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It was raining.
The water droplets struck the roof and windows with an incessant tapping sound. When it rained, the world became muffled and distant. People abandoned the streets, yet cars drove right through the deluge without a care in the world.
Dick closed the door behind him, leaning against the door with a heavy sigh. He hated the rain. When he was younger, he thought it was pretty, but ever since that one night, it hasn’t been the same.
He kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch. Dick stumbled into the kitchen, flicking on the light and just standing there. He should eat something, it’s been a while.
Nothing could stop his eyes from drifting to the window. Each time he remembered the feeling of rain pounding against his face, his stomach would lurch like he was on some hellish rollercoaster. He didn’t think he could keep anything down right now. The only reason he hadn’t thrown up already is because he hadn’t eaten today.
He really didn’t mean to go hungry. There was an Arkham breakout and it was sucking up all his attention. Or, it had been.
Dick had made a bad call. Scarecrow was being backed into a corner by the bats, attempting to disappear into the city streets and getting stopped at every turn. Tim had been sprayed in the face with fear toxin, prompting Dick to shout for Stephanie to go grab him because he was busy trying to restrain four or five civilians who had been hit with the toxin. He didn’t realize her rebreather was broken. He probably would’ve seen that if he hadn’t been rushing through the safety checks to get to the breakout as soon as possible.
That started an argument between Bruce and Dick.
Their arguing wasn’t unusual. Dick and Bruce could scream at each other for hours if something got them going. But in this argument? When both of them were tired and stressed and worried about their teammates? Bruce had been ruthless and cut into some of his deepest insecurities.
“You can’t be trusted with the lives of your siblings, you’ve proven that yet again.”
Yet again. Bruce didn’t say it, but they both knew what he was referring to.
And then of course, it had to start raining on his drive home.
The silence in the apartment was as loud as the rain.
He leaned against the counter and gripped the edge until his knuckles went white. Dick tried to take deep breaths and push away all of the stress that seemed determined to drag him down into the grasp of sorrow. Yet again. Those words played in his head again and again.
Dick didn’t hear the lock click open. He didn’t hear the door slide open or the wet footsteps on the ground. He only became aware that his loneliness was broken when a gust of air hit him in the back.
“Your security is laughable, Richard.” A clean voice cut through his thoughts.
“Slade.” He said. He didn’t flinch or tense, he didn’t prepare himself for a fight. All he did was turn around exhaustedly. “I don’t have the energy for any games you’re trying to play tonight. Just get out.”
His clinical blue eye scanned Dick’s face. “I’m not playing anything.” He took off his jacket and set it on the table. Dick sighed. “You look pathetic.”
“Wow, what a smooth talker.” He huffed.
The rain drew Dick’s attention again. He looked over, feeling his heart rate pick up, as he recalled the smell that haunted him through so many lonely nights. Wet concrete, blood, and perfume. The smell was burned into his brain, and now it was returning to him again, wrapping around his shoulders.
He blinked in surprise when he realized how close Slade had gotten. Dick didn’t have time to react before Slade grabbed him by the chin and lifted his face. His hands were warm against Dick’s freezing skin.
“The Bat has no room to talk about mistakes,” Slade said.
Dick huffed a shaky laugh and pulled away. “Stalker.” His eyes flicked to the window again immediately.
“Look at me,” Slade said firmly, once again grabbing his face and turning his head. But this time, he wrapped his arm around Dick’s back and dragged him closer. “Not the window, not the sky. Me.”
Every word he could say evaporated from his mind. If he had any common sense, he’d push Slade away and chase him off. But after the day he had, there was no more common sense left. He needed this, he needed the hand on his face and the warm body pressed into him.
“He wants a soldier who doesn’t bleed and a weapon that doesn’t crack,” Slade said. “He doesn’t understand that fracture lines need to be mended, not just discarded.”
The words crashed into Dick’s chest. It was hard to focus on anything beyond Slade. He was a massive, hulking threat, one that was holding him and inspecting his body like a broken tool, yet understanding him just at a glance.
“Why are you here?” Dick asked before he could even process the words.
“Because I’m not going to let some harsh words break my apprentice.”
“I’m not yours anymore.” He said, voice hollow.
“Tonight you are.”
He stared back at the man for a while. Dick shouldn’t be humoring this. Why was he leaning into the touch of his greatest enemy?
“Now, go sit down,” Slade said. “You need to eat.”
The warmth and light pressure eased. Dick mourned its loss, watching as Slade moved around him and further into the kitchen.
He made his way into the living room and systematically closed every curtain. Then, he sat down and turned on the TV. Dick had to play something to cover up the sound of the rain. Just having Slade here was making him feel more steady, but he knew he was one more push from collapsing.
When the TV was playing a random video essay low enough that the rain was only a faint memory, he grabbed his blanket from the floor and pulled it over his lap. Dick sat with his knees up to his chest and arms curled in.
He didn’t know why Slade was here. Likely, he was coming for a good lay and stumbled across Bruce and Dick arguing. The idea that he had heard Dick being scolded like a misbehaving toddler was embarrassing, but that feeling was drowned out by relief. He was relieved that Slade was here. He couldn’t ride out another night alone.
