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Chapter Text

It's been weeks, and not a single one of Dick's traps have been tripped. 

He's not worried, not yet at least. He knows from Babs that Tim is still flying around as Robin every night. Still healthy, and safe, and alive. He can trust that she would tell him if anything were wrong with Tim, even if Bruce didn't. Just like he didn't after Jason—

So Tim is fine. No news is good news. He just… has other things going on in his life than visiting Dick. This is fine. He misses his little brother, of course he does, but it's not as if Bludhaven is lacking in things to keep him busy in the meantime. The latest distraction comes in the form of a certain mercenary. Despite a lack of any contracts that he or Babs have been able to trace, Slade has been hanging around the city and generally making a nuisance of himself. 

"Deathstroke," Dick calls out at the heavy touchdown of boots on the rooftop behind him. He doesn't brace for action, knows if Slade planned to attack then he wouldn't have heard the man coming. "What are you doing in my city?"

"Just taking in the sights, little bird." 

The sights, presumably, being Dick himself. He snorts as he turns to face the mercenary. "They usually keep the tourist traps at ground level. Just a tip."

"But none of them are half so entertaining as you."

There's no warning. No change in the man's stance or expression. Dick knows it's coming all the same, escrima already raising to parry the strike. They dance across the city's rooftops, blows pulled just enough not to maim, no stakes beyond their pride. It's exhilarating, and Dick laughs as he flies through the air into a blow. 

Eventually, they sit beside each other on the rooftop, Slade apparently content to keep Dick company as he sits vigil over his city. 

"Any chance you're going to tell me what this is really about?"

"Maybe I just wanted to make sure my former apprentice wasn't losing his touch. Just in case you ever decide to come back some day."

Dick laughs. So that's a no on getting any answers tonight. 

Jason is alive. 

Dick's baby brother is alive, and Bruce didn't tell him. Didn't tell him Jason was back. Didn't tell him Jason had taken up his own murderer's discarded name and become Gotham's newest Rogue. Didn't tell him that Bruce was still trying to throw him in Arkham. Probably knowing Dick would stop him. Would try to bring Jason home. Not that there's much chance of it now. 

"Stay the hell away from my family you fucking psychopath."

"Oh, I see how it is, Dickiebird. The old man gives you a shiny new baby brother, and suddenly I'm nothing to you."

"Jason? You're—"

"Save it. Stay the fuck out of crime alley, Nightwing. Or I'll shoot to kill next time."

He doesn't even hear Slade approach until the man is already sat down next to him. "C'mon, little bird. You're starting to look like your father with all that brooding. Out with it."

Dick feels his scowl deepen at the comparison, quickly smoothing his features before Slade can gloat at being proven correct. "The Red Hood is my brother."

Slade cocks his head in a way that Dick has come to learn means he's raising a brow beneath his mask and wants Dick to know it. "The Bat have a secret love child or something?"

"The Red Hood is my formerly dead little brother, and Batman kept it from me. And after the things I said to him tonight, before I knew it was him, he's never going to speak to me again."

Slade whistles, brief and low. "Shit, kid. That's fucked up."

And despite himself, Dick barks out a laugh. "Yeah, it really is."

"Look, you know I'm not exactly the Bat's biggest fan." And isn't that an understatement. "But it seems unlikely that he was keeping this from you on purpose. If nothing else, he'd have done a better job of it. He's probably just off brooding about it and hasn't even thought to let you know."

Dick feels his smile turn brittle as he chokes out a thanks. It's not Slade's fault. He couldn't have known that would hurt Dick even more than Bruce already did. That not even being worthy of an afterthought was far, far worse than being lied to. 

"And really," Slade continues, "I wouldn't worry too much about the returned bird. You all have your father's temper. Let him cool off. Let him be the one to reach out. Time will fix it, trust me."

And if Rose and Joey can forgive Slade, surely Jason can forgive Dick, right?

Dick doesn't understand how a simple case of mistaken identity could have gone so horribly wrong. He tips back his third glass of whiskey as he runs the evening over again, searching for any way he's missed to fix it.

He and Babs had been out on a date. A simple night out at a local restaurant. He knew she was feeling neglected—Nightwing and a day job don't leave him much time to visit her in Gotham—but he was trying. Trying to be a better partner, a better friend to her. The night had been going well, both of them smiling and relaxed in the comfort of the other's presence. 

Then Babs had left the table to refill her drink (Dick having learned long ago that offers to do so for her would not be well received), and a woman wandered over from the bar to plop herself down into Dick's lap. 

He'd steadied her on instinct, so used to his friends and siblings doing the same. Hesitated in pushing her off in case she was in danger or in need of help. And then she was grabbing his face and kissing him, and he couldn't unfreeze his muscles enough to draw breath, let alone escape. Stop, make it stop. He didn't want this—didn't want her—but his nostrils were full of petrichor and blood and Dick. Couldn't. Move. Make it stop.

She finally pulled away. He could feel himself trembling. Stop. Her breath was thick with alcohol as she huffed a pout. "You're not Robbie."

