul piercing gaze.

“Yeah she does that sometimes.” Dick scooped her up which he then received a surprised chirp. “Thanks for watching her.”

“I don’t exactly think I had a choice.” Diana cracked her neck, but made no move to get up off his desk.

Sitting down, Dick booted up the computer and tapped his finger as it loaded on the homepage. As he waited he took notice of Diana’s gaze. It was more so a side eye at an attempt to look discrete, but nonetheless a gaze.

“Okay, what did I do this time?” Dick huffed.

“You know, using someone as a witness solely because of their ethnicity is wrong, right?”

If there was a competition for most exasperated sighs in a day, Dick would have a gold medal. “Look, I asked her a question and I specifically mean one, because I thought since she was a waitress she may have heard something most people don’t hear.” Dick rubbed his temples. “If we were in the most American restaurant to exist I would have asked the same thing!”

Diana pursed her lips. “You’re positive?”

“What part of that explanation do you not understand?” Dick deadpanned.

“You still should apologize to Barstow.”

Groaning, Dick looked up at the ceiling and slouched further down his chair. “I will get to that.”

After a final wary look from Diana, she left and went to join VC and their evidence gathering. He had a feeling she wasn’t convinced and still thought he was some raging racist. What will it be next, a transphobic asshat? The thought made him snort.

Cindy wrestled off her shoes and pulled off her socks with a look of “I’m not doing anything suspicious”. She clicked and whistled before jumping off Dick and slinking away to explore. He hoped all the kitchen knives she tried taking were not on her person and safe at home.

Before Dick was able to actually use his computer, a large stack of papers were slammed on his desk. One of the agents then took the computer off his desk and ripped away the keyboard and mouse.

“Hey!” Dick got up, spun around and stood inches away from a very angry looking Peter.

“You put this on yourself, remember that.” He handed Dick a box of more paper. “You get to file this month's reports. Be glad I didn’t ask for your radius to be cut down.”

If he could, he’d throw himself out the window, but the court wouldn’t like all of Dick’s hard work at weeding out the other stupid league cult thingy spies to become moot. Not to mention he’d most likely be gutted and turned into a shish kebab for a week. Though now that he thought about it, maybe having a sharp metal rod up his ass and out his mouth wouldn’t be as bad as filling all this paperwork.

Dick decided to sit down and begin the gruelling task of writing by hand, though not without taking a contemplative look toward the window.

It was after lunch when Dick was finally allowed to take a break. He had a hunch it was after everyone else’s because they didn’t want to see him in the break room. Well, screw them because he didn’t even head for the break room. Instead it was an empty room with Cindy. She kept herself busy by chasing his elastic ball around.

Dick took a bite from the bagel he bought and watched her in the dark space. He had purposely chosen a room with no windows to simulate the dark catacombs the talons roamed in Gotham. Even without the Electrum in his bloodstream at the moment, Dick still had better eyesight in the dark than most people. It was most likely from Gotham being cast in dark clouds ten months out of the year and his nightly activities.

A knock on the door drew him to his senses. It opened and Marge walked in with a notepad, pen and camera. She blinked a few times before fishing out a reading light and sitting next to Dick. He watched her carefully before bringing his attention back to Cindy who was throwing the ball as hard as she could at the wall without putting a hole in it.

“I’ve been following her around all day. She’s like a little ball of energy.” Marge giggled to herself and jotted down some notes on the already full page. “Though, she’s taken quite the liking to you and Agent Berrigan.”

“Well, I have been told I’m a wonderful presence.” Dick gave his Caffery smile and finished his bagel.

Marge frowned. “You know, I think I’ve noticed something weird about you.”

Dick blinked at the comment. “What’s that?”

“You have this persona always on around everyone. I saw it with the others and I saw it with me.” She tilted her head. “However, you let it slip yesterday with Barstow and today when Diana talked to you about the restaurant.”

“I don’t know what you’re-

“Even with the waitress.” She interrupted. “Your smile looked more… genuine.”

A moment of silence passed between them with only the sound of the ball bouncing filling the room. Finally, Dick dropped his smile.

“Were you a shrink before you were an agent?” He laughed halfheartedly, eyes fixed to the ground.

“I study behaviours of different animals and people, it isn’t hard to tell when someone is putting on a display.” She closed her notepad. “Though I have a feeling you are usually a lot more careful at keeping it intact.”

“I think this case is taking a toll on me.” Dick picked at his nail beds. “Even if I’m not really part of it.”

“You’re a good man, Neal. I hope you know that.” Marge patted his shoulder before leaving the room.

Dick watched her leave and wished that conversation went longer so he wouldn’t have to go back to work.

Said work brought him all the way to the end of Peter’s shift with still another box of files to go (those fills were given to him after his break). Now he shuffled to the car dragging Cindy by the ankle along with him. She refused to stand and decided being a dead weight was better.

During the car ride back to June's place, Dick remained silent. He sat in the back seat with Cindy and ran his hand through her hair gently. She yawned and nestled close to him. It had probably been a long time since she actually slept for longer than five hours. Then again talons didn’t particularly need a lot of sleep. Just enough to prevent themselves from passing out from overexercion.

“Look Neal, I know sometimes it can be difficult to change your point of view.” Peter began, his eyes catching his own in the review mirror. “You’re stubborn. I of all people know that, but please try and see from our perspective? Or at least Barstow’s.”

Dick turned his head to watch the world pass, and gave a small nod. There was no point in arguing with a person set in their ways. That's what Jason told him when they were younger. Or maybe it was him? No definitely Jason. God he missed him. Maybe he’d give him a call tomorrow.

Peter stopped the car and put it into park and stepped outside. Dick sighed and followed him up the steps with Cindy limp in his arms. The keys in Peter’s hand jingled as he opened the door to Dick’s penthouse.

It was cleaner than when he left it. The bedroom light was off, casting that part of the penthouse into darkness. His clothes had been neatly folded and left stacked on the bed. The kitchen was much cleaner and the couch itself looked like it had been vacuumed. Even the pillows were fluffed.

Another thing to note was the silence. Not even a shuffle of a foot. William must have finished his mission early and picked the parliament up. His attention went to the light under the hallway door. Maybe he was still here and was waiting for Cindy. Another part of his brain whispered Arthur along with her name.

Peter rummaged through the apartment, opening and closing drawers and searching under the couch and other furniture for anything suspicious. Dick tried his best to ignore the rising frustration and put Cindy down on his bed.

Dick stood at the threshold of the bedroom as his eyes followed Peter making one final sweep. These were the moments he didn’t like the man. The routine check-ins were sporadic and unwelcome. This was supposed to be the one place where he could let his walls down be Dick Grayson. Not Neal Caffery.

Finally, Peter looked satisfied enough and gave a halfhearted goodnight before walking out the door and closing it behind him. The lock clicked as the key turned it and the receding footsteps allowed Dick’s shoulders to slump.

A heavy presence hovered behind him and long claws tilted his head back and examined his face. Dick looked up into William’s goggles and at golden eyes. They were cold and void of any emotion. If there was one person who was the perfect talon it was him.

“Where is your tenth rook?” He asked calmly.

Dick took a deep breath before answering. “Dead.”

The word hung in the air and sent a cold shiver down his spine. A single claw dug deep into his lower jaw and raked up the side of his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound, but Dick remained still. If he flinched he was very much a dead man.

“Dead?” William cocked his head to the side. A cold chuckle rumbled out of his chest as he tugged Dick’s head further back. His muscles strained against the pull and his trachea felt as if it would snap in two. “Now this is odd. A talon should not be dead.” The tip of his claw tapped the centre of Dick’s throat. “Why is it, a talon is dead?”

“I’m working on it.” Dick swallowed the tremble in his voice.

“Let’s hope you figure it out by tomorrow.” The claw pressed into his skin and Dick grabbed the dagger in William’s side belt.

As he dragged his gold cased claw across Dick’s skin, he pulled away and drove the dagger into the other’s shoulder. Both stepped back and stared at one another. William stood unphased at the weapon embedded in his flesh while Dick held his neck to prevent the blood from spilling out onto the floor.

“I shall take the Pawn and then take my leave. I promise you no harm comes to it as it is not responsible for the parliament.” William pulled the knife from his shoulder and disappeared back into the darkness of the bedroom.

Dick rushed across the penthouse to the bathroom and collapsed into the bathtub. Blood gushed from the wound and slowly circled the drain. Through blurry vision, he watched as William turned on the faucet and put the temperature to its hottest setting. The scalding water splashed down onto his torso.

“So you won’t fully turn.” William turned and left, leaving him alone to bleed out in the tub.

He choked on the blood as it bubbled up into his mouth. The coppery taste filled his nostrils as he turned onto his stomach. The hot water thundered against his back forcing his body to maintain its heat. In turn it prevented the electrum from fully activating and healing his neck quickly.

For hours he floated in a strange feeling of peace and terror. His heart would give out and the electrum would rapidly spread, then the heat would kick in, jumpstart his heart and force his cells to regrow what they lost. Over and over he died and came back.

Finally, the water ran cold and his heart stopped.

Chapter Text

The dark hallway was narrower than before. The thunk of his boots changed to squelching as the ground grew soft. Iron and copper burned in his nose and sat heavily on his tongue. It took more effort to walk as each foot sunk deeper into the slimy ground.

The warm gelatinous meat crawled up to his waist and clung to his suit. He waded through, trekking on and not daring to look behind him.

The walls changed and melted into moving muscle like that of a pair of lungs being inflated. Gurgling of those suffocating in the walls were harrowing and made vomit crawl up Dick’s throat.

He had to keep going, he had to make it to the end.

“Don’t you remember?” The creature asked, its heavy steps sent ripples into the thin layer of liquid.

Desperately, Dick used his hands to claw his way faster through the rotten, melting flesh around him. It was warm and sticky against his bare skin.

“Why do you refuse to remember?”

A pounding migraine split his head open and thick black liquid poured from his nose and mouth. The taste of tar and iron made him pause and gag into the flesh around him. It squirmed and raised to his chest. He forced his arms above his head and kept moving.

“You know what killed him.”

The ceiling above tore open and cold acid poured down into the narrow hall. It burned through his skin and froze his veins. Pain ignited in his chest and suddenly it became hard to breathe. He choked and gasped, clawing at his throat.

“It’s your fault he’s dead!” The creature screamed in his ear.

He sunk deeper, it squirmed under his chin and pulled him down down down. Just before he was fully encased he saw its face. A twisted grin that stretched wider than it should. Its golden eyes, too tiny for its head and teeth far too big for its mouth. Then it opened its mouth and screamed.

“YOU KILLED HIM!”

Dick opened his eyes and shivered. The sunlight filtered in through the opaque window and stung his eyes. Electrum tasted bitter on his tongue while red and black stained the tub.

The cold water on his back washed the fading nightmare down the drain leaving only cotton and fuzz behind.

Chapter Text

March 5th, 2010. Three days before the anniversary.

There wasn’t much time to get ready. Dick had to rush turning off the water, cleaning himself and changing his clothes all the while skipping breakfast;

As he grabbed his dirty clothes to chuck in the trash, nausea set in. The world spun after a not so eloquent step and he finally realized most of his body lacked blood and was steadily filling with electrum. His fingernails had grown to long sharpened points and his canines were like thick dull knives in his mouth.

Stumbling to the mirror, Dick stared at his reflection. The veins under his skin were black while his skin looked a sickly grey. His eyes were almost completely golden with only a little of the blue at the irises edge.

A deep bone chilling shiver wracked down his spine.

It was so cold.

Quickly, Dick reached into his drawer and pulled out a container with two contacts inside. They were made to look exactly like his eye colour and as comfortable as contacts could get. After cutting his nails, he put the contacts in and carefully put on a special polish to change his nail colour to the regular pink that normal ones had.

While he cut the claws on his toes he boiled a kettle of water. He put on his warmest socks and slid on a well fitted tank top with a lining that could heat up. Afterward, similar pants and compression socks were fitted on. Once they were adjusted to his liking, he put on the warmest tuxedo and styled his hair rather gingerly.

Once the water boiled, he poured it into a large ceramic bowl with a soft rag. Wringing it out, he placed it on his face and lay on the couch until Peter arrived. Slowly, more blood filled his veins and the electrum loosened.

What a night. He really hoped it wouldn’t happen to him again.

Before he left for the car he looked in the mirror one more time. His face had regained its colour and the dark colour in his veins had faded.

Peter did not look happy. He glared at Dick with more venom than he’s ever seen before and it frankly made him uncomfortable.

“Where’s the girl?” He asked curtly.

“One of her friends appeared on my deck and took her.” Dick shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Oh.” Peter grit his teeth and finally began driving.

“Okay, what did I do this time?” Dick asked after a moment.

“You still haven’t apologized, and the owners from the restaurant want to have a chat with you.” He stopped at the light and waited for it to turn green. “After work I’m taking you there to apologize to them and before you fill out any more files, you will tell Barstow you're sorry for what you did.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but didn’t object. He didn’t have time to be petty, not with the looming threat from William hanging over him.

“We have a lead on the murder case,” Peter said.

“Oh?” Dick turned to face him with a look of interest, though fear is what clenched tightly to his soul. If it was anything guiding them to Gotham or to the real truth about the court than it would be ve-

“Barstow said they were able to get compounds in the victims blood. Though we still need to separate it with the drugs,” He explained.

“I’m guessing it would have been easier if we had the girl?” Dick asked, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

“Yes.”

Sighing, Dick looked out the window. “Great.”

At the bullpen, VC had set up a board with all the current evidence and leads on one of the walls hidden from public view.

Dick examined the sheet of paper with the blood compounds. He took his time reading them out and noting which was which. The issue was he didn’t know what strand of venom was used for the electrum.

Wally would probably know. The only issue is Wally didn’t know of the mission he was on. He could just send it to him and ask for a decryption. What a conversation that would be.

