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Dick fell through the portal. Wincing, he took note of his surroundings.
Heavy stone walls, tall columns, orange and black banners. In the center of the room, an ornate throne. Iron, cruel,
familiar.
Occupying the throne. A broad man with white hair, an eyepatch, and curling horns. By his feet, kneeling, a figure with dark hair, black and orange clothes, wearing a gold collar.
“Oh hell no.”
The man, archfiend Slade goddamn Wilson, stared at him. The figure at his feet, Renegade, turned slowly, blinking sleepy eyes at him.
Ren’s look turned confused. “…Me?”
Slade tucked a hand in his hair, and Ren immediately turned back, letting out a sigh of content.
“Oh. Hell. No.” Dick repeated.
“Grayson,” Slade said, revealing no change in expression. But Dick knew him better than that. After, what, almost a decade being rivals, and three years of being whatever the hell Ren was, Dick knew every micro expression on his face.
Slade was confused. But also elated. Because course he was.
Dick smiled. “That’s me!”
“Flying Prince.” Dick grimaced.
“Never liked that name.”
Dick could see the wheels in Slade’s head turning. He has one Dick Grayson at his feet. And another just dropped in from thin air. The egomaniac would want a matching set.
Okay. Dick gathered what he knew so far. He’s in the iron fortress. He’s either in the past, or an alternate universe version of the past. Slade was still a bastard. And he was going to kill Wally for suggesting they go after the damn wizard that specialized in damn time magic.
Just then a cackling noise came from his sending stone.
“-ick can you-“
“-us.”
Slade opened his mouth. Dick put one finger up in the universal gesture of wait. Slade shut his mouth.
He raised the sending stone to his face.
“Roger. Yeah. I can hear you. Connections not great. Over.” Initial and ending words, protocol for when communication is poor.
A sound of cheers from the other side.
“-oger. Hold on.”
“Wear off-“
“A week. Over”
“Roger. Okay. See you then. Over”
Then stone cut off. A week, huh. Dick could work with this.
He glanced at Slade. Then at Ren. And felt his expression soften. Passive, docile, trusting. Would never complain. Would never ask for more than he’s been given. Dick remembered being Ren. Dick remembered…
Dick marched up to the throne.
“Let’s make a deal.”
“Oh?”
“I’m from the future.”
“I assumed.”
Dick rolled his eyes.
“I will be gone in a week.”
“I heard.”
“So for this week, you get to make your dream come true!” Dick made jazz hands.
“Two whole Dick Graysons.”
Slade looked intrigued.
“I’ll belong to you until I leave.”
Slade raised an eyebrow, surprised. Dick snorted internally. “And what do you want?”
“I want Ren.”
Ren looked up at the sound of his name.
“And how do you think that would work? If you both belong to me?”
“I want primary call to take care of him.”
Ren stayed quiet, but his eyes were curious.
“Elaborate.”
“I want full permission to take care of him. You don’t prevent me from doing that, you don’t order Ren to reject care. And I’ll do whatever the hell else you want during this time.”
Slade considered it.
“Okay. Deal.” He raised a hand.
Dick shook it. Immediately orange strands of magic shot out from their connected hands. It curled around Dick, setting into his chest.
Dick grimaced. Gross.
Slade looked delighted. Like a child who just got told he could have two lollipops instead of one.
And immediately-
“Kneel.”
Dick rolled his eyes. The binding magic in his chest pulsed.
Dick dropped easily to his knees. The position wasn’t exactly unfamiliar.
Ren kept curious eyes on him, now that they were at the same height level.
Dick smiled reassuringly.
The first day, Slade was exceptionally annoying.
He pulled a silver collar, gods knew how he got that made so fast, and brought it to Dick’s neck.
Dick rolled his eyes again, and tilted his head to give Slade access.
“Hands.”
Dick raised them, palms turned inward. Slade fastened silver cuffs, identical to Ren’s except for the material, around them. Again, how the fuck did Slade get these made so quickly.
Ren watched the whole thing with wide eyes and a pondering expression.
Slade smirked. “My pets.”
Dick wanted to strangle him.
Slade paraded around the fortress, Ren attached to his left side, Dick his right. Gold and silver.
Predictable, egotistical, bastard. Ren followed passively, a dreamy smile on his face, eyes focused on Slade. Dick alternated looking at the surroundings, at Slade, and at Ren.