He didn't manage to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to confirm this before she finally, finally hopped off of his lap and teetered away. He'd barely started breathing again when Babs returned to the table, incandescent with rage. 

"How could you just let her do that?"

"Babs—" His voice had cracked on her name. "Please, I don't. I didn't." He's still shaking, still frozen in place. 

"Don't bother," she snarled. "I should've learned my lesson the last time."

He'd flinched as if it were a physical blow. Last time. The last time he couldn't move, couldn't make it stop. "Babs," he choked out again, but she was already leaving. He needed to move, needed to follow her, but he just couldn't. 

So instead he sat there, broken, until he could scrape up all his jagged edges and drag himself here. He's already lost Tim. Already driven Jason away. Now he's lost his love—his best friend—and it won't be long before he loses his sister too. She took Babs' side last time, after all. She'll do it again. And then who will he have left? Bruce? The man who cares so little for him that he didn't even merit the effort of lying to when Jason returned? 

As if summoned by his drunken melancholy, Slade takes the barstool next to him. He doesn't try to talk. Doesn't ask what's wrong. Just sits with him, sipping at his drink like they've all the time in the world, while Dick downs his own until the edges of the pain fade into something he can breathe through. And when Dick opens his mouth, Slade listens. 

Slade lets Dick pour his heart out. Doesn't tell him everything will be alright. Doesn't bother trying to console him. Just sits with him and listens. Just stays. It's so little, but it's everything. 

He helps Dick home, once the bartender finally cuts him off. Helps him walk, warm and steady against his side. Dick presses closer, seeking the heat and connection he's been steadily losing these past few months. God, when was the last time someone had held him?

Slade opens the door to Dick's apartment easily. Dick should probably worry about that, but it's not as if the man is a threat to him. Not anymore. He's eased into his bed by strong, gentle hands. They stroke softly down his side and through his hair. He leans into the touch, but they're already pulling away before he can chase them. 

"Get some rest, little bird," rumbles the voice that has slowly come to mean safety and security. And with Slade's scent wrapped around him like a blanket, he does. 

Nightwing laughs, sharp and feral as he flies through the air. Dick had nearly forgotten just how good it felt to be part of a team. To be surrounded by people who you trust, and who trust you in turn. 

Their mission is simple. Dick had received intel about a meta-trafficking operation working just outside of Bludhaven. It was too large, too well guarded, for Nightwing to take down alone. With his relationship with the Bats so… strained recently, he called his old team for help. And they answered. 

He doesn't realize they've been led into a trap until his entire team is inside. Walls slam into place from above them to cage them in, meta-dampening fields activating to weaken them. Dick and Roy are unaffected, but there's only so much two humans can do against steel. 

"Titans," comes a voice through the loudspeaker. "You've fallen into my trap. Led astray by your own leader."

A couple of the newer members, those who know Nightwing more by reputation than deed, shoot nervous glances Dick's way as the voice continues to ramble. The older ones just roll their eyes, though they don't seem entirely happy with him either. They're right not to be; he should have better checked his source, should have done anything but walked them straight into a trap. 

His self-recrimination rapidly takes a backseat as the monologue is cut off by a sound they know all too well by now: the wet slice of a knife, and someone drowning in their own blood. Then comes the voice Dick knows still haunts many of their dreams. A voice he can't help but relax at. 

"Need some help, little bird?"

The walls raise, the dampeners turn off, and Wally is off like a shot to drag Deathstroke in front of the Titans before the mercenary can flee. 

"That's an unconventional way of saying 'thank you', Nightwing."

He rolls his eyes under his domino, knowing Slade alone will read it in the minute twitches of his face. "You'll have to forgive my team's wariness, given the circumstances of your last encounter."

Slade is smiling. Dick knows it down to his bones. "Then let me assure you that I come in peace. I do owe you a favor, after all."

He doesn't; they both know it, but Dick assumes it's an easy way to save face in front of the Titans. Far better than admitting he's fond of their leader, for both their reputations really. "And will you leave in peace, as well?"

"If you let me."

Dick nods, and Slade turns his back. Several Titans ready to attack, but he stays them with a hand. They listen, then and there in the field. Back in the Tower is another story. 

"What the hell, Dick?" Roy explodes once the junior members have retreated to their rooms. "Fraternizing with Slade Wilson of all people?"

"He spends a lot of time in Bludhaven." Dick is so, so tired. "We have a rapport."

"A rapport? You have a rapport with a murderous sociopath?"

"We fight a lot." And yet Slade always comes back, never leaves him for good. "What do you want me to say, Roy?"

"That we can trust you. That you're not compromised." Dick wants to laugh at Roy's words, but his face—like the faces of all the remaining Titans—is grim. 

"Roy, what are you talking about? It's me." The world starts to tilt under him, fingers going cold.

"Yeah, Dick. It's you. And we know your history with Slade. We're not going to go to the JL when you've done nothing wrong, but it's too big a risk to keep you on active missions while you're in contact with him." Not one of the other Titans challenges Roy's words.