Slade came into the room and thrust a plate of food into his hands. Dick grabbed it, shifting to sit upright, and started idly picking around his plate.
A moment later, Slade returned with his own food and settled down near him. The relative silence between them was almost companionable for a while, but as Dick took tiny bites of his food and thought about the situation more and more, the silence started to feel awkward.
“Are you going to eat or are you just going to keep brutalizing your chicken?” Slade asked after Dick stabbed and tore another small piece off.
“I’m not hungry.” He said.
“Yes, you are.”
Dick sighed. Back when he was Slade’s apprentice, he had a ferocious appetite. Slade sometimes poked fun at him for it (which fell flat given the situation). Now though?
“Why are you really here?” Dick asked suddenly. He set the plate down, staring firmly at the screen. “I don’t mean in the apartment right now, I mean in Gotham in the first place.” He clenched his fists until it hurt, feeling tears threaten to appear in his eyes. “If you’re here for sex, I can’t give you that. Not tonight.”
They’ve had sex a few times. The first time was when Dick was celebrating his 21st birthday by busting a drug ring and the two ended up crossing paths. Slade had a personal grudge against the gang (something about them not paying him what he was owed) and agreed to help take them down. And while patching up each other’s wounds in a convenience store bathroom… Well, one thing led to another, and their relationship was forever altered.
For the most part, Dick didn’t mind this odd relationship. Sometimes they were fighting like bitter rivals, sometimes they were bantering like old friends, and sometimes they were fucking each other like the world was ending. It didn’t need a label (not that one label could even encapsulate whatever the hell this was), he was fine with how it was.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the thought of sex made him feel sick. There was no way he could give Slade what he wanted without remembering unwanted hands gliding all over his body and holding him down. He just couldn’t do it tonight.
Slade didn’t speak immediately. He watched the screen without really seeing it. Graphics shifted on the screen, casting blue and white light across the handsome features of his face. After a minute of contemplation, he spoke.
“If I wanted a warm body to sleep next to, I wouldn’t be in Gotham,” Slade said. Dick turned his attention from the screen to Slade, but the man didn’t look over. “This city is a cesspool of low-level criminals and jobs that don’t pay enough to catch my eye.”
Dick looked towards the window, then immediately forced himself to look back at the screen. “Then… why?”
Slade sat back against the couch cushions. He set the plate down with a hollow clink. “I had a job in The Diamond District. A job that actually pays well. And on my way to a safehouse, I stumbled across Batman burning his most valuable chess piece. And I don’t like having my assets mismanaged.”
He scoffed. “Oh, yeah. Your ‘assets’. Always about the bigger picture with you, huh?”
The older man huffed an annoyed sigh. “If I wanted sex, I would’ve taken it. If I wanted a fight, I wouldn’t have let you turn around in the kitchen. I’m sitting with you on this shitty couch watching this slop because you are drowning and refuse to call for a lifeline.”
It was hard to breathe yet again, but this time it was for a different reason. It wasn’t the sweet lies of The Titans whenever he needed comfort, it wasn’t the stone walls of Bruce. It was the truth, brutally honest and plainly stated.
It was comfort, but not very cozy. Something that only Slade could manage.
Dick tried to speak and choked on the words. He bit his lip, chewing on it for a moment. “It’s the rain.” He croaked. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Anytime it’s raining, I remember-… I remember bad things. Like it’s happening all over again. And I- I can’t…” He trails off.
The silence was thicker than ever. Usually, he took insults well, they glanced off his shield of humor. But he couldn’t take it tonight. Any night but tonight. If Slade pushed right now, he’d break into a million pieces and never be able to recover.
Slade shifted his sitting position and reached over. His movement was slow, deliberate, as he grabbed Dick’s hand and pulled his nails from his palm. Dick hadn’t even realized he had been doing that.
The older man slid closer. He grabbed Dick’s head and pushed him down so Dick’s ear was against his chest. His hand slid from the back of his head to rest in between his shoulder blades.
“I’m real. I’m here with you right now.” He said. His voice was softer and steadier than Dick had ever heard it.
His heartbeat was loud and steady. Dick closed his eyes and just listened to the rhythm. The endless droning of the man on the TV and then the firm and predictable beat was enough to completely erase the sound of the rain. Slade’s body heat chased away the cold of that awful night, making the memory feel distant and small.
“Now, we’re going to stay here until you’re calm enough.” He said, his voice leaving no room for argument as he gave his orders. “And when you are, you’re going to finish at least half your plate of food, and then you’re going to bed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” He said, the words feeling too natural even with his shaking vocal cords. His hands tightened on Slade’s shirt. “Thank you…”
The older man said nothing.
Dick was grateful for him. His firm, authoritative presence that used to haunt his dreams as a kid now chased away the demons of his past. Just for tonight, he could lean into the man’s comfort.
Something else was blooming in his chest. Tangled in with the growing comfort and security, something he had only felt in short bursts for the mercenary began to bloom and grow stronger. He couldn’t quite name it, not yet, but it was enough to guide him into a thin sleep right there on Slade’s chest.