“Hey Wally, I know it’s been almost five whole years since we talked. Could you work your forensic magic and figure out these compounds for me? Thanks!”

Yeah no, that’s off the table. Looks like he was going to do it the old fashioned way; with a pen and paper.

Dick grabbed some scrap paper from his desk and a pen from his cup full of writing utensils. He sat down on a table next to the board and began writing the compound as a whole. This was simple science. Know the elements and you're fine.

The easiest to separate was surprisingly the paralytic drug. It used simple formulas and was similar to succinylcholine (a type of drug administered by an anesthesiologist before surgery), though much stronger. It also appeared to have an extra chemical in it that prevented the electrum from dissolving it. By the look of it, it had to be mercury.

For some god awful reason, mercury was one of the few elements that could prevent a talon from healing quickly. It slowed down the system and only flushing the body completely with cold electrum could return their body to ‘normal’.

With the paralytic drug out of the way, he focused on the electrum itself. By finding the venom compound and what goes into electrum (and the small amount of lazurus water, how the fuck do you think it works?) It was easy to break it down and figure out the drug that actually killed Arthur.

“That’s a lot of numbers and letters.” Jones peered down at the paper Dick was writing on. “What are you doing anyway?”

“I’m figuring out what killed the victim.” Dick stared at the formula with a scrutinized look.

“Woah, mercury in the paralytic drug?” Jones leaned down and pulled the paper away from Dick. “How the fuck is that not the thing that killed him?”

“Look what’s in his blood.” Dick pointed to the charts he made with the compounds.

“How do you know that’s in the blood?” Jones asked, disbelief firm in his voice.

“There are high traces of metals found in the bloodstream in this specific compound.” He pointed at his notes under the chart.

“Didn’t think you were a science whiz.” Clinton handed the paper back. “You gonna show Peter?”

“Barstow is leading this portion of the case, so I’ll show him.” Dick separated the formulas in the lethal drug compound.

Wait a minute. He recognized this drug. The only difference was the cyanide, but everything else he knew intimately. This was the same drug he used to quickly force electrum out of the blood.

Bruce had created a rough version after he helped him escape the court. Later on he refined it with the help of Barry.

This was bad. How could someone know the compound? The only files on it were with Bruce, Barry and him. Shit. Someone must have stolen it from him. But how?

“Hey Neal, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost man.” Jones waved his hand in front of his face.

“Y-yeah I’m fine. Sorry, I just got lost in thought.” Dick stood up and left to find Barstow.

As he did, he couldn’t help but wonder who found it? June wouldn’t take it and Mozzie sure as hell knew personal boundaries to an extent. Did Peter take it under suspicion and lose it? How on earth could he have found it?

Once further down the hall, a strange ringing echoed in his ears. No, not ringing. A call. A talons call to be exact. It was weird and not a regular chirp or twitter. Something about it sounded off. Dick looked around and once finding no one was around he let out a low whistle.

The chittering paused and the hall grew quiet. Dick tilted his head and chirped.

Then it grew louder. And louder. And louder. Until it filled his ears and buzzed in his brain. Until a weird feeling with the need to do something overcame him and a horrible agonizing cold washed over him.

He blinked.

“Neal? What are you doing here?” Diana asked.

Dick looked up and realized he was no longer in the hall he had been in before. The modern plant pots and bland walls indicated he was on the ground floor. What the hell? A wave of sudden cold washed over him and his teeth chattered.

“Are you okay?” She asked, taking a tentative step forward.

“I-I’m fine, j-just a little… little cold s’all.” He smiled awkwardly and tried walking around Diana to get to the elevator. Unfortunately, it ended with him stumbling into the wall and crashing to the floor.

“Woah, okay I don’t think you’re fine.” She grabbed Dick’s bicep and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you to the nurses office and get you warmed up.”

“S-so-sorry. Di-didn’t think this'd happen.” Dick blew into his hands.

“You better not be sick.”

“F-fuck off.” Dick’s laugh was cut short from the oncoming dizziness and horrible nausea. “Sh-shit.”

Diana grabbed a nearby garbage can and threw the lid open. God she was a savior. If there was one thing he wasn’t expecting it was to be throwing up in a trash can while Diana kept him from falling into it.

While throwing up his guts he couldn’t get one question out of his mind. How the hell did he get down here?

His heartbeat thundered in his chest and his blood pressure seemed as if it had dropped to the floor. Shivers wracked through his body like unrelenting tidal waves. Every muscle stiffened and cramped. If he died here and now, he’d lose his ever lasting shit.

At some point he was only dry heaving into the garbage can. His body had warmed to a normal temperature and sweat dripped down the side of his face. The strength returned and he finally stopped.

“You good?” Diana’s hands hovered hesitantly around Dick’s shoulders.

“Mhm, yeah I’m fine now.” Dick grimaced, but forced it to look somewhat like a smile.

“Maybe you should go home, Neal,” She said.

“No, it’s fine. I promise you that was just a fluke.” Dick reassured her.

Diana didn’t look convinced, but she only sighed and nodded. “Okay, but I’m sticking by you so that doesn’t happen again!”

A genuine smile replaced his forced one. “Thanks Diana.”

Halfway up the elevator, did Dick realize his compound sheet was gone. He tried to swallow the flare of anxiety and not freak out in the elevator.

The most logical answer was he must have dropped it somewhere. Besides it wasn’t too big of a deal he could just remake it.

“Diana?”

“Hm?”

“Can I borrow your computer?”

“Why?” Diana narrowed her eyes.

“I made something that could help you guys with this case, but wanted to make it legible.” He shrugged.

When the elevator door opened, she said, “Make it fast.”

That’s all he needed to sprint across the bullpen, over to Diana’s desk, boot up the computer and begin typing everything out. After scanning through multiple times and checking his work, he printed out two copies. One for him and one for the case.

It was a miracle it took Peter this long to finally notice that Dick wasn’t at his desk doing his work.

“Neal.” Peter crossed his arms and watched as Dick took the printed paper off the printer.

“Peter.” A lazy smile crossed his face and he strolled up to him.

“Why aren’t you at your desk?”

“Found something you might like for the case.” Dick waved the papers in front of Peter.

He squinted at Dick and frowned, but intrigue sat openly on his face. “Let’s see what you have.”

Dick’s smile grew wider.

“Okay so here’s what we have.” Dick began writing out the formulas on the whiteboard. He was thankful most of the meeting rooms had these. Especially since an entire room of people would not be able to see his paper. “These two compounds are the ones I’m going to focus on.” He pointed to the drug based formulas. “This one is simple,” -he tapped the firm end of the dry-erase marker against the board: (Hg)C14H30N2O4+2- “It’s a paralytic drug used to relax the muscles in our victim. The only difference is the mercury. I still don’t exactly know how they safely added it but I digress. However, it makes sense in the perspective of their blood.”

“How do you know which is the blood?” An agent asked.

“Easy. How much of what element is more in quantity.” Dick used an arrow to separate the formula for the blood in a different space. “Not to mention this piece here is some form of muscle enhancement.” He gestured to the venom compound and quickly jotted down a compound of the two formulas together: AgAuDi(C19H28O2)

“So, what killed them?” Jones asked.

“Cyanide.” The only formula Dick omitted was the entirety of the one Bruce and Barry created. It was better to show only the lethal part and hope no one has a science major in this room.

“That means we need to start by locating any illegal activity where cyanide is being trafficked.” Barstow spoke up. “Looks like we have our lead folks.”

Everyone got up and began forming groups. Dick stayed behind and used the time to put any useful (and non-suspicious) information next to the formulas. As he wrote, Barstow stood beside him. He was quiet and watched with mild interest.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Dick said after a moment, tapping the marker cap on the board.

“I’m not too sure about that.” Barstow sighed and Dick waited for him to finish his thought. “At first I was angry, but when I went home and talked with my wife, she insisted it was a misunderstanding. She did her best to make me realize sometimes questions are just questions and not every gadjo is a bigot.”

Dick snorted. “If the world was only men we’d all have burned it down by now.”

Barstow chuckled. “I think you’re right on that one.”

“Look, I’m still sorry if I offended you. I really was just asking for information, there was no malice behind it.”

“How about you apologize to my friends and you come over for dinner. My treat.”

“Sorry, I’m busy tonight.” Dick rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“Right, okay.” Barstow patted his shoulder and left.

“Looks like everyone’s starting to see what I see.” Marge popped up beside him with a warm smile.

“Ha, guess they are.” Dick put the marker down and leaned against the board with a relaxed demeanour. An odd sensation rolled over him, but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

“I noticed you dropped this. Though you were clearly trying to get somewhere that you didn’t hear me call for you.” Marge took out a sheet and unfolded it.

“My draft.” Dick looked at the compounds and notes with relief. “I was scared it got trashed.”

“That’s why I’m here.” She winked.

Dick lifted a brow with a teasing smile. Has she always been this beautiful? “What would I do without you?”

Marge giggled. “You know it’s usually the guy who asks the girl, but maybe we should go out for coffee sometime?”

A warm buzz flushed into his cheeks. “I think there’s probably something about power dynamics being wrong here, but you’ve already mixed up gender roles.”

“Shh, don’t let them overhear!” She put on a mask of faux worry and pressed her finger to his lips.

Dick gently grabbed her hand, tilted his head back and laughed. “Let’s do it tomorrow. Though it has to be within my radius.”

“Why not your place?” She suggested.

“Don’t you know that’s for the second date?” He ripped a piece of paper off the sheet and wrote down his address. “Just know my landlady is downstairs.”

“See you then.”

Dick blinked a few times as the sensation diminished. What on earth just happened? It was as if his tongue had moved all on its own. Such an odd thing.

Stepping into the hall, he huffed a sigh. Maybe he should finally take a look at what’s happening with Marge’s division.

The walk to the occupied room was quick. Well occupied by equipment and paper. It was vacant of any people. On a table closest to the window was Arthur’s suit. His stomach tightened into knots as he went up to it. Seeing it not filled out by him was chilling to say the least.

A hazy memory of large clawed fingers gently combing through his hair came to the forefront of his mind. Years ago Dick was just a child in the court. Maybe Arthur had cared for him in the way he did all child talons? He wished he could remember.

The suit was missing a lot of its pieces. Knives, daggers and poison tipped needles were long gone. Carefully, Dick picked the medallion up and ran his fingers along the engraved golden surface.

This was wrong.

This was very wrong.

Just as the anger under his skin began to bubble, a tap on the window drew him back to reality. Sitting on the ledge was Cindy.

“Hang on.” Dick unlocked the window and pushed it open.

Cindy squeezed inside and hopped onto the table. Her clawed fingers traced Arthur’s suit with a gentleness not commonly seen in talons. Small twitters passed her lips as she picked up the clothes and pressed them close to her masked face.

Dick put a gentle hand on her back and drew her into a side hug. She gratefully leaned in and cried softly in his arms.

“She has great empathy. I’d say almost too much.”

Dick glanced at the darkest corner of the room. William slunk out of the shadows and into the light.

“What do you want?” He spat.

“I’m making sure a mistake like this doesn’t happen again.” The golden claws covering Williams talons clicked against the floor as he walked. Unlike the other ranking Talons, he could afford to have such fancy things.

“How so?” Dick watched as he picked up Arthur's mask.

“This place is due for a cleaning.” William grabbed a box and set it next to the open window. “The others are taking back what are the court’s. I suggest you don’t stop us.”

Dick chuckled humourlessly. “Don’t get caught.”

Giving one final comforting squeeze to Cindy, he turned on the balls of his feet and left the room.

Out in the hall, Jones was busy examining the paintings and artifacts with a critical eye. He looked up from them and rested his hands on his hips.

“Any idea how they’re related to the avians?” Jones asked.

“Could be the owls.” Dick gestured to the disturbing portrait of a Great horned owl being gutted by a barn owl.

“How?”

“Ar- the victim looked like an owl and Marge said they’re called avians.” Dick shrugged.

“Huh. Weird.” Jones picked up one of the decorated knife hilts. “Those guys sure have money.”

Dick slipped one of the hilts into his pocket. “Mhm.”

“Bummer we haven’t found any finger prints.” Jones sighed. “The guy who wants them back. I wonder if he knows about the avians.”

“Yeah.” Dick looked up at Jones curiously. “Who was it that was missing the artifacts again?”

“Some guy named Scott Anderson.”

“Hm.” Dick hummed while thinking, Of course it’s that idiot.

“You good Neal? You look like you ate something sour.”

“It’s nothing, just remembered I left the fridge open at home.” Dick strode down the hall.

“Want me to let Peter know?” Jones called after.

“He’ll find me!” Dick shot a Neal-esque smile over his face, then he murmured, “he always does.”

It was actually a miracle Scott Anderson lived just inside his radius. Not that he couldn’t play a little game of slip of the anklet and see how long until Peter notices.

With his usual confidence, Dick walked into the building and up to the desk. A young lady looked up from her computer.

“Hello,” Dick said with a toothy smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Anderson?”

The lady gave an unimpressed look. Yet, she still picked up the phone and dialed a three digit number.

“Mr. Anderson? This is the front desk. A man wishes to speak with you.” A pause. “He has black hair, blue eyes and a stupid smile.”

Ouch.

“What’s your name sir?” She asked.

“Grey Richardson.” Dick smiled.

“He’s in the penthouse. Here’s the key.” She handed him a fancy key card.

“Have a wonderful day ma’am.” Dick tilted his head down and went to the elevator.

Up in the penthouse, large floor to ceiling windows cast the sun's light into the open space. Swedish music played idly in the background from an old time record player. In the living room off to the right, above the mantle was a large portrait of a man’s naked body forcefully displayed in an intimate way;

Chains manipulated each limb as harsh light cast down on the body. His golden eyes half closed as dark curling hair framed his pale face. Cold lips full, eyebrows perfectly trimmed and cheekbones high and sharp. Long black claws had been delicately shaped into pristine points on the hands. Dark veins protruded from under the skin while the sleeve tattoo on the right arm left little negative space.