"In contact? What, do you think that I have his phone number? That I'm friends with him on Facebook?" Dick rails. "He shows up sometimes. We fight, we talk, he leaves. That's it."

The Titans are apologetic, but unmoved. "I'm sorry, Dick. But this decision is final."

When he gets home, Dick is unsurprised to find Slade waiting for him. Maybe that should worry him more than it does. Right now, he's just relieved that there's still someone left who hasn't left him. 

"I'm sorry, Dick," Slade begins. Dick's jaw nearly hits the floor. "I was trying to preserve both of our reputations, and I didn't realize how much more damage I was doing to yours until I saw how your team reacted. Are you alright?"

And somehow, that gentle concern is what shatters Dick entirely. He surges forward, catching him in a kiss that's all violence and pressure. Slade takes it. Lets Dick press against him with all the force he needs, steady and unmoving against him. And when he runs out of fight, Slade eases him into something gentle and sweet. Lifts him by his thighs as if his weight is nothing, and carries him to his bed as if he's something precious. 

Dick tries to rush the prep, to burn through the maelstrom coursing through him with pure sensation. Slade doesn't let him. Keeps him in a haze of pleasure, entirely devoid of the pain he's so desperate to chase. Desperate to punish himself with. When he unravels under Slade, the man is quick to follow him with a kiss, sweeter than he'd ever have thought a killer to be capable of. 

He's ready for Slade to leave afterwards. Not happy, no. But secure in the knowledge that he'll come back sooner or later. Instead, Slade pulls him closer.

It's weeks before anyone notices. Weeks that Dick is left entirely alone, save for Slade. 

Slade stops by as often as he can between jobs. Dick tries not to think to hard about what those jobs entail. If they're not in his city, it's not his jurisdiction. There's nothing he can do about it, and there's therefore no reason to ruin the last good thing he has. Instead, they spar. They run the rooftops. They fall into Dick's bed in what has never felt like fucking so much as making love. Slade's hands may be covered in blood, but they take him apart with a reverence he's never before felt. Ground him in his body and tether him there. He thinks, without the man, he'd have floated off by now. 

Then Batman shows up while Nightwing is on patrol. Doesn't even bother to greet him before telling him off for his "inappropriate closeness with a Rogue." And something inside Dick breaks. 

This is the first conversation that Bruce—his father—has bothered to have with him since Jason’s return. Since Dick stopped being the one to reach out, first to give him time to breathe and later to see if Bruce would even care. And all the man cares about is lecturing him. Dick grapples away without giving Bruce the dignity of a response. 

"Nightwing, come in," Oracle chimes in his comm unit. He takes it out and crushes it, scattering the pieces across the rooftops as he runs. Barbara lost the right to have a say in who he takes to bed the day she left him. 

He takes out the burner Slade gave to him a few days ago. Dials the only number programmed into the phone. Slade picks up on the second ring. Words tumble out of Dick's mouth before the man can speak.

"I need to see you. Please, the Bats, they… I need you."

There's no judgement in Slade's voice. Only gentle composure. "I'm on my way, pretty bird. Wait for me at home."

"Probably compromised. I've ditched my comm and trackers. Do you have somewhere we can stay?"

"I'll send you the address. I can be there in 20 minutes."

It takes Dick nearly all of those 20 minutes to make it the 5 minutes to Slade's safehouse, obsessively checking at every turn that he's not being followed. Slade enters shortly after him, undressing him with a slow, chaste tenderness and guiding him to the shower. He washes Dick's hair. Holds him close under the warm spray, where they both pretend the water on his face is from the shower and not his tears. Dries him gently with a soft towel before guiding him back to the bedroom.

They settle on the bed together. Slade pulls Dick onto his chest, arms coming around to hold him tight. To press all his broken pieces back into place. Dick feels a kiss on the crown of his head, rustling his damp hair. No matter what the future holds, Slade will never leave him. 

Chapter Text

"Dad?" Joey's clearly unsure of whatever he wants to tell Slade. His heart rate is elevated, and he twitched his hands up four times before actually raising them to request Slade's attention. 

He's trying to be a better father, so he's careful to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Yes, Joey?"

Joey purses his lips slightly, mulling over his words too obviously. "Have you talked to Dick recently? I know you two see each other sometimes when you're in Bludhaven."

Richard Grayson. The perfect apprentice, forever out of his reach thanks to the Bat's stubborn moral code. The prize he can never win.

"We fight, sometimes, when I take contracts there. Wouldn't exactly call it talking. Why?"

Joey fidgets some more before the words come tumbling off of his fingers. "I just think he could use someone to check in on him. The other day he. I mean it was just weird. It's not like I've never used my powers on him before, you know? He's always trusted me, and I know what is and isn't okay. But this time he just—" Joey stops, hands clenching and unclenching pointlessly as he takes a trembling breath trembling breath. "I think he was scared of me. Dad, it's been nearly a week, and he still won't look me in the eye. Acts like nothing's wrong. Seeks me out, laughs and jokes. But he always looks at my nose, or at my hands if I'm talking. Never into my eyes."

Slade stays quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