Gods. Had he really been like that? Poor thing. No wonder everyone thought he needed help when he went to find Slade after the spell broke.
Dick blinked.
He probably did need help. Three years of captivity does not just roll off one’s shoulders.
Slade kept both Ren and Dick chained through lunch.
“Open.”
Dick looked up. Slade was holding a fork out.
Dick sighed, leaned forward, and accepted the food. It was good. He missed the chefs at the Fortress. Probably the biggest thing he missed after he left.
Ren watched them curiously. When Slade repeated the motion with Ren, Ren leaned forward eagerly, making an exaggerated noise of appreciation. Slade looked delighted. Dick’s eyes narrowed. Something was up with Ren.
The afternoon was spent in Slade’s study. Finally unchained. Think gods. Even with the magic in his chest Dick wasn’t sure how long he could tolerate it anymore. How he managed as Ren he had no idea.
Well.
He had some ideas. Not good ones.
Ren knelt, leaning quietly against Slade’s leg, eyes closed. Not quite asleep, but not awake. Dick remembered doing that. Content to just be in the presence of his Master.
Dick sat on Slade’s other side, a book open in his hands. He was getting thirsty. Dick stood up with a groan.
“Do you want some water, Ren?”
Ren opened his eyes, blinked at him, then pointedly closed his eyes again, leaning more into Slade.
Did. Did he just snub himself?
Dick went to the kitchen, got two glasses of water, and placed one by Ren’s side.
Ren looked at it, and did not touch it.
At some point, Slade reached a hand towards Dick’s hair. Dick grimaced, but didn’t move. The hand did not land in his hair. Dick looked. Ren has inserted himself in the way, interrupting Slade’s hand with his own head.
Dick stared at Ren. Ren peered one eye open to glance at him, and quickly turned his attention back to Slade.
Dick didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Ren’s jealous. Of him.
A few hours later, Dick had shifted, migrated from Slade’s side to the couch, migrated back at Slade’s command and the tug of magic in his chest, sprawled on his back, then his front.
Ren hadn’t moved, keeping a perfect kneel. It’s subtle, Dick probably would have missed the signs if he hadn’t experienced them so often himself. The way Ren’s knees shifted, the way his hands clenched ever so slightly, the way he pressed just a bit more into Slade.
Dick quietly stood up, and grabbed what he knew was the softest pillow off the couch.
He went back to Ren.
“Scooch,” he said gently.
Ren looked at him. Then at Slade. Slade didn’t move. Dick glared at him, tugging on the deal in his chest. Slade grimaced, and nodded at Ren. At Slade’s nod, Ren scooched.
Dick placed the pillow where he was kneeling.
Ren looked at him cautiously, body tense. The poor bird was probably thinking Dick was gonna steal his spot.
“Sit.”
Dick said, backing away. Dick sat down as well, sprawling his legs in front.
Ren looked towards Slade again and, at Slade’s nod again, cautiously copied Dick’s movement. He let out a light groan when his bent knees finally got to stretch. Ren leaned back against Slade, looking a bit more relaxed.
Dick smiled.
Ren glanced at him. He grabbed the abandoned glass of water, and took a sip.
On the second day, Dick was up early. He headed to the kitchen.
He made polite conversation with the disgruntled looking kitchen staff, and helped with breakfast. A very particular breakfast. Pancakes. Sweet fruit. Lots of blueberries. Dick had emptied out the Fortress’s supply.
Good. Slade could buy more.
When Ren came in, rubbing at sleepy eyes, to make tea for Slade, he froze. He looked between the plates and Dick.
Dick smiled, and opened the cabinet he knew the tea set was kept.
Ren sent him cautious glances the entire time as he measured leaves, boiled water, steeped the tea, and prepared the cup.
Dick kept a passive smile on his face.
When Ren went to carry tea to Slade, Dick followed him. Three plates balanced in his hands.
Slade looked like he was just handed the keys to a conquered kingdom.
Two Dick Graysons.
One bringing him tea, the other serving him breakfast.
Ren politely placed the tea cup on Slade’s desk, and kneeled, to Dick’s satisfaction, on the pillow from the night before.
Dick placed one plate on Slade’s desk. The plainest one. Then the two plates, full of fruit, syrup, and other toppings, he set on the floor.
He nudged the one with more blueberries than pancake in front of Ren.
Ren blinked.
“For me?”
Dick nodded. “Yeah, little bird.”
Ren’s smile was small, but no less delighted.