Dick couldn’t take his eyes off the picture. Unease curled around his stomach and his mouth became dry.

“Don’t stare at it too long. You’re beginning to catch flies.” A man with blonde hair and dark eyes plucked the key card from Dick’s hand.

“I thought you didn’t like that picture.”

“Hm.” Scott tilted his head. “The only problem is the fact you aren’t smiling.”

Dick clenched his shaky fists and bit his tongue. “I need something from you.”

“Oh?” A cold smile etched itself on Scott’s pale face as he echoed Dick’s words. “You need something from me?”

“Two cases over lap. One of them involves you.” Dick pulled out the well decorated hilt from his inner pocket of his jacket. “This was found with the other case. No prints were found. I’m hoping you could help find the culprit?”

“This is all you could get back?” Scott took the hilt and examined it carefully. “You’re losing your touch just as fast as your….” He eyed Dick’s body up and down “-physic.”

“Will you help?”

“You have also become, quite frankly, very bothersome with all this rebelliousness.” Scott took a step forward. Dick took one back.

“I have a mission, there’s no time-

“A mission given to you by the court.” Strong fingers yanked Dick’s chin forward. “And, if I remember correctly, the last master you served was me.”

Anger bubbled under Dick’s skin. His lips parted, revealing his teeth. Brows furrowed and nose scrunched, he said, “let me go.”

“Do you remember how we got you to pose for that photo?” Scott asked, his fingers still firmly on Dick’s face.

“I don’t have time f-

“You had time the minute you entered my home.”

Dick stumbled back onto the floor as he was pushed down. His eyes focused solely on Scott with a deadly glare. This is why he hated the court. This man was the type specimen for every court member; he was a spoiled man with only greed and lust to guide him. A rabid dog with no morals. A rabid animal was at least a sympathetic case.

Scott cleared his throat. “I remember we used chains to drag you into the room.” He looked up at the photo with what almost looked like a wistful smile. As if he were recalling a funny memory. “You were fighting tooth and nail when we stripped you. One of my men lost half his hand from your bite.”

Dick watched as Scott began to pace.

“It took half a day to even get you into that position. It was my fault, really.” He tutted softly. “I should’ve done the photo shoot when the electrum was fresh and still keeping you numb and obedient.”

“What do you want Scotty?” Dick rolled his eyes. “Clearly you want something before you even consider my question.”

“Firstly, I want you to not call me Scotty.” He offered Dick his hand.

Dick glared for a long moment before he took the offer.

“Secondly, I want something more from you.” He picked some lint off of Dick’s shoulder.

“Spit it out.”

“One year.”

A frown crossed his face. “A year of what?”

“Servitude.”

“The
deal is-

“Yes, yes! I know what the deal is.” He scoffed a slow smile etching onto his face. “But, I think the court will gladly make an acceptance after you complete this mission.”

“No.”

Scott frowned. “Then you can leave.”

Dick glared at him. God he hated this man.

“Fine, one year.”

The smile returned. “Excellent! I will call you in a few days with the person you wish to find.”

Dick nodded and turned to leave.

“Aren’t you forgetting something Talon?”

He looked back at Scott with a sneer. “No, I don’t think I am.”

The icy glare of Scott and the looming picture followed him as he left.

Dick looked at the entrance to the restaurant hesitantly. Peter was sitting in the car waiting for him to get it done and over with, but when it comes to actually apologizing, he didn’t really wanna deal with rejection.

Taking a grounding breath, Dick pushed open the door and entered. The older man was sweeping the floor while Daisy was bussing the tables.

”-We’re closed-.“ The man looked up and his expression soured.

“I came to apologize?” Dick offered a half smile.

“-I got it from here-.” Daisy nodded at her father and turned her attention to Dick. “Aright, get on with it.”

Dick took off his fedora and shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry for putting you in a tough spot. I had no right asking you questions like that.”

Daisy glared at him, her lips pulled into a deeper frown. “I don’t accept.”

There was a pause. He had a feeling she was trying to get a reaction out of him. Trying to make him mad. Possibly beg, but Dick has had experience with these situations. He has many siblings after all.

“Okay. Have a good night.” Dick turned around to leave.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going!?”

“I thought we were done here? I apologized, you didn’t accept. There’s no need to drag this on.” Dick blinked, putting on a mask of confusion.

“What? No sorry for the racism?” She looked exasperated.

“If I went to a gadjo restaurant I would have asked the same question. Yes, I worded it poorly and frankly caught you off guard, but that’s it!”

Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but interrupted herself by blinking rapidly. “What did you say?”

“Gadjo?” Dick tilted his head, a smile spreading across his face.

“How do you know that word only-” Red filled her cheeks and a look of horror passed over her face. “You’re Roma.”

“Poshrat actually.”

“Oh, boy. Oh boy, oh boy.” Daisy gaped and waved her arms around wildly. “I called you racist and a gadjo! I just assumed. Oh I just assumed…..”

“Maybe next time don’t jump to conclusions? Even if I was a gadjo, not all of them are bad.” Dick laughed.

“-Oh I’m such an idiot-” She murmured. “-Is there anyway I can make it up to you?-”

“-You were protecting your family. You don’t need to fix that.-” Dick put his fedora back on. “Are we good?” He asked with a smile.

“Y-yeah, we’re good.” She knocked her knuckles against her thighs and rocked on her heels. “If you ever need a place to eat, we’d gladly welcome you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon?” She asked, waving goodbye.

”Counting on it!” Dick waved over his shoulder and stepped outside. He jogged over to Peter’s car, and got in.

“That was quick.” He gave a suspicious glance, but didn’t press.

“Water under the bridge.” Dick tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. “Now can you take me home?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Peter asked.

“No, I just wanna get home.” Dick chuckled airily and focused on the passing streetlights instead of the rising anxiety.

It would be fine. He figured out the problem. That’s all he had to do. No need for the court to get too mad.

During the ride, Dick rolled down the window and let the cool night air help calm his nerves.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything?” Peter asked, stopping at one of the intersections.

“Relax Peter! I don’t have any-

A harrowing scream tore through the night air. Dick snapped his head in the direction at the familiarity.

His parliament.

What happened to his parliament?

Ripping off his seatbelt, throwing the door open, Dick jumped onto the road and ran.

Through the dark alleys, over fences and under fire escapes.

He ran until his feet cramped. Until his lungs burned with exhaustion. Until every muscle begged to collapse.

He wouldn’t let up though.

Not now, not yet.

Not until they were safe.

They had to be safe.

His ankle monitor beeped loudly beneath him, giving warning to the oncoming perimeter breach.

Hoping over a chain link fence and ducking under a few trees he ran. The monitor went off as he crossed the border.

Dick tumbled toward a small park.

Electrum hung heavy in the air.

Sirens blared in the distance.

Black liquid dripped down the chain on a nearby swing set.

Horns echoed down the dark alleys.

A lifeless form hung, tangled in the chain.

Shouts rang out behind him and white lights flashed onto the body.

Gold glassy eyes stared down at him.

Words were directed at him, but they were disjointed and garbled.

An agonizing scream filled his ears.

It took him longer than it should to realize it was his own.

Tears blurred his vision and his knees hit the hard ground.

They killed her.

Why did they kill her?

Hands grabbed his wrists and cold metal clung around them. They lifted him off his feet and pulled him away.

Fear washed over him and he began fighting back.

He reared around and sunk his teeth into a warm skin.

A scream.

A shot.

Pain bloomed into his leg. He let go and stumbled back.

A force shoved him onto his stomach and someone shouted loudly in his ear.

“Stay the fuck down!”

Anger flared through his chest and he knocked his head back into the person's nose.

She can’t be alone.

She needs to be helped.

They have to help her.

Why weren’t they helping her?

Dick struggled against the restraints.

He kicked wildly, thrashing until every muscle in his body burned.

And he screamed until his throat was raw.

Chapter Text

The creature sat across the table from him. Its gangly fingers slid a pawn forward. The large smile stretched wider and its eyes bore into him.

Dick picked up one of the knights and moved it over the other pieces to an empty square.

It moved its own knight in turn. The ears of the horse stood tall and sharp. Its soulless eyes stared deep into his.

He blinked and the board had changed. The creature had only two pieces left. A pawn and a rook. Dick only had a knight. It could take either piece. To move left would take the pawn. To move right would take the rook.

“Your move,” it said.

“We have no kings. The match is over.”

“Your move,” it said again.

“No.” Dick avoided looking at it, only using what little light there was to watch the board.

“No?” The creature stood from its seat and leaned forward, its massive body towering over him.

“There are no kings, the match has ended.” He shrunk further down his seat, cowering from its pointed gaze.

The creature lowered back into its seat and opened its mouth. Wider and wider it stretched. Its teeth grew larger and went around like an inverse chainsaw. Inside, resting in the back of its throat were two kings. One white and one black.

Hesitantly, Dick reached over and into the creature's mouth. The pieces were farther than he initially thought, so he stood and leaned closer. His finger just grazed one of the pieces, while the other stayed out of reach.

Dick got onto the table and crawled closer. As he did, the pieces moved away. He pulled his hand away and looked up into its eyes.

“Stop moving them.”

A deep laugh rumbled in its chest.

Angrily, Dick grabbed the side of the creature’s mouth and leaned his entire upper body in. He reached as far as he could and finally grabbed the kings.

Just as he was pulling away, its mouth snapped closed.

Dick opened his eyes, his fingers touched his throat and ran them in a shaky horizontal line. He sighed in relief and forgot about the painful dream.

Chapter Text

March 6th, 2010. Two days before the anniversary.

Dick inhaled sharply as he woke, pain clenched tightly at his ribs. Groggily he sat up and rubbed his eyes. His back hurt from the hard bench he was laying on and his thigh ached. Grazing his fingers along it he winced as they touched the bullet hole. Dried blood crusted on his pants and uncomfortably stuck to the wound.

What even happened? He hadn’t remembered much after finding Cindy.

Cindy.

Oh god, not her. Why did it have to be her?

Dick forced down the grief tugging on his chest with slow deep breaths.

Get a grip. Figure out where you are first.

Looking up past his fingers, Dick examined the room. Smooth cement walls with dripping water and dried blood, stained the room. Faint light from the hall cast long shadows of the cell bars. Phones rang in the distance and voices murmured behind the wall.

Sirens blared just outside, pressing hard pain between his eyes. Clinking keys bounced against the officer’s leg as he passed by. The baton in hand running along the bars. The mindless tune he whistled soon became a faint sound as he went further down the hall.

“Never thought I’d see you here.” A gruff voice chuckled.

Dreadful chills ran rampantly down Dick’s back.

Not him. Anyone but him.

Steeling his resolve, he looked over at the man who spoke with a leveling glare.

“Didn’t think you’d get caught by some good old fashion police. You’ve gotten soft in your old age, Slade.”

Slade strolled over nonchalantly with a large grin, dark eye trailing Dick’s form. A low laugh passed his lips as he settled next to Dick. “I was in town. Saw you get arrested. A swift kick to a ruffled officer sent me right here.”

“You're such a loser.” Dick scoffed.

“How long has it been?” Slade’s deep voice became smooth. Rough fingers brought Dick’s hand to his lips.

He yanked his hand away. “Not interested.”

“Come on Pretty Boy it’s been forever. Almost six whole years since we’ve seen each other.” Slade’s index finger and thumb grabbed Dick’s chin and tugged his face close. “Beside’s, when was the last time we had fun?”

“Just because we had a couple of flings back then doesn’t mean I’m currently interested.” Dick pulled away. “Renegade is in the past.”

“You know my number.”

“Actually.” Dick glanced over at Slade with a careful look, an idea sparking on like a light bulb. “Someone is after my parliament. Have there been any word of hired killers targeting cults recently?”

Slade smirked, a sly glint catching his eye. “That’s going to cost you.”

“Come on, do me a favour!” Dick stood up and waved his arms around haphazardly.

“A favour?” Slade raised to his full height and glared down at him. “You want me to do you a favour?”

“Yes. I do.” Dick stood his ground with a snarl and clenched fists.

“Rumor has it a new killer’s out and about.” Slade sat back down. “He’s not a contract killer, that’s for sure.”

“So someone with a vendetta against the court?” Dick asked, tilting his head.

“That’s as much as I’m willing to spill.” Slade rolled his shoulders and smiled coolly.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” Dick stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.

“You’re a smart bird, Pretty Boy. I think you can figure it out.” He opened his arms in challenge. “Though I am open to other forms of payment.”

Disgust twisted around in Dick’s stomach and his lip curled up into a sneer. His hands clenched into fists and an angry shout built up in the back of his throat.

Minutes passed and Dick’s anger began to crack and fall away until only grief remained. This was for Cindy. No matter what happened next, he needed to remember that. It was for Cindy.

With slow shaky strides, Dick made his way over to Slade. He closed his eyelids half way and pushed Slade down back onto the bench so he could slink onto his lap. He forced himself to slouch and look as innocent as possible. Slade had a type, Dick was the exception when he played along. They had a history after all.

Of course he didn’t fully give in this time. He was older. Stronger. Hell, he knew more fighting styles than him at this point. No way, would he ever allow this man to fuck him or put more than a finger on him for longer than a few seconds.

As their lips collided, Dick ran his fingers down Slade’s back feeling for any hidden weapons. His fingers trailed further down and slipped into the inner pocket of his pants. It didn’t take long for Slade to notice, but it was already too late. The knife was pulled, flipped open and driven deep into his shoulder.

He pressed his hand hard against Slade’s mouth to cover the sound of the yelp. After a moment, he twisted the blade around. Dick watched as he squirmed and groaned under the pain.

“Tell me what you know.” Dick narrowed his eyes and dug the knife deeper.

“Fine, fine. I’ll help you,” Slade said, his single eye glared holes into him.

