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There was something just draining about Wayne galas.
Not a single member of the Wayne family actually enjoyed them. They were useful, yes, but draining. Tim and Bruce handled those a lot better than the rest of the family, they all had the reasons why they struggled with those, but coming from old money and founding families, the two of them simply thrived in the social maneuvering required to benefit from the galas. Jason always despised them, feeling like a trophy piece, Cassandra felt frustrated by being looked down upon for her difficulty speaking, Stephanie ran from them like a bat out of hell, and after years under Dick’s tutelage, Damian stopped trying to physically defend his honor every time some racist socialite implied untoward things about his heritage.
And Dick? He understood all of them.
He understood why the galas were beneficial to their work. Both daytime and nighttime work.
Dick kept a straight face while escaping groping hands that didn’t respect his boundaries, and throwing out roofied drinks to the point he simply accepted glasses and put them away discretely. He learned to move seamlessly through conversations to find useful information and got rich socialites to donate money to the charities keeping the foundation of Gotham going. Dick endured years of comments on his accent and linguistic mix-ups until he perfected his ability to switch languages and accents to match those he spoke to. Becoming an expert at handling these event certainly didn’t mean he enjoyed keeping a blank smile at the racist remarks towards his parents (but never towards Dami, never - Dick refused to think about what that said about him).
But Bruce needed an extra set of eyes and ears at the gala, especially with rumors that the Falcones were in talks to assassinate Julian Thorne over an unpaid debt that he refused to settle. Bruce didn’t think the Falcones were actually going to try anything on a Wayne gala of all places because of the history of it getting crashed by Rogues and Bats, that didn’t mean there wouldn't be talks of it. And while an assassination wasn’t likely, a kidnapping could be very much in the works.
Which was how Dick got saddled with babysitting Thorne once he arrived.
Jason, the lucky shit got to patrol as security while Barbara watched the cameras. With Tim on a mission with the Titans and Cass in Hong Kong, Dick and Damian were the only two others to help Bruce keep an eye on what happened inside the mansion and Damian preferred to lurk in corners and move quietly to avoid conversation, so it fell on Dick to keep Thorne distracted.
Not that he’d ever make the baby bat sit through a conversation with a guy who’d been eyeing Dick over since he was fourteen.
“Change of plans,” Jason spoke with a worried tone, “Thorne is here, but he isn’t alone.”
Dick exchanged a look with Damian from across the room before they both looked towards the front doors to the mansion.
Of course, he scoffed.
It was just his luck.
Of all contract killers in the world, Thorne had to get Slade Wilson for protection.
Julian couldn’t even afford Slade, Dick knew that instantly. Slade hated contracts in Gotham. They were always three times his usual rates, even for intelligence gathering or security detail, and Slade had nineteen clauses about Bat interference and another thirteen pertaining Nightwing. Dick would deny to his death that he found it hilarious that Slade found a way to profit off their interference with his work, but it did bring a sense of morbid irony that his clients would be charged more if the Bats got involved.
Slade hated contracts in Gotham, but he loved contracts that put Dick on edge.
Contracts that brought him to Bludhaven and put them on a stand-off, leaving Dick with more bruises than he could count and Slade with injuries only someone who knew him intimately could inflict. And left them both calmer than they had been in ages.
Violence was the only language Slade knew how to speak, and Dick became way too fluent at it. Sometimes he needed to speak it too, unrestrained.
And Slade promised he’d be gone by morning, the bastard.
The silver fox gave Dick a once-over as soon as he stepped through the door and smirked.
“No,” Nightwing commanded discretely, knowing full well Slade could hear every single word, “We move as planned. He’s with Thorne, he won’t double-cross a client.”
“And if Thorne isn’t his contractor?” Bruce defied through the comms, voice quiet to avoid others overhearing. “Don’t engage.”
Slade gave Dick a sly look and whispered something to Thorne amicably, but Dick knew that posture. Security detail, but keeping close. Acting like a friend to avoid questions and attempt to separate them by unruly parties. Friends were more likely to stick close even if conversations shifted, but some socialites wanted staff to keep a professional distance, which a guy like Thorne with a price on his head wouldn’t be comfortable with. Thorne’s face lit up as he searched the room until his eyes landed on Dick.
The forty-year-old with a million dollar debt to the Falcones made way to him with a bright smile.
“Richie!” Julian greeted brightly, going for handshake and wrapping a hand around Dick’s bicep quite unnecessarily, “When was the last time I saw you? I feel like it’s been forever!”
Dick chuckled, “A few years ago? Bruce was still recovering from his accident when I briefly took over things for him.”
“Quite a shame, you should come to these more often, my boy!” Julian turned to Slade, “Please don’t mind my friend Mr. Wilson here, he may look a bit menacing but I assure you he’s quite the character!”
Dick nearly snorted at the backhanded compliment. Anyone else wouldn’t have spotted the crease of irritation in Slade’s eye. Well, eyes this evening since it seemed he’d chosen a pretty realistic prosthetic over his usual eyepatch.
The older man gave Dick a nearly predatorial smile, “We are acquainted, actually,” Slade corrected almost pleasantly. If he wasn’t a bastard for doing it.
That brought a confused frown to Julian’s face, clearly trying to find out just how Richie Wayne could know a famous mercenary that he’d hired as a bodyguard.
“It was quite unfortunate when he and Aunt Addie divorced, we…-” Dick interjected before Julian could draw his own conclusions, or Slade could make the situation worse. Damian was already staring at them through second floor banister while Bruce snuck looks from his own conversation with the mayor.
Slade put a hand on Dick’s lower back, close to his waist and pressed down light on top of a bruise forming from a well-aimed punch from last night. Dick fought a pained groaned and disguised it as a cough “…-Joey is a good friend.”
“Mr. Wilson,” Julian looked flabbergasted, “I don’t know where my mind must have been these days!’ He apologized profusely as Slade clearly fought the urge to roll his eye, likely avoiding it due tot he prosthetic and professional curtesy. “It truly escaped me that you and Adeline were married.”
Slade’s hand moved up the acrobat’s back pressed over the bruise on his should blade, much harder than he did on the previous one. Not a sound escaped the vigilante, but he did take a deep breath to compensate for it. He was too well trained to show such small weakness on the field. “Never mind that, Mr. Thorne,” Slade placated, “You had much more important people to dedicate your time to.”
People who had a name for themselves. Not a nobody from Oklahoma. Even a nobody who was decorated by the US army.
“Richard, I can cause a distraction,” Damian spoke determinedly. He had a clear view of Slade’s hand, and while the baby bat may not have had any idea about the bruises, he was certainly protective enough to wish harm on anyone touching Dick for any reason.
The corner of Slade’s mouth twitched, he moved his hand back down to Dick’s waist, this time keeping it there possessively while giving Damian a brief daring look.
Dick didn’t dare move an inch.
The last thing they needed was Julian asking questions. Or starting a groping contest with Slade, though the acrobat was almost eighty percent sure the mercenary wouldn’t let it happen out of sheer possessiveness.
He liked making Dick uncomfortable, but he drew the line at sharing.
A little commotion drew their attention away as Bruce carried Damian in one arm like a child. The teen looked like an affronted cat while Bruce laughed away his son’s attempts to demand release, he continued the conversation while making sure to draw Damian back to him through the guise of affection.
“Your brother? Is he still acting out?” Julian asked, and Dick faked a smile.
“He was quite upset to part from an art project,” he lied. Slade’s thumb caressed his waist, making him gulp, but Dick continued, “He is concerned that taking this evening for the gala will affect the results.”
The socialite laughed in amusement, “Truly, children should enjoy the finer things in life every once in a while,” then the man’s brows drew in a question. He recognized that look. “Is he truly adapting to the United States? I hear there’s been some issues in the Academy, making threats…Honestly, one would think he’d know better!”
“Boys will be boys,” Slade cut in with a chuckle and held Dick’s hip tightly. Not enough to break, but enough to bruise.
Dick’s mind nearly went blank with pain. He knew the bastard did it to keep Dick from punching Thorne but the extra pain was for Slade’s own amusement.
Slade learned the hard way that talking about Dick’s brothers, trying to use them against him was a line the vigilante drew with prejudice. He made the mistake of suggesting he should have employed his efforts and attention to Jason one time, not too long after the Red Hood’s identity had been revealed. The old man nearly left the fight without an arm and missing his favorite katana.
Dick still used it to spar with Damian from time to time.