Dick gestured for Slade to speak.

“This person hasn’t been seen, but most of us have a hunch he’s fascinated by you bastards.” He began. “Kills you guys for the love of the game. Something about being interested in how well you can fight back. Or so I’m told.”

Backing off, Dick pulled out the knife and sighed. “Any idea what he looks like?”

“No.” Slade stood up and stepped into Dick’s space. Hot breath blew onto his ear as he bent down. “I hope you know how fucked you are Pretty Boy” His hand grazed Dick’s cheek.

“Get off.” He pressed the knife against Slade’s throat. Dick hated how close his back was to the wall. Hated as Slade stepped closer.

Slade slammed him into the cement wall and held him in place by his wrists. The knife clattered to the ground as he sneered. “You put this on yourself.”

Dick glared up at him through his bangs. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and grease. By every means, he wasn’t his best looking at the moment. Yet, Slade smiled like a rapid dog. To this man in front of him, he was the first place prize.

“You’re going to hold nice and still for me.” Slade leaned closer and pressed his lips against his neck.

“I said, get off.” Dick spat his words with vitriol.

“Give me a good reason, Pretty Boy.” Slade pressed closer, trapping Dick against the wall.

“Get off!” With all his force, Dick kicked Slade in the stomach. Knocked him to the ground and wrapped his hands around his throat.

Slade grabbed Dick’s face and forced his face to the ground. “There he is!”

“-I’ll kill you!-” A punch to the face left Slade stunned.

“Hey! Knock it off!” A guard flung the cell door open and grabbed Dick’s arms, yanking him off.

“-You shameful man!-” Dick snarled.

A voice in his head told him to stop. Not to speak such words in his mother’s tongue. To not react so angrily. Stereotypes were often seen as true for the Romani by outsiders, and now he was filling it to a tee.

Hard hits from the guard's metal baton slammed down onto his back. He wanted to grab it, to get away, but pain and nausea was setting in fast. He hadn’t been at peak health in a while and this wasn’t helping.

Another hit, this time to his face. The ground met him fast and blood dripped from his nose.

The guard rammed his thick boot into Dick’s ribs.

Kick upon kick made contact with his bones. His pained shouts became whimpers and his teeth bit down on his tongue. Another kick landed hard against his stomach, then another and another. Then it stopped.

Dick cracked open an eyelid and looked past the dark spots and up toward the guard. Slade held him against the wall with a look of unbridled rage.

“The kid’s down. No need to kick him further.” Slade kept his tone neutral, but his glare could be considered murderous.

The guard pushed Slade off and exited the cell. The bars rattled as the door was slammed shut leaving the two men alone once more.

“You alright Pretty Boy?” Slade asked, bending down to one knee and cupping his cheek.

Nausea crawled up his throat, but pain kept him from flinching away. Instead he closed his eyes and curled in on himself. Slade’s footsteps retreated and a groan indicated he had sat down to tend to his own wounds.

“Thanks, asshole,” Dick whispered through gritted teeth.

“You’re too soft on men like those,” He responded calmly.

“And you’re too mean.”

“Fair enough.”

After a moment of silence, Dick painstakingly got to his feet. With slow limping steps he slumped against the wall and lay like a stone on the bench. With the little energy left, he spat out the blood building up in his mouth.

Electrum sluggishly pooled into his system and began healing the small wounds. It wouldn’t be enough, not unless he died. Stupid stubborn body. Refusing to die when it’s actually convenient.

“Truce?” Slade asked.

“Hm….” Dick closed his eyes and let sleep drag him down.

***

“Neal?”

Dick looked up past his knees and stared at the entrance of the cell. On the other side of the bars stood Peter.

“Come to laugh?” Dick stared coldly at him, hoping to convey the frustration he felt.

“I’m picking you up, Neal.”

The officer beside Peter opened the cell and placed her hand on the baton strapped on her belt. A warning.

Dick stood up slowly and stalked over, his eyes narrowed at the hallway light and a bone rattling shiver wracked down his body. Pain flared in his ribs but he soldiered on by hiding it with a frown.

On his way out, Slade stood up and followed close behind. He stopped at the entrance and slipped his switch blade into Dick’s pocket.

“It took a lot of negotiating with the higher ups not to send you straight back to jail.” Peter began, eyeing Slade wearily. “You’re no longer allowed out of June's apartment unless accompanied by me or another FBI agent. That means no radius.”

“Okay,” Dick whispered.

In all honesty he wasn’t surprised. It was bad enough he walked on the fine line and crossed it more than once. This was just the breaking point. Though he was grateful they allowed him to stay at June’s.

“I’m going to drop you off at June’s place and you can take the day off.” Peter opened the door for Dick and let him step out into the sunlight.

On the ride home, Dick couldn’t shake the numb feeling. For the first time in a while the world seemed… dull. Two deaths in the span of a few days. Both, his fault. He knew how they died, just not who killed them. Or the description specifically. That was important wasn’t it?

Dick blinked slowly, his eyes heavy with sleep. God, when was the last time he got a full night's rest? Or one without the night terrors and pain.

By the time Peter pulled into the side of the street, Dick found himself utterly exhausted and on the verge of crying out with every wrong movement. It took far too much effort to step out of the car and trek to the door. June opened the door before he could do it himself and pulled him inside.

“Oh Neal.” Her voice was sad and laden with concern. “I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

No.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Neal pulled away and smiled, though he had a feeling it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Even though June didn’t look convinced, she let Dick go upstairs without any help. The stairs felt like they were moving and his body swayed more than it should. Once he entered the penthouse, his eyes landed on a coat that wasn’t his.

It was of extremely good quality and was most definitely not Mozzie’s. Nor was it Bruce’s. Bruce never wore anything made with real animal fur unless it’s sheep or alpaca wool. This had the lining of what looked to be wolf fur.

He was too tired for this, but yesterday had passed and he wasn’t home, so now today was the day.

Dick hated Owl’s more than he hated William and that was saying a lot. They were rich snobs who have never heard of the word no. They were touchy and grabby of all sorts. Most of them lacked much hygiene and were greedy bastards. This coat belonged to the greediest Owl in the court. And yes more greedy than fucking Scott.

Silently, he slipped off his shoes and sneered at the fact they were the only ones in the front. Alfred would have thrown the Owls in the garbage if he saw them not take off their shoes once inside.

The trail of Blood leading to the bathroom had been cleaned and the room itself must have been occupied, especially since no trace of a fat man was in the rooms he could see. The strong smell of expensive wine, cigarettes and floral soaps made him wrinkle his nose. Dick tore off his socks and chucked them in the laundry hamper. He undid the bands and shucked off his blazer.

“The Courtmaster is growing impatient.” William stood behind Dick and his claws began undoing the buttons of his shirt. His heavy rasping breaths indicated even he didn’t get off easy from the Courtmaster’s wrath.

“I don’t need your help taking my clothes off.” However, Dick made no attempt to move. He was too tired to slap William’s hands away.

“He is angry at us both. You and I can fight later.”

Dick loosened his belt and stepped out of his fallen pants. “I haven’t exactly cleaned up, so apologies if he becomes angrier.”

Peeling away the undershirt and arm warmers, William placed a warm soapy cloth on Dick’s back. “I am not a fool, child.”

“And I’m not a child.” He lowered his head and crossed his arms as the cloth was scrubbed evenly against his body.

“She’s dead.” It was better to state it as a fact, but the emotion lay thick in his throat.

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you protect her?” Dick shuddered as the cloth was wrung out and placed onto his shoulder.

“I… I don’t know. There was something strange that happened, yet I can’t remember.” An airy chuckle passed his lips. “Odd isn’t it? That I can’t remember something from just a few hours ago?”

Falling back into silence, Dick tilted to the side and leaned against the bed post.

Once he was cleaned from head to toe, the cloth was discarded and a brush was quickly run through his greasy hair.

The quiet of the room clung to him like a safety net. In a few short moments he’d have to face that stupid Owl and try not to rip out his throat.

Gingerly, Dick took out his contacts and fished a mint out of his drawer. He put it on his tongue and let it dissolve just enough until it was easier to crunch down on and swallow.

William fell back into the shadows of the room and the next moments were disconnected.

Dick crossed the penthouse with ease. Down the hall he crept until he was just outside the bathroom door. He knocked timidly and waited for what felt like an eternity.

Then a low monotone voice answered. “Enter.”

With slow movements, he made his way into the bathroom. The smell of cheap floral scented candles and tobacco cigarettes invaded his nose, but he forced a straight face. This wasn’t the time to bitch and moan about someone else’s bad habits.

“Come here, let me get a better look at you.” The Courtmaster took a long drag of his cigarette. The candle's flame illuminated the space in an eerie glow and cast them both in yellow light. The Courtmaster’s face, half cast in shadows.

The dark water stared back at Dick as he lowered his head just enough to avoid looking at the Courtmaster. His knees rubbed uncomfortably against the bath mat and his fingers curled in his lap as an attempt not to look menacing. One wrong move. One step out of line. And it was a sure way for punishment.

“Tell me, Grey son. Why is it that another Talon died? And it’s once again from your parliament?” Fat fingers pulled roughly at Dick’s hair like a hard bristled brush with too much grease trying to comb out stubborn knots.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know?” The Courtmaster laughed. “You don’t know!?” He dug the burning end of the cigarette into Dick’s neck.

Biting back a wince, he swallowed a scream building in his throat. Dick wouldn’t give in. A reaction is what he wanted.

“Only speculation, sir.” Dick ground out.

The Courtmaster placed his cigarette down and gestured bemusedly. “Go on.”

“The killer finds interest in slaughtering us. He knows of our inability to die easily and quickly.” He dared to look up into his eyes and only saw uninterest.

“So, why then is the killer’s head not in your possession?”

Teeth bared, Dick allowed some of the anger to slip through. “I still do not know his whereabouts.”

“Sir.” The Courtmaster added.

Anger flared in Dick’s chest and he lifted his head to stare down the Courtmaster with as much venom as he could.

“I would choose your next words very carefully.”

Dick grit his teeth, eyes haughtily fixated on him. “Sir.”

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so stubborn.” The Courtmaster patted Dick’s cheek roughly. “Must be the Gypsy in you.”

Frustration furrowed his brows. “Don’t you-

“Don’t I what?” He forced Dick’s face closer. “Don’t I dare?”

He shut his mouth and replaced his scowl with a grimace.

“Tut, tut. You even have their hot blooded temper. Such a shame a noble Frenchman like your father decided to fall for such scum.”

Dick pulled away and looked down at the Courtmaster. “Say that again.”

“Are you challenging me?”

“What do you think? You fucking a-

A large gloved hand wrapped around Dick’s throat. Dragged him backwards and threw his body against the sink. The force nearly crushed his lower spine.

William’s cold eyes stared down at Dick and his expression remained neutral. Dick clawed at the hand around his throat and snarled. With as much ferocity as he could muster, Dick pushed against William’s shoulders.

“Say that again!” Dick cried. “Say that again!”

“You wretched little rat.” The Courtmaster got out of the tub and wrapped a robe around his greasy body. His puffy face, pink with rage. Cold eyes glaring at Dick with malice. “I am your master and you dare talk back to me!?”

A manic laugh erupted from Dick’s chest. Even as the air was squeezed from his throat he found everything about this man hilarious and pathetic all at the same time. “My master is the Bat! I serve him until the darkest and longest month!” A deal had been made years ago. The Courtmaster knows it just as well as him.

“Rip out its tongue and throat, I don’t want it talking for the next few weeks.” The Courtmaster left the room and the realization of what he had done hit him like a freight train.

“Don’t you fucking do it! Let me go!” Dick grabbed onto William's hand and desperately pulled at it.

“You put this on yourself, child.” William pulled out one of his knives with the jagged edges moving opposite to the point. He moved his hand and held Dick firmly down by the face. With careful precision, he lined the tip of the blade with where Dick’s vocal cords would be and raised it up into the air.

His muffled screams were cut short and pain flared through his neck. Dark spots clouded his vision as he squirmed against the hold. Blood filled his lungs and stomach like a flood. Though death never came. Electrum flooded his system far too fast for that.

The next few minutes were a haze of shifting between white hot pain and icy dark numbness. Just as another agonizing stab of pain shot through him, the knife was holstered and William let go.

Like a ragdoll, Dick tumbled to the ground, nose cracking hard against the tile.

“If anything, it is Wayne whose stubbornness you’ve inherited.” William kneeled down and helped him sit up.

Dick glared at him. His stomach sloshed with blood and electrum while nausea crawled up his stinging throat. He hated this. Hated the cold. The numbness. The wrongness of all of it.

“You never learn? Do you?” William bandaged Dick’s throat as he spoke. “One day the bat will die. And it won’t be temporary.” Cold careful fingers gingerly washed Dick’s hair with a cloth. “The Courtmaster, even if not immortal, is always worse than the last. Every new one gains his own servant.”

Dread sat heavy in his stomach as the words began to sink in. The rotten smell of fake flowers and tobacco laden cigarettes became all too encompassing.

“I have served the Courtmasters for almost two centuries now. My time is nearing its end.”

William pulled down his mask, revealing his gold eyes and messy brown hair. It had been cut short since the new Courtmaster had taken over. He preferred the Talons to follow binary gender roles. Even if he still calls all of them “it”.

“There is talk. Talk of a child.” He lowered his voice, concern etched deep on his face. “Rumour has it, you are to serve them once they are of age.”

Dick tilted his head to the floor with closed eyes. The world spun as he sighed heavily and William settled next to him.

“I apologize for how I’ve been as of recently. The Courtmaster has not been kind.”

Dick’s attempted scoff became a wince.

“Not an excuse, just an explanation.” William sighed. “Is it true you made a deal with Anderson?”

A nod.

“Why?”

Dick shrugged. What a question. Why? If he really knew why. He’d probably not have done it. It was on a whim most likely. A miscalculation on his half. A stupid idea.

“The Courtmaster will want to sleep with you.”

He knew that. Why wouldn’t the Courtmaster want to? Every time, he wanted to. Or a version of the Courtmaster did. Dick remembers vividly of the man, some Courtmaster’s back. Remembers the gross sticky wrongness. Remembers the hands. The touching. He remembers the blood. The screaming. The crying. The rotten smell of him after Dick drove a knife into the heart of the Courtmaster. The way life slowly drained from his eyes as he yelled every possible curse he could.

Nausea twisted around and a migraine formed behind his eyes. He was too weak to keep it down. In seconds his stomach contents were on the floor. Disorienting adrenaline thundered through his veins. Sweat slowly dripped down his temple.

“I said, “want”. Not that I’ll allow it.” William’s eyes fell onto Dick with an almost sympathetic expression. “I serve the Courtmaster individually. You do not.”

Acidic bile burned Dick’s throat. He looked up at past his bangs, body shaking with each breath.

“You need to be more loyal to the court Richard.” William stood up and stared down at him. “One day Wayne won’t be there to protect you. One day hellfire will rain down on your immortal soul until that soul becomes a mere reflection of who you were.”

Dick turned away with a scowl.

A strong hand forced his chin up. “Know who you serve. Know what you are. Know your place. Those are the things you seem to lack. And yet, they are the things you most need.”

Dick shakily got to his feet, but William shoved him back down. “Wait here. Count to one thousand and then. And only then, you may leave.”

Count to one thousand. Such a stupid request. Yet, Dick knew why. Knew that in his own twisted way, William was looking out for him.

So, as he left the bathroom, Dick mouthed each number and waited.

Chapter Text

Water sloshed around Dick’s shoulders. It flowed over the tub and splashed onto the dingy tile floor. The creature sat across from him, its teeth stained red with his blood.

“Why are you doing this?” Dick asked.

It tilted its head and pulled one of its hands out of the water. Hooked neatly around its index finger rested a golden collar. The pale light from above reflected off the collar and gave it an eerie glow. A long thick chain attached to it flowed down into the dark water below.

His eyebrows furrowed as he scoffed. “I’m not wearing that.”

The creature grinned. “Why not?”

“I don’t trust you.” Dick’s fingers unconsciously grazed his throat. It ached with a far away pain. Just under the surface.

“You trust them.”

“They aren’t you.”

“You do not trust yourself?” The creature opened the collar and lined it up with Dick’s neck as if aiming to shoot a gun.

“No.” His fingers wrapped around the collar and held it tentatively, his thumb grazing the rim’s smooth surface.

“Why not?” It asked.

“I’m dangerous.” The collar clicked shut around his throat and weighed heavily against his neck.

“We are, aren’t we?” The creature leaned forward until it was nose to nose with him.

“What will you do this time?” Dick challenged. “Drown me? Eat my flesh? Pull out my teeth? Fuck me?”

“We will do whatever tomorrow decides will happen to you.” The creature’s voice became many.

“You’re a poor excuse for a guardian angel,” Dick said.

The creature’s smile grew wider. “Lady Gotham does not get the reflections of purity and righteousness. She gets the reflections of shadows and sorrow. I am your darkest desires and deepest regrets. I am your pain. Your anger and hatred. I am what Lady Gotham sees in you. I am her knight that will one day consume you, and leave only divinity in my wake.”

“If she is warning me of something, why can’t I remember it?”

The water grew cold, sending chills up Dick’s arms. The claws of wakefulness dug deep into his shoulders.

“I can only do so much.”

Ice grew along the water’s surface, crawled up the chain of the collar and up his neck.

“I'm going to f-freeze to d-death while t-taking a bath? Kinda s-seems c-counterintuitive d-d-don’t you think?”

The creature only laughed. “For someone raised by the world’s greatest detective, you lack the ability to see the bigger picture.”

Jumping out of bed and pulling on a pair of shorts. Dick ran into his living room and turned on the light. He rifled through drawers until he found his paint supplies. Quickly he set up a fresh canvas on his easel and began to paint the already fading creature.

Chapter Text

March 7th, 2010. One day before the anniversary.

As the sun rose, Dick painted the finishing details on the creature's strange form. Its horn-like ears curved inward at the top of its head. Tiny glowing gold eyes stared blankly back at him as its smile with large teeth stretched from ear to ear. Ebony shadows moved like sludge over its thick body.

It should be odd. Disturbing even. Yet, somehow it was… comforting. Like a strange twisted angle watching over him.

Four knocks rang out from the balcony door. Dick turned his head and watched as Bruce pulled down his cowl. The door opened, letting in the chill of the morning air. Soft boots thudded against the floor as Bruce went in for a firm hug. Strong arms held him close and the familiar cologne he wore wafted into his nose.

“Good morning, chum.” Bruce ran a gloved finger through Dick’s hair, gently tugging on the small coiling curls at the back of his neck. His fingers brushed against the bandage.

“What happened to your neck?” One of his hands pulled him into his chest while the other examined the gauze wrappings.

Dick pulled away and brought his left hand up diagonally to the middle of his chest, then he used his right index finger and swiped it down just before the elbow.

Bruce mouthed the words punish, his eyebrows furrowed and a look of confusion slowly spread across his face. The cogs turned in his head and his eyes darkened as the realization dawned on him.

With a tight jaw, he pulled Dick into another hug. Anger shook his body and clenched his fists.

“Oh chum.” Bruce muttered into his hair. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

Something about the sentence “it’s not your fault” weighed heavily of Dicks subconscious. Bruce had no idea what had happened to him in the months alone. No idea of the blame shoved onto him just to keep it off the important people. He doesn’t know why he was punished. Doesn’t know that in a way, he thought he deserved it.

Yet, those four words broke Dick in a way that he hadn’t expected. It tore open the flood gates of every emotion from the past few nights. The guilt and anger and grief came back with a vengeance. Ripping apart his mind until he was a sobbing mess in his father’s arms.

Every whimper and cry sent tendrils of pain shooting down his throat. It wracked through his body like an unrelenting storm.

“I got you. I got you.” Bruce slowly sank to the ground as Dick lost the strength to hold himself up. “I’m going to make sure everything’s okay. I’ll fix you up, lad.”

Strong arms lifted Dick up as if he weighed nothing and brought him over to the couch. He lay across the cushions and stared at his bed. Bruce held Dick’s head in his lap and ran calloused fingers through his hair.

Silently, Bruce pulled out a small vial from his utility belt. After unscrewing the lid and filling the dropper with the opaque golden liquid, he undid the bandages around Dick’s neck. The liquid dripped into his wound and down his throat. Steadily, the muscle began to close back together and a strange cold wrapped around what little tongue he had left.

“The only way this will work is if you stick to cold drinks.” Bruce brushed a few loose strands of hair away from Dick’s forehead. “No solid food and nothing hot.”

Dick nodded slowly while letting out a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes and enjoyed Bruce’s presence.

For hours, he drifted in and out of sleep. Usually when he woke it was out of discomfort. Sometimes because thirst dried his throat and cracked his lips. Other times were from the natural pull of wakefulness. Thankfully no dreams came.

When lunch rolled around, Dick was barely conscious and struggled to open his eyes. Cold settled deep into his bones and sent icy shivers down his spine. In a confused daze he reached out to grab a blanket, only to tip over and slam onto the floor.

A pained groan escaped his parted lips and gritted teeth. With slow movements, he got to his knees and shakily stood up. His feet ached from staying in a curled position and his spine popped as he raised to his full height.

“Ah?” Dick’s voice cracked as his new vocal cords and syrinx vibrated painfully in his trachea. His tongue had yet to grow back and that meant he lacked his ability to pronounce most consonants and vowels (which meant Dad became Ah).

“Chum.” Bruce flipped over a grilled cheese. His suit lay discarded on the table and he now wore some of his old clothes that Dick had stolen for sleep wear. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Like shit.” Dick snorted as he signed.

“I’ve heard there’s been trouble with the court recently.” Bruce not-so strategically left out the part where he asked about the dead talons. Dick pretended not to notice and act like he came to his own conclusion.

“I promised an Owl something stupid.” Scuffing his feet against the floor, he leaned heavily against Bruce.

“It couldn’t be stupider than when you and your siblings get an idea as a collective.”

Oh Bruce. Dick looked away as guilt and shame warmed his face. Another bout of tears threatened to fall, but were quickly wiped away. This wasn’t the time for emotions. It hurt too much for that.

When would be a good time then? A part of him thought

“Chum?” Bruce asked, his small smile pulled down. “What happened?”

Everything. Every inconvenience. Every possible thing that could go wrong, went wrong. I didn’t follow the rules. I didn’t ask for help from any of you and turned to the worst people I possibly could. I was hurt by them. I was shamed by every person. Each time I stood up for myself it only got me in a deeper hole. I hurt Dad. I hurt so much and I want it to stop.

Dick stared as those thoughts crashed to the forefront of his mind. Yet, as he tried to move his hands, they only shook.

“Why don’t we eat first? I’ll make you a smoothie. As sweet as you want it.” Bruce pulled him into another hug, and Dick welcomed it with a content sigh.

Lunch was spent outside on the balcony in the sun. Bruce didn’t make much small talk and mainly stuck to the silence. Dick didn’t mind because personally he was too tired to listen.

Before Dick knew it, he was dozing off again. He rested his head against Bruce’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

As the sun stretched higher into the sky, Dick enjoyed the heat that came with it. Cars droned on, down below. People’s voices drifted up through the alleys and high rise buildings. A sense of peace settled over him and everything felt oka-

However, the universe hadn’t been on his side since day one, because annoyingly enough, a flurry of knocks thudded at the penthouse door.

Slowly, he stood up and walked to the door. To his surprise, Marge was the one behind it. Her curly red hair was neatly tied back into a loose ponytail and had on a very stunning dress. It complemented her skin nicely and made her eyes pop.

“Usually it’s the boy bringing the girl flowers, but I wanted to change it up.” Marge lifted up a bouquet of nicely arranged flowers to Dick. The familiar odd sensation crawled its way back into his chest.

A smile lifted up his face as he took the bouquet with gentle fingers. Though his smile quickly faltered when he realized he wasn’t exactly wearing socks and very much lacked a shirt. With more speed than he’s used in a while, Dick closed the door and ran to his bedroom. He ripped open the drawer, threw on a shirt, wrestled on the feet bands and shoved on his socks.

Bruce was neatly folding his suit with a raised eyebrow directed at Dick. “Friend of yours?”

Grabbing Bruce’s shoulders, Dick pushed him toward the balcony. He shoved him out onto the concrete and closed the door. Bruce stumbled forward, gave a half smile and a small wave goodbye.

Then Dick went to the front door and threw it open. It slammed against the wall and rebounded back, nearly knocking him over.

Marge held back a laugh, a toothy smile stretched across her face. “It’s good to see you too, Neal.”

Stepping aside, Dick let her in. He walked over to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, pulling out two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. They clinked together as he set them down. After pouring both halfway, he handed one to Marge.

“I heard you were sick. I’m not sure wine is the best medicine though.” She pursed her lips playfully and took a sip of the wine.

Dick shrugged and put a couple of ice cups into his wine which earned a raised brow.

“Isn’t it supposed to be warm liquids, not cold?” She asked, leaning close into Dick’s shoulder.

He bumped her gently and smiled while tilting his head back to take a swig. As they leaned against the counter, Marge’s fingers massaged his back. Dick absently wrapped his arm around her waist.

“This isn’t moving too fast is it?” Marge asked, her eyes wide with worry. “I’m always just so happy when I can finally get along with someone.”

Dick smiled. Many of his partners have said he moves too fast. Sometimes, however, he needed fast. Especially in these moments of painful and sleepless nights. If this fling would only last a week then so be it. As long as it was raw and beautiful and full of vulnerability, then he’d enjoy every hour of every day he was with her.

The kiss was nice. Her lips were soft while her fingers on his arms were warm. She smelt like cinnamon and tasted like wine. Bliss budded in his aching chest, sending blossoms of enthralment through his body.

Once he pulled away, Dick couldn’t keep the giddy grin off his face. He held her close and went for another kiss. She gladly reciprocated and a laugh bubbled from her throat.

“You’re definitely the most handsome one I’ve met,” Marge whispered playfully in his ear.

Dick didn’t exactly understand that phrasing and only took it as an invitation to kiss her neck. In turn, she tugged up his shirt and helped him slip it off. He did the same with her and lifted her legs up around his waist.

“Shall we take this to your room?” She asked through a kiss.

A weak hum rumbled tentatively in his throat as he carried her to his bed. Flopping down onto the mattress with her on top of him, he waited for Marge to take the lead.

She rose to her knees and straddled his hips. She looked down with half-lidded eyes and a small triumphant smile curled up her lips.

The smile is wrong. Don’t trust the smile.

“You know,” she began, leaning down. “My father was a mortician.” Marge kissed Dick passionately before resuming. “He taught me how the human body worked.” Her cold fingers touched his collar bone and traced up to his shoulder. “He said the most common cut made for an autopsy was from the clavicles.” Her index finger touched Dick’s upper clavicle and slowly trailed down to his sternum. “Then right when both marks meet the middle, the scalpel is cut down.” She demonstrated by bringing her finger down his chest and stomach.

Cold. Her fingers are cold.

Marge kissed Dick again before he could fully process his thoughts. She cupped his face as his hands moved to unclip her bra. Fiery passion clutched his soul and he moved quicker in desperation. They moved in tandem with each other and Dick couldn’t help but smile as they undressed the rest of themselves.

It was a little later when Dick found himself laying next to Marge with a stupidly large smile on his face.

He couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of devotion to her. She was absolutely stunning in every way imaginable. He hoped this wasn’t a fling. He wanted to love her more than that.

Her nimble fingers held his cheeks while her thumb ran along his dimple line. His smile grew and he snuggled in closer until his head was against her breast.