There was no fear of the man using his family as hostages. The mercenary would never do something as plebeian as try the same tactic twice and Dick’s family, for all their flaws, were filled with paranoid detectives, using them as unknowing hostages wouldn’t last very long. Not that Slade had any wish to forcefully drag Dick back to his side. No. Dick knew the man was truly thriving in his subtle interferences with Dick’s work, helping out here and there, dead bodies and missing perpetrators when Dick felt overwhelmed. He was like a cat bringing dead birds to its owners.
The thought didn’t comfort Dick.
He knew what it meant.
It scared him.
But the thought that it didn’t scare him as much as it should was even worse. Not enough to make Dick push Slade to stop it. Dick could, he knew he could. But he didn’t.
The Titans knew Slade still approached him on occasion, but Dick was certain that if they knew to what extent and the kind of conversations they had, they wouldn’t leave Dick to his own devices. Even Joey, for all the love he still had for his father, only trusted the man with his own safety and that of his sister. Dick never told Joey about Renegade and he knew that Slade wouldn’t address it either to avoid more issues with Joey, but Dick wouldn’t be surprised if Joey did know.
Rose knew, obviously. She, as well as Wintergreen, were the only ones who knew just how often Slade took contracts way below his rate in Bludhaven or Gotham just to have the opportunity to mess with Nightwing. She knew what they were like when masks were off and she may not have known the entire story behind Renegade, but she knew exactly who he was and that she couldn’t tell others. She simply assumed Renegade was the result of a training contract and that Dick didn’t want to ostracized by the hero community
“Grant was quite unruly as well, you’ll find that they settle down quite well once their teachers and peers rise up to their level instead of demanding they stoop down to theirs…” his tone was light, but it held an edge that Dick appreciated.
“Perhaps,” Julian said agreeably because while he may have been inappropriately interested in Dick from a young age, that interest didn’t stop him from being a racist cunt. One would think that the profile would fit a person away from a man’s bias, but Dick discovered early in his life being considered a low life gypsy didn’t stop predators from chasing after him.
“I swear if I see him move his hand down to Wing’s ass, I’ll send Hood inside,” Barbara spoke through the comms and Dick fought the urge to roll his eyes.
It was useless when Slade could hear the chatter, it only encouraged him.
“Julian!” Madame Lynch greeted the despicable man and Dick allowed himself to eye-roll pettily at the entire interaction, Slade snorted. “My dear you…-“
Dick stopped paying attention, he could care less about what Madame Lynch had to say. Bruce wanted him to help with keeping an eye on Julian Thorne, but he drew the line at keeping up with the Lynch-Thorne generational feud.
A hand pressed down again on the bruise by his waist and Slade leaned down to his ear, the one with the comm, “The server approaching has a glass with a roofie. Could be for you or for him.”
“Not you?” Dick mocked, of course he knew.
“Unless they put horse tranquilizers in there, it isn’t for me,” he whispered and Dick faked a loud laugh, pushing himself away from Slade just enough to feel the impact against his back.
Glasses shattered, the sound of a metal tray spinning on the ground echoed though the place.
People looked, they whispered.
“Oh my God!” Richie Grayson exclaimed apologetically, “I’m so sorry! I should have been more aware of my surroundings, are you …-” Dick waved his hands dramatically, “-…can we get some help here?” He shouted in an even tone, but then turned to the server calmly “Are you okay?”
The blond kid didn’t look out of place, but he did look very nervous.
It could be the shock, but he was likely coerced into putting something on the drink.
The teen nodded.
Generally Bruce didn’t like younger staff working during the galas, not where the elite was at least. It was better to avoid putting teenagers in a space full of toxic rich people who thought they could get away with anything because of the number of zeroes in their bank account. This teen was probably a replacement for a last minute vacancy on the staff, one that was too coincidental to overlook. Bruce and Tim would have to look into that.
Some other staff came over and helped the teen up, Dick gave him a once over and while he wasn’t as good as Cassandra, he could tell the kid was relieved. Even if his hands shook a bit.
Slade watched the scene with proud satisfaction, and leaned back into Richard’s space, letting his beard brush against Dick’s ear, “Just like old times, isn’t it?” Dick stiffened, “Don’t you miss it?”
“Don’t.”
“What the fuck did he mean by that, Goldie.”
“Richard!”
Dick glared at Slade sending him a look Happy now? To which the mercenary responded with a smirk.
“Don’t make light of it.”