“Wanna see something cool?” She asked.

Dick lifted his head and tilted it to the side with raised brows.

Marge reached over to where she discarded her purse. She sat up and opened the bag. Dick balanced on his hand to help him sit up, while putting some of his weight against her.

“Tada!” She pulled out what looked to be a whistle.

Its wooden body held carvings of thin lines and extended into sharp points like a bird's talons. No, like an owl’s talons. Dick recoiled back with a harsh glare. The sensation he had been feeling all morning stopped short.

“Do you recognize this?” She asked intriguingly.

Yes, yes he did. He knew that whistle inside and out. He even gave it a nickname at one point because of how well he knew it. They were rare to come by, but if found and used correctly, they could control a talon and their actions. Something about the sound activated the fear response and made them susceptible to control.

Control. No wonder fucking sensation was so familiar. He felt it before.

He wanted to wrench the whistle away from her. He wanted to smash it against the wall. Burn it with fire. Throw it off a bridge. He never wanted to see one of those things again.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

That sound from a couple of days ago.

The one he heard in the hall.

He lost time and found himself completely elsewhere.

Without his paper.

She had his paper.

She knows.

Dick stood up abruptly and went to the kitchen sink. No. No! She couldn’t know. She has a whistle because she researches talons. That’s it!

“Neal? Are you okay?” Marge slipped her arms around his waist. “Was it something I said?”

Do I even like her? Dick thought.

“Maybe a bath will calm you down.” She murmured.

Yeah, bath. A bath sounds nice.

He blinked.

A toothbrush hung loosely in his mouth as he brushed his teeth. Cold shivers wracked down his arms and legs. Blue eyes stared back at him, a touch of gold wrapped neatly around the edges of his iris. Water filled the tub slowly as Marge hummed idly in the background.

There was a strange clinking noise coming from where she was. After spitting into the sink and washing the toothpaste away, Dick padded over to her. Looking over her shoulder he hummed curiously.

“Fetch me my purse. I have something I need.” The dismissive tone gave Dick pause. He frowned, but left the room anyway.

A conflicted feeling settled in his chest. The strong devotion and desire struggled with the strange dread. His gut, still unsure which emotion should be trusted.

Before grabbing Marge’s purse, Dick slid back on his pants and stared at the painting. The creature's eyes bore into his. Its wide grin reminded him of his own in a way. Albeit his wasn’t usually blood stained.

Check the purse.

Dick glared at the painting. He wasn’t going to check her purse. That's rude. Yet, his eyes couldn’t help but fall onto its small opening. Slowly he stalked over to it. With silent fingers, he plucked the whistle from the inner pocket.

The whistle sat neatly in the palm of his hand. Cold magic enveloped it tightly. Even if Dick tried, he wouldn’t be able to destroy it. Not with this kind of enchantment.

The lure of it was so enticing. What would happen if he blew it? Would it make a simple sound? Or something more complex? Another cold shiver made its way down Dick’s body. One sound wouldn’t hurt. Just one little-

Brrrinnng

The phone rang from where it sat on the counter. Dick went over and put it to his ear.

“Grey son!” Scott‘s obnoxious voice filtered into his ear. “I have news!”

Dick sighed. “Hm.”

“A thank you would be appreciated.” Scott shuffled around. “Anyway, the killer is with a small organization. They’re known for wanting immortality.”

Dick leaned against the counter with one of his hands on his head. Of course it’s another stupid cult that is after an even stupider cult.

“One of their lead killers goes by the name Margaret Johnson. Turns out she has a job within the FBI. A front for her actual career.”

The phone slipped through his fingers.

You idiot. You knew. You knew.

“Neal? What’s taking so long?” Marge stepped into the main room.

Vomit burned his stomach.

Oh god. Oh fuck.

He had. He- oh no, oh no, no, no.

“Neal?” Cold fingers touched his shoulder.

Dick spun around and grabbed her wrist tightly. He glared down at her with disgust. Teeth bared into a sneer.

“Oh.” Her face darkened. “You know.”

Inhaling sharply, he shoved her into the glass door. A kick rammed into his knee. It cracked and the floor met him fast.

“You will stay put.”

The same cold sensation washed over him. Don’t move. Why on earth would he need to move? What a silly thing.

“You’re a good little creature.” She bent down and carded her fingers through his hair. “Why don’t we play a game?”

He blinked.

Sticky red covered his fingers. Coppery tasting warmth trailed from his chin as cold water dripped off his short curls. A large gash ran down the centre of his stomach and bruises blossomed along his ribs. His tongue felt like cotton in his mouth and his teeth ground against each other like thick knives.

In front of him stood Marge. Her cold eyes bore into him, tracing along his body like prodding fingers. A cut slit down her down turned lip.

“Even under my control, you are a stubborn bastard.” A warm hand tilted his chin up.

“They never liked me because of that.” A mirthless smile stretched his face. “Still don’t.”

Black spots darkened his vision as a hard hand came down across his face. “How?” She demanded.

“It’s called empathy, something you clearly la-

Marge yanked his head forward and forced his head back. “They said you’d be easy. Why aren’t you being easy?”

“Ask the bat.”

“What?” She took a step back.

“So they didn’t tell you everything?” This was good. If he could get some control there’s a better chance at getting out of here in one piece.

“The Bat is in Gotham. It doesn’t leave Gotham unless summoned.” She argued.

Dick smirked. “It also shows up if one of its shadows is nearby.” Where the hell are your Bruce? You should have checked in by now.

Marge looked out the window towards the patio. She squinted into the dark, waiting, watching.

As she was distracted, Dick took his chance to grab her arm and throw her to the ground. She writhed beneath him with a snarl on her face.

“Rule number one. Never turn your back on a Talon!” He jeered.

Marge grinned. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll make sure my testimony sends you away for a long time.”

“As if they’d believe you!”

“They’d believe me over you any day!” She struggled against his hold. “A poor helpless woman attacked by a previously convicted man. Not only is he a ci, but also to be discovered as a meta. You wouldn’t be sent to a normal jail after that.”

Dick hated this situation, hated it so fucking much. He let her go and slumped against the leg of the dining table.

“Good boy.” She patted his cheek and walked to the kitchen counter.

“What do you want from me?” He watched as she poured a glass of wine.

“Nothing that concerns you Talon.” She stalked over with a cold smile. “You are only here to entertain and serve a purpose in a greater plan.”

“Why? Why not kill me?”

She hummed as she grabbed his chin with one of her hands and brought the glass to his lips. “If I kill you, the FBI will grow suspicious. Especially when your handler hates leaving you unattended for a second.”

Dick glared as the wine was forced down his throat. She waited until he finished it, but made no attempt to let him go.

“Besides, I need to make some money. I have a feeling no one will mind if I sell you.”

The world spun as a strange exhaustion settled over his bones. “Fuck’d’you put in that wine?” He slurred.

“Just a little something to make it easier to get you to the car.”

“Hm, good luck gettin’ m’anklet off.”

Dick smiled one more time before the ground met him fast and the world went dark.

Chapter Text

Dick stared up at the bright light. The collar around his neck wrapped tightly around it. Gold chains glittered in the dark room and tools lined the walls. The creature lay beside him.

“We don’t trust others, yet we give them so much empathy,” It said.

“I thought she was different.” Dick shivered in the cold air. “Or maybe the whistle just made me think that.

“I won’t be here long. You are stuck in the third state.” The creature shifted into more of a shadowy blob than owl shape.

“Then I’m actually in this place.” He looked around and saw the silhouette of a woman in the far corner of the room.

“In its reflection, yes.” Its smile faltered and for once faded completely. “Our warnings weren’t enough.”

“No, they weren’t.” Dick laughed humourlessly. “Though, I thank you for trying.”

“You are on your own for this,” The creature said.

“Is there any way I can get out? Or at least make sure my family is safe?” He asked.

“I am unsure.”

They fell into silence and Dick couldn’t help but let out an angry cry. It was loud and raw, shifting into reality and forcing the silhouette to cover their ears. They then recovered and strode over to him. An invisible force slammed the back of his head into the table. He blinked away the dark spots and looked over to the creature.

“Help,” he murmured.

“We can’t help ourselves.”

The room became red and bright glowing green eyes stared down at him. The figure lowered down and revealed itself. It looked like a fox bat with its head drenched in crimson blood. Sharp white teeth gleamed down at him in a smile.

Hoots and twitters buzzed loudly in his ears as golden eyes opened around it. Feathers fell to the floor as owls flew in every direction.

“Hellooo.” Its voice rumbled and vibrated through Dick’s chest like an engine of a powerful motor bike.

The creature smiled at the blood drenched bat. “It seems you won’t be alone for long.”

“What?”

Migraine-inducing light glared down on him as he opened his eyes. He tasted blood and everything hurt. The last thought before he drifted off again was the image of a smiling bat.

Chapter Text

March 8th, 2010. The Anniversary.

Waking up on a table strapped down on all sides was not something Dick expected, but not something that surprised him. Marge must have drugged the wine, because no way in hell could he sleep that deeply in the trunk of a car.

Well, he has before- but that’s besides the point.

Dick took a survey of the room; The cold metal table he was strapped to, looked to be an old gurney from a morgue. Surgical tools rested idly on a tray next to his head just out of reach. Pale white light shone down from above. A few strangers in scrubs and masks bustled about.

If it weren’t for the gag in his mouth, Dick would have started a conversation by now. It wasn’t uncommon for people to let slip their motives and jobs. Marge probably knew that. Or Dick did something stupid in his sleep.

“Hey, it’s awake,” One of the doctors said, walking over to Dick.

“Then prepare it for surgery. We are on a schedule, remember?” A doctor with thick glasses stepped up to the table, her short stature made it so she was closer to him than the other. She eyed the restraints carefully. “Usually my patients aren’t restrained like this.”

“It’s a meta-human, remember? These fuckers are usually not your average kind of patient.”

“I know that Dr. Jackson.” She gave him a warning look. “Now please get the anesthesia.”

“Right away.”

Dr. Jackson left the room, leaving him and the other one alone.

“I must say that was easier than I thought it would be.” The doctor took off her glasses and put her index finger and thumb to her eyes. She pulled out two dark coloured contacts and looked back up at Dick. He stared at the pair of golden eyes and relief flooded in his chest.

“Eviff?” Dick said through the gag.

Edith. The Loyal One. Talon. One of the Knights of the court. A close friend even. She had probably the least amount of kills, just more than Dick. Every target could be taken down with ruthless efficiency and little blood spilled.

“I can’t just leave a fellow knight to get killed. William would have all of our heads,” She said, undoing his restraints.

“How’d you know I was here?” He asked, taking off the gag.

“You’re brother, I and the other knights were out on a mission.” She explained. It led us here and subsequently, you.

“Wh-

“It’s a long story.” Edith, the talon with the most courage, slipped out of her shoes and scrubs. “Now get dressed, we have an escape to hatch.”

“What’s the plan?” Dick began putting on the talon suit Edith tossed toward him.

“Marge is part of an organization that wishes for immortality.” She opened a grate on the floor and adjusted her mask so it fully covered her face. “They use -not so willing test- subjects for their experiments.”

“So there’s innocent civilians somewhere in this building.” Dick tightened the straps around his waist and made sure every knife was accounted for. “And you want to save them?”

“That’s what you would do.” She hopped into the vent.

“I don’t think you’d need me to come to that conclusion.”

“You have too much faith in us, Grey son.” She laughed humourlessly.

“Where’re the others?” He asked as they passed by another hallway.

“Doing some final touches on the plan. And hopefully catch your girlfriend.”

“Wow, I’m really feeling the love here,” He bit sarcastically.

“You’re naive. Let us make fun of that.”

“Hm.”

Edith stopped and looked back at Dick with a finger to her mouth. She used a small throwing knife to unlatch the grate ahead. It swung open and she dropped down onto a guard. They crumpled to the floor as she knocked them out.

Dick thudded softly next to her. A glint caught his eye. He grabbed his escrima stick. Twirled it around and launched it towards the shine.

A shot rang out. Hot iron pierced his neck. Vertebrae shattered. Electrum sprayed across the floor. His knees gave and they cracked against the cement.

Edith shrieked. Someone screamed. Copper hung heavy in the air. The sound of tearing flesh caught his attention.

Before him the person was torn open. Red oozed from their stomach and stained the shirt they wore. Their eyes blew wide with terror as each breath became a gasp. That’s when the recognition clicked. This was an agent. A white collar agent to be exact.

“Shit!” Dick flipped the agent on her side.

He pulled out a disposable syringe and opened it. With quick efficiency he took off the safety cap and injected the needle into her neck. The green liquid inside entered her bloodstream and a little life returned to her eyes.

“Isn’t that-

“Something like it. A watered down version known as Dionesium.” Dick interrupted. “This way she won’t lose her mind. Hopefully.”

Once the agent’s wounds began healing, Dick stood up with a nod. They stalked down the hall in perfect sync. Edith fiddled with her throwing knife as they went. Only when they were at a thick metal door did she finally speak.

“I’m sorry about the way I reacted.”

Dick gave a sidelong glance. He patted her back and chuckled. “It takes time to untrain a killing instinct. Tim struggled a lot with Damian.”

“They were a child. I am no such thing.” She scoffed.

“Don’t be hard on yourself.” Dick unlocked the hatch.

With the help of Edith, they pushed the metal door open and looked inside. Cages lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The silhouettes of people alike moved inside them.

“I’ll start on the right. You go left.” Edith bounded for the cages on her chosen side.

Dick jogged over to the nearest cage on his side. The lock was a simple padlock that needed a key to open. Thankfully, he had his lock pick.

The little girl inside sniffled. Injuries and bruises alike covered her body. Dirty bandages were wrapped haphazardly around her arms. Ribs jutted out from under her skin as bony ankles, knees and wrists sat shrink wrapped to her skin.

Shaking the anger away, Dick pulled down the lock. It opened and quickly he took it off the cage latch.

A strange sound gave him pause. Clicking echoed off the walls and the murmurs of the prisoners became deafeningly silent. Dick got to his feet and crept to the middle of the massive room.

“It followed us….” Edith breathed.

“What followed you?” Dick hissed, pulling his dagger from its holster.

“That.” She pointed to the other end of the room with a shaky hand.

In the dim light from the hall stood... an elderly woman?

“Are you sure? That just looks like an old lady to me.”

The old lady smiled, it stretched wider than humanly possible. Her limbs contorted and twisted until they were longer than her body. Her neck grew and the sound of snapping vertebrae made his stomach twist into knots. Her mouth opened and a long tongue with a strange black stinger thudded against the floor.

“Avoid its tongue and you’ll be fine!” Edith ran past him and charged.

“What the fuck is this thing!?” Dick dived to the ground as an arm swiped his direction.

“It’s an Electrum eater!” She threw a knife into its eye.

The eater shrieked and reared up.

“Is this the mission you were talking about!” Dick latched onto its neck. It roared and thrashed as he stabbed its throat.

“The one and only!” She dragged her knife down the eater’s leg.

It threw Dick off. He somersaulted and landed firmly on his two feet. It brought its tongue back inside its mouth. It was when its cheeks stretched out that Dick realized his mistake.

“Move it Grey!”

Edith grabbed his chest and yanked him away. A silver substance splashed onto the pants of his suit. It tingled his skin, but burned away patches of his clothing.

“Okay, why does it have built-in cloth eating spray?” Dick jumped back to his feet.

“Is that rhetorical?” Edith asked, throwing another knife.

“No shit Sherlock.” Leaping up into the air, Dick spun around with a flurry of knives. The eater screamed as each blade embedded into its skin.

He charged it again. Edith vaulted off his shoulders. She stabbed its other eye. Dick went under it and used his dagger to slice open its stomach.

The substance drenched him as it poured from its body. He scrambled away as it collapsed. Lungs burning, Dick panted heavily with exhaustion. He stared at the creature before looking away.

“Didn’t think that would work.” He chuckled. “You okay Edith?”

No answer.

“Edith?” Dick spun around. On the floor she lay. Some of the substance had burned away half her suit. Her breaths were slow like she was asleep.

Dick padded over to her and crouched down. In her neck was the tip of the stinger. Quickly, he yanked it out. Mercury stung his nose as he made a large gash in the small hole.

“Deep breathes. We’ll get through this.” Dick scanned for any signs of cyanide poisoning. So far nothing.

“G-grey….” Looking past him, her eyes went wide.

Dick turned around, but too late. The eater jammed its stinger into his jugular. The Electrum in his system activated. Numbness spread across his body like a wild fire. Every inch of skin tingling with icy blood and mercury. He keeled over Edith’s legs and glared at the eater.

It smiled menacingly at him as it pulled out its stinger. With slow predatory movements it towered over them. It opened its mouth and the splash of silver drenched them both. It pooled beneath them and left only the gold and metal on their clothes behind.

“I have to say, you lasted longer than expected.” Marge’s silky voice drifted into his ears.

Her heels clicked against the ground as she drew closer. Her shadow stretched long over them with each step.

“Though, I find it a stupid plan to only bring one friend, Neal.” She stepped over him and crouched down into his line of sight. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

One. She only thought Edith was here. That was good. That meant she didn’t know of the agent or Jason or the other Knights.

“The paralysis will wear off in a few hours. Hopefully by then, I’ll be ready to cut you open and see how you tick.” She placed a finger on his chest and tapped it idly.

Dick really had a poor taste in women. He’ll just have to blame Bruce for that.

“Lock them up.” She strode away leaving them with the eater.

The eater picked them up and tossed them into one of the higher cages. It was small and gave no room to move around (not that he could at the moment). Edith was basically on top of him with her chest on his, and arm over his stomach. It took a few tries for the eater to even close the door, because his legs could barely fit inside at the odd angle he was in.

“For…got to… tell… y-you….” Edith grimaced. “L-like u….s”

The thick door shut behind the eater, casting the room in complete darkness. Dick’s pupils dilated. In a few moments his eyes adjusted to the dark. The murmuring began again and soft crying could be heard from a few different cages.

Dick took a few grounding breaths to prevent himself from spiraling. He never liked being still for long periods of time. Even as Neal Caffery it was a hard tick to get rid of and this current situation wasn’t helping.

He couldn’t move. Every muscle felt like they were weighed down by heavy chains. His voice barely worked and he couldn’t even blink. Is this what it felt like for the people stuck in surgery? When the anesthesia didn’t fully work and you could feel everything, yet do nothing about it?

Edith’s breath blew warm on Dick’s chest. Her chest rose and fell with his in the quiet of the room.

A small click silenced the room. Metal softly clattered against the floor and a cage door creaked open. Quiet footsteps pattered onto the floor and the sound of shuffling filled the space.

The girl. He left the lock open. Thank whatever god exists that no one noticed.

“There’s a vent on the far wall.” A woman whispered. “Go find help.”

“But-

“It’s alright kid.” A man chimed in. “We’ll be fine.”

The girl’s footsteps became distant and a grate popped open. The metal bent under her tiny weight as she went and relief flooded in Dick’s chest.

Time ticked by slowly. Every second became minutes and every minute felt like hours. During that time, Dick’s body became colder. The Electrum moved sluggishly through his body. It numbed his mind and nerves. The heavy weight of paralysis became a distant thought. It wouldn’t be long until he lost his mind. Talon’s had a special gene implanted to make sure memories became jumbled and obedience a top priority.

Even if he was still able to refer to himself as the right name and pronouns, the instinct to obey would overpower his will easily. Edith probably was low on fresh Electrum. She had more personality than usual. The court must’ve been missing their knights for a good while then.

An hour or so passed and Edith could finally move her body, albeit with difficulty. Dick was yet to regain movement. Stabbing her throat to relieve the mercury must have helped her recover quicker.

She curled closer to him and shivered. Instinct was taking over.

“You know.” She began. “Your brother is such a theatre kid.”

A ghost of a laugh passed through his lips.

“He likes to pretend he’s some cool dude, yet he’s always doing the nerdiest shit.”

That sounded like Jason. Always one for the dramatics and complex plans.

“As annoying as the kid is. I’ve grown fond of him.”

Dick wanted to laugh more than he could. It wasn’t often people called him a kid. Jason was only four years younger than him after all.

“H…he’s twen….twenty- s-seven. W-what mm…akes y-you think h…e’s a k-kid?”

“I’m older than you by more than a century. You and him are like kids to me.” Edith shifted so she was more against him then on.

“Hm.”

The thick door swung open and the Electrum eater entered.

“Let me go, you overgrown vampire!” A modulated sounding voice yelled.

“Oh, just the person I wanted to hear.” Edith groaned, shoving her face in the crook of Dick’s chest and arm.

“Wait’ll get my guns! Won’t be so tough then!” Jason kicked and thrashed as he was lifted up to the cage where Dick and Edith lay.

The eater opened the door and shoved Jason inside. He squished uncomfortably against him and caused Edith to get nearly crushed against the wall.

“Dickie?” Jason asked, the whites of his helmet illuminated the red under them.

“Li’lwing?”

“What the fuck are you doing here! This was not part of my plan.” Jason hissed as the room was enclosed in darkness once again.

“P...oor choice I-n… women.” He croaked.

“Great, just great. No wonder you went radio silent.” Jason turned his head to Edith with probably a glare.

“Fellow Talons take priority.” She argued.

“Couldn’t have given me my own cage?” Jason muttered.

“So. How’s the plan coming along?” Edith asked.

“Just gotta get out of this cage and we can move to phase three.” He rolled halfway onto Dick and reached into his pocket.

“Y…you w-wan-

“Wanted to get caught?” Jason fished out a small convertible torch. “Yep.” He turned it on and began melting the metal away. The light from it revealed the red helmet. It had been upgraded and the bat-like ears rotated as they picked up other sounds. “Though it would’ve been a lot easier to get out of here with less people.”

With a swift kick the cage door swung open and slammed against its neighbour. One of the prisoners sneezed loudly as it did. Another coughed. Clearly, they understood the assignment.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” Jason dropped from the cage and landed softly on the ground below. “Ready when you are!”

“Think you can move?” Edith asked.

“B-barely.”

“Hang on tight, Grey.” She pushed him to the edge of the cage. “Get ready to catch him Hood.”

Gravity took him down. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing. Free falling without the ability to catch himself, but he trusted Jason and that was enough.

“UHF!” Dick crashed into Jason’s arms and brought him tumbling to the floor. They lay sprawled out.

Jason groaned loudly and Dick whined.

“Think you broke my rib….” Jason squeaked.

“S…sorry.”

“All good, not like I struggle to heal or anything.” Sarcasm dripped off his tongue.

“Hah.”

Edith landed shortly after. She stumbled forward, but quickly regained balance.

“Got anything to make the paralysis wear off?” She asked.

“I have one vial left.” Jason pulled out a glass vial with light blue liquid.

“Grey needs it more than me. I’ll recover shortly.”

Jason popped off the cap and adjusted Dick’s head so he was more upright. “Bottoms up Dickie.”

The blue liquid slid down his throat like jello. It was thick and frankly, really gross. However, it did the trick. Heat flooded back into his system while blood began overtaking the mercury and electrum. His heart thundered for lost pumps and his eyes slowly became more average.

“Holy sewage Batman! What is that stuff made out of?” Dick held his throat and blinked away his dry eyes.

“Didn’t have time to make it introvascular.” Jason clicked open his large thigh pouch and pulled out a pair of pants, shorts, tank top and boots. How he fit all that in there was still a mystery.

Edith grabbed the shorts and tank top. She slid them on with ease and began working on helping the others escape.

Dick used Jason as a wall to keep himself balanced as he put on the pants. They were spares for Jason, so much bigger than his own. The same went for the boots.

“Here.” Jason shucked off his leather jacket and helped Dick into it. Then he began tightening the straps on Dick’s boots.

“Heated lining on the jacket. Nice.” Dick zipped it up and tugged it closer.

“Gotta stay warm somehow.”

It was only a few minutes after everyone was out of their cages when a loud explosion shook the building.

“That’s our cue.” Jason pushed open the door. “Edith, you think you can get everyone out?”

She gave a nod. “Alright everyone! We’re doing a buddy system! Pick a partner and stick with them! If you don’t have a partner, join a group of three! Keep together and let’s get going!”

The crowd began following her down a hall. Dick and Jason stayed at the back to help everyone keep pace.

“You alright?” Jason asked after a moment.

“Maybe give a rain check later? I don’t wanna break just yet.” Dick grinned.

A scoff. “Worse than Dad on some occasions.”

“Shut up.” Dick nudged Jason’s shoulder.

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

“Fix your processors then.”

“I’d rather hear during missions thank you very much.”

A gunshot rang out. The crowd screamed. They backed into each other and looked around wildly. Dick snapped his head in the direction of the sound and ran.

He turned the corner. The little girl from before was on the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks as blood trickled down her arm. A large bullet hole marked her shoulder. Dick slid on his knees next to the girl.

“Look at me kid. I got you.” Dick pulled out the mandatory tourniquet from Jason’s side pocket and tightened it above the wound. Thankfully the injury was on the lower half of her shoulder.

“I’d stay put if I were you.”

Dick looked into the barrel of the pistol before him. Marge glared down at him with an irritated look. Her dark eyes bore into him as she cocked the gun.

“I only want to help the kid. She has nothing to do with this.” Dick put his hand out and used his body to shield the girl's vital organs.

Marge stared at him contemplatively. Then she flicked her gun in a leave gesture. The girl scrambled to her feet and ran the direction Dick had come from. He put his hands up in surrender and allowed her to put the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

“Neal Caffery. You are a strange man.” She dragged the gun down his temple and used it to tilt his chin up. “Talon’s aren’t known for their selflessness. Yet, here you are.”

“I’m not the archetype persé.” He leveled her glare with his own.

“If I blow your brains out, do you think you’ll come back?” She asked.

“Probably not.” He shrugged away the anxiety. “I bet you have some mercury on you.”

“I wonder if I should keep you alive.” Marge stalked closer. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head further back. “Hunt your dear talons down and kill them in front of you.”

“No.” Dick attempted to lunge as anger flared hot under his skin.

Marge’s gun whacked harshly against the side of his head.

“Maybe I’ll make it slow and painful. So the only thing you hear for the rest of your short miserable life is their screams.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“There’s the Talon I wanted to see.” She grinned.

Dick set his jaw and forced his mouth shut.

“Maybe I’ll show you how I killed that little pawn. It was so gross and rabid. Wouldn’t stop screeching! I was so grateful that thing snapped its neck in a frenzy to-

“You MURDER!” Dick grabbed Marge’s wrist.

A twist is all it took to snap it. The gun clattered to the floor. He dragged her down and grabbed it. The barrel pressed firm against her forehead. Her triumph left her face as fear replaced it.

“Y-you wouldn’t!” She cried.

“I’m a Talon of the court. You said we lacked human emotions-“ he tilted his head with a cold smile- “didn’t you?”

“If you kill me, what would agent Burke think?” Her eyes were wide and her lip quivered as fear spread across her face.

“Who says he’ll find out?” Dick leaned in so his face was inches from her. “You killed my Talons. You manipulated my friends! YOU USED ME FOR YOUR OWN PERSONAL GAIN!” He slammed her head hard against the floor. “If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, Margaret. It’s when people like you treat me like a tool.”

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet embedded into the cement floor. Marge screamed in terror as it grazed her cheek. Tears flooded down her face as sobs echoed into the empty hall. Just like that all her acts accounted for nothing. In the end she was a pathetic coward like all the others he’s faced against.

“I hope you confess for what you did and I hope you rot for it.” Dick stalked back down the hall leaving Marge a trembling mess. He took out the magazine and emptied the bullets. He holstered the empty gun and gave one final glance to Marge.

Jason was not too far from where Dick and him were before. He held the little girl against his hip and whispered encouraging words in her ear. She held a stuffed bear to her chest as the bandages were replaced with clean ones.

Dick stepped up to them and took over the task of wrapping her arms. The little girl smiled with a tired spark in her eyes.

“You were very brave, sweetie.” Dick tightened the bandage and tore off the excess. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Aw, I always try my best.” Jason rubbed the back of his head with faux sheepishness.

“Not you, you big buffoon!” Dick punched his shoulder with a smile.

The little girl giggled and Dick smiled wider.

“Don’t encourage him Jenny, his ego is already too big.” Jason, stage whispered.

“If anyone has an overinflated ego it’s you Littlewing.” Dick patted his back and began walking to the exit.

“Let’s ask Car the next time we’re all together.”

“Cardinal‘s the worst for ego! Better to ask Roc.”

Dick laughed with a genuineness he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Whatever you say, Hood.”

Jason opened the exit door and they both went outside. Dick wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but didn’t care much for it.

He found an empty space on the curb and sat down. Jason placed the little girl- Jenny on his lap and gave Dick a firm shoulder squeeze.

“You alright? He asked after a moment.

Dick sighed. “No.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want a hug?”

A soft smile made its way onto his face. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Jason pulled him into a side hug and kept him close. “I’m sorry about the shit you’ve been through. I heard a lot of awful stuff happened.”

“S’not so bad. I’ve dealt with worse.” Dick gave a shaky smile.

“You have any family around sweetie?” Jason asked Jenny.

“My uncle is over there.” She pointed to the crowd across the street currently tending to each other.

“Why don’t you go make sure he’s okay.” He set her down and watched her pad off to the other side.

“Papa hood is back in action I see.” Dick chuckled.

“I already had Tim-Tam call me that! Not you too!” He put Dick in a head lock and ruffled his hair.

“Hey, watch it! I’m your older brother, you overgrown-

Jason shoved him into his chest. “Let me have this!”

“Mmph.”

Sighing heavily, Jason looked up towards the clouds. “I called Konner at least an hour ago and he is yet to arrive.”

Dick pulled his head out of the grip and leaned against his shoulder. “Why not Bizzarro?”

“He and Artemis are across the world helping with some natural disaster.” He shrugged. “Besides, Konner lives in Gotham, which means HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE BY NOW!”

There was a sudden gust of wind and a tall lean man with a spiked collar and round shades tumbled onto the scene. His new super suit was less colourful and had taken on a more similar colour scheme to most of the bats of Gotham.

“Shit, I am so sorry!” Konner steadied himself, hovering just above the ground. “I got so busy! Little Carrie and sweet Robin wanted to go to the park, and you know me. Can’t say no to such wonderful children! They ended up running off to follow some “investigation” and I couldn’t find them, so you know I had to call Tim. And that’s a bad idea because anytime I call him in the middle of work someone needs to spea-

“Slow down.” Dick interrupted. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

“Alright, you know the plan. Go get that damn Electrum eater.”

“On it.” Konner took off into the air and flew into the building.

“I still don’t know how Timmy fell for the guy.”

“You don’t?” Dick asked.

“Nope.”

“Hm.”

The two sat in silence for a bit until Dick finally spoke.

“Who else is in your plan?” He asked. “You have the knights of the court. Konner. Yourself. Why not me?”

“Firstly, you aren’t a part of my plan because you have a mission you’re currently on. Secondly… It's Damian.”

“Kinda cruel.”

“He wanted to infiltrate the NYFD. I couldn't say no, so now he’s the support that will tip off the others.”

Konner sped back in front of them with a guilty look.

“So guys. I may have a teeny tiny problem.”

“What now?” Jason huffed.

“I can’t find the Electrum Eater.”

“What!” Jason jumped to his feet followed by Dick. “I need you to do another sweep. I’m going to talk with my team.”

“Do you need my help?” Dick asked.

“No. This isn’t your problem. You wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“But-

“Dick.” He placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. “You gotta trust me on this.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

Jason took off his helmet where that stupid red domino mask rested beneath. He gave a toothy grin and said, “Thank you.”

***

Peter was beyond relieved when he got the call that Brooklyn PD found Neal. Then he was angry, because what the fuck was he thinking running off like that?

Now worry clenched his stomach into tight knots. Two ambulances with doors wide open were outside a smoking storage complex. Police cars and now Peter’s units' cars lined the street side. Adults and children with skinny frames and little clothes covering their bodies sat on the curb.

The anxiety came back tenfold when he saw a superhero talking with a group of officers. His sunglasses glinted in the sunlight as he gestured to the building.

“…nd your sure there’s been no sign of it.” The hero asked.

Peter wasn’t sure which hero this was. He’d have to ask Jones.

“Like we said, we got here only half an hour ago.” One of the officers began. “We’d know if we saw some weird creature.”

The hero pursed his lips and nodded, the spiked collar around his neck made Peter uncomfortable to say the least. “Make sure all the departments know there’s a dangerous meta loose, we can’t have any injuries.”

“Excuse me?” Peter asked the hero.

“Something wrong sir?” The hero turned to face him revealing the large S symbol on his chest. This was one of the Super’s. Who, though, he didn’t know.

“Have you seen this man?” He showed a picture of Neal he had taken some time in the beginning months of making him a CI.

The Super took a long look before tilting his head sharply toward one of the police cruisers. On the hood of the car, sat Neal. He was wearing clothes far too big for him and was looking elsewhere. Bruises and cuts covered his chest. A paramedic Peter surprisingly didn’t recognize and a hero wearing a red domino mask were huddled next to each other looking at a piece of paper.

“Neal!” Peter ran over to his CI. “What happened?”

“A lot.” Neal smiled with little of its usual Caffery charm. “Turns out Marge is a little coockoo.”

“She did this to you?” Peter reached out and touched just above the bandages on his neck.

“Something like that.” His smile disappeared and he slouched forward. Slowly, he took off the large brown leather jacket and folded it neatly in his lap.

Peter examined his stomach and cringed at the large bruise covering it. This was not something Neal should’ve dealt with. However, what surprised Peter even more was the sleeve tattoo on his right arm. Neal’s wardrobe consisted of solely long sleeves so seeing a tattoo like that on his arm didn’t seem very Neal-like.

“Got this when I was nineteen. I added on to it over time, but now it’s pretty full.”

“Oh.” Peter gawked at him like a fool. Neal was being vulnerable. This was special.

The paramedic finished bandaging Neal’s back and left to help the other victims, but not before clicking his teeth with an irritated scowl. The hero in the red domino mask fiddled with a rather scary looking helmet as he followed after the paramedic.

“Let’s get you home, Caffery.” Peter guided Neal to the car and helped him into the passenger seat.

He turned over the engine and pulled out of the parking spot. They drove in silence for a good while. Peter took the occasional glance at Neal. He stared out the window with exhaustion plastered on his face.

Something about the way he looked made him seem… melancholic.

“You hungry?” Peter asked.

Neal looked up with a raised brow. “Yeah, I guess?”

“My place is close. Let’s eat there.”

“What are you up to Peter?”

“I think this conversation should be the other way around,” Peter chided.

“Touché.”

Once at home. Peter texted Diana and Jones to join them for dinner. Diana asked if they could bring some other agents and he said yes.

Neal helped El with dinner. He still wore the leather jacket while doing so, even after Peter had given him a t-shirt and sweats to fit into. It was odd, but then again Neal liked long sleeves.

The doorbell rang and Peter went to answer. Diana, Jones, Barstow and his wife stood at the door.

“I thought I’d invite Barstow.” Diana chuckled. “He’s good company.”

“It’s good to see you.” Peter let them inside. He wasn’t sure if Neal and Barstow were on good terms and hoped no malice would be shared tonight.

“Hey you guys!” Neal came up to Diana and Jones and brought them into a hug. “How’s it going?”

“You shouldn’t be the one asking that question.” Diana blinked a little surprised at the sudden affection, but kept the conversation going. “How’re you doing Caffery?”

“I could be doing better.” Neal shrugged and glanced at Barstow. “Oh, hello again.”

“Thought I’d make sure you were doing okay.” Barstow offered his hand and Neal took it without hesitation.

That was a good sign.

“Nice jacket,” Jones said. “Who gave this to you?”

“One of the guys who helped us escape.” Neal pulled the jacket closer with a smile that looked almost wistful.

“I hope you don’t mind Peter, but I brought my guitar.” Barstow smiled. “Can’t have dinner without music.”

Dinner was served an hour later. It was what El regularly made with just a little more spices than usual. Neal chatted with Barstow’s wife Charlotte. He had to guess it was mainly about wine from the way he showed off his glass.

Jones and Diana described what happened at the office to El while Barstow occasionally gave his two cents on the situation. Peter enjoyed the company and finished his meal with the peace of knowing the case was finally solved. Who would have known Marge was the mastermind behind the murders? She seemed so sweet.

After everyone had finished eating and everything was cleaned up, they retired to the living room to converse. It got to the point where Barstow strummed the guitar while Charlotte sang. He didn’t know what the song was about, but it was definitely a beautiful tune.

Once it ended everyone applauded. Jones whistled and Neal gave a standing ovation.

Barstow laughed and gave a semi-bow. Charlotte stood up and curtsied.

“That was such a wonderful song!” El said.

“My mother sang it at many parties.” Charlotte winked.

Neal put his hands on his hips. “Im going to get some more wine. Does anyone want a refill?”

“Here, here.” Diana handed him her glass.

Neal left the room, though Peter couldn’t help but catch the faltering smile.

“I’ll be back.” Peter whispered to El.

She nodded and kissed his cheek.

Peter went to the kitchen and saw Neal staring sadly at the wine bottle. His eyes shone with what looked like unshed tears.

“Hey.”

Neal startled and wiped his face. “Oh, hey Peter.”

“Everything alright?”

“It’s Uhm.” Neal took a deep breath. “It’s my parents' anniversary.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

Neal laughed wetly. “It’s not that kind of anniversary.” He put his head in his hands and wiped his face. “This is the day they died.”

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dead. The word hung heavy in the air.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Peter put his hand in comfort on Neal’s back. Neal rarely mentioned his parents.

“It’s not your fault.” Neal’s voice cracked. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Is there anything you need to do?” Peter asked.

“I just- I just try to do the things I did with them.” Neal straightened up and filled the glasses. The sorrow etched on his face, gone with a blink.

“What do you normally do?”

Barstow lent Neal his guitar after he asked. Peter tried to imagine a younger Neal playing the guitar with his parents. He wasn’t sure how he sounded yet, but would deal with it even if he couldn’t sing. This was for his grieving process.

Neal strummed the guitar a few times before finding the tune. It was a slow lighthearted tune that gave a warmth to the room. After a few seconds he began to sing.

“Rêver un impossible rêver…”

It took Peter far too long to realize the song wasn’t English. Since when did Neal know French? No, that wasn’t the right question. Since when was he so fluent? Neal never once spoke more than a few sentences. Most were common phrases even.

El looked over at Peter with wide eyes. He could only shrug at her questioning stare. Diana gaped at Neal and Jones watched in awe. This was definitely something Peter needed to look into.

After the initial surprise wore off Peter couldn’t but admire the song; it felt almost bittersweet in a way. With its soft tune and the way each lyric was sung from Neal’s mouth. His voice was smooth and eloquent. Not once fumbling or pausing on a particular difficult sounding word.

The song finished off with a loud upbeat note. Neal held the final syllable for a longer length and finally it ended with a few quick strums of the guitar.

“That was impressive.” Jones looked inspired.

“My Papa taught me the song years ago. We’d always sing it together.” Neal handed back the guitar to Barstow with a sad smile.

“Let’s finish this night with a toast.” Diana picked up her glass.

“What kind of toast?” Neal asked, lifting his own.

“To your parents and for raising such a wonderful kid.” She smiled.

Neal closed his eyes and grinned, this time much more cheerful.

“To my parents then.”

Here’s some art! :)

Chapter Text

The creature roamed the dark streets of Gotham. Down the alleys it sneaked. Creeping and crawling behind the darkest shadows and dirtiest shades.

It wasn’t after Richard tonight. Richard needed rest. Tonight Lady Gotham seeked it out.

The foggy graveyard creaked and groaned with the lost souls of those buried improperly. They cried out for the light. A place to go. Only Lady Gotham could guide them to light, but many feared the darkness that came first.

At the gravestones of Mary And John Grayson, stood Lady Gotham. Her body of ebony sludge and rotten sewage squirmed in the silence around her. Long raven hair with bones wrapped within its strands flowed down her back.

“My brightest knight.” Her voice echoed across the yard, bouncing off each gravestone and shunning away the spirits that roamed. Only the silent slithering reflections remained.

“My lady.”

“Your physical self is yet to merge with you.” She noted calmly. Her large hat with the different feathers and claws of the knights gave the only colour in this dark place.

“He is unwilling. Fear for this world holds his soul down.” It placed the flowers down at the graves

“Are you scared?” She asked.

“No. I feel incomplete, but it is Richard who needs to embrace the shadows. Not me.”

Lady Gotham’s fingers scratched the creature's cheek methodically and the creature spoke. “You did well with your warnings, but I fear for his soul. He has been through more than most.”

“He has a strong soul. That’s why I chose him. It's why you exist.” She caressed its cheek like a mother would her child.

“You summoned me?”

“I wanted you to rest.” She took a seat on the grey grass. “If you are rested, so will Richard.”

“Thank you Lady Gotham. Thank you.”

“Do not thank me. I am only someone to remind you, not command you.”

The creature grinned. “Yet you call us your knight.”

“You are.” She smiled, her eyes as black as ink stared contently at the fog. “It is an observation. Not from a place of power.”

“The night is going to be long tonight.”

“A long night indeed.”