“That’s not a no, Robin,” it was said quietly, barely above a whisper in Dick’s ear.
Suddenly, Slade’s body right behind his. His hand on Dick’s hip, face right next to his felt way too familiar.
It was an echo of a very different time.
“There’s no harm being done,” Slade comforted as they both kept an eye on the target making excuses to try to escape Madame Lynch, “We’re both here to make sure that moron makes it through the night and as long as no one tries to attack either of us, everyone should make it out unharmed.” Slade’s hand felt just as big as it did ten years ago as it slid up and down Dick’s waist. “Make sure I don’t have a reason to shoot anybody, and we should all come out of this unharmed, shouldn’t we…Robin?”
“Don’t.” Dick hissed quietly, he forced a laugh when a few guests looked their way and looked up to Slade intensely, “Do not call me that.” Not here. Not now. Julian frowned upon looking at them and Dick waved him over, “Julian! Did Slade tell you about a time he and Aunt Addie…!”
Keeping an eye on the man approaching them, Slade still whispered, “It’s your name, the others should simply learn to use it.” To Julian he gave an amused flat look, “It seems like the youth is easily entertained by stories of the army, he still doesn’t understand how Adeline and I got away with some of our…dalliances back in the day.”
Dick nearly stumbled forward as a hand landed on his shoulder with a loud clap.
“Richard,” Bruce said pleasantly, “I’m so glad I found you!” Then he made a show of looking surprised at the other two engaged in the conversation, “Julian! How long…my, my it must be a while since I saw you last! Did I miss you at the Lynch Foundation Charity gala?”
Before Julian could even respond, Bruce continued as he discretely pulled Dick away from Slade’s grasp, “Excuse me a moment, Julian, Damian is a bit distraught this evening and I’m afraid nothing short of Richard will appease him.” Not even sparing a glance at Slade, Bruce turned them around as he spoke, “Dick, could you meet Damian in his room? He might try to jump out the window and…”
“What about Julian?” Dick heard himself ask, but didn’t fight his father’s words.
Part of him wanted to, but another was just…tired.
This made them stop on top of the staircase leading to the family wing, past the security but with a good view of the guest area.
Bruce’s eyes were angry, but Dick could see the grief in them. The worry.
“Jason is keeping an eye out and I’ve heard Batwoman may be making rounds around here a bit earlier this evening.”
It didn’t surprise him. Oracle probably contacted her the moment Slade waled through those doors. Aunt Kate loved a good opportunity to punch her cousin’s ex-husband in the face.
They were quiet for a moment, and in this staircase, in this room, it just made Dick feel very small. Young. Fresh out of watching his parents fall right before his eyes. And Bruce, he’d looked so big, so grand then. Now, he just looked tired. Old. Dick was older now than Bruce had been when Dick became his ward. It was something they didn’t talk about, but Dick wondered if Bruce ever thought about that. Becoming Damian’s guardian, even if temporarily, put many things in perspective, many of them about Bruce’s actions when Dick was younger.
It made it very easy to let go of some of that anger.
Not all of it, not even half of it.
But how could he not let go of some of it? The love, the concern in Bruce’s eyes was the same. Sometimes Dick forgot that. Sometimes Slade made him forget there were people around him that cared, other than him, of course.
Bruce cared. He always did. He was horrible at showing it more often than not, but lack of care was never the issue.
“I’m fine.”
His father didn’t shake his head, didn’t agree, he simply smiled, “Do you think you can handle Damian right now?”
Oh for fuck’s sake, that brought a familiar spark of irritation, “He’s not something to be handled, Bruce…”
“I guess you are fine then,” the man teased with a smile.
Which, Dick snorted, he supposed was not a bad way to distract him from spiraling.
A small smile pulled at Dick’s lips, “Holy emotional training, Batman, have you been reading Dinah’s books?”
“Names, chum,” Bruce chided softly, but gave him a soft look “..and you wouldn’t be able to prove it if I was.”
“Look, not to be the bad guy here,” Jason’s voice interrupted through the comms, “But I can see the brat trying to hack into the the alarms system with his school computer.”
Dick snorted, “Duty calls.”
“Indeed,” Bruce agreed and before Dick moved to walk to the family, he added, “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
It was phrased like a request, but Dick knew that with Bruce it was a promise.
“Okay.”
It was probably a good thing, but why did it feel like a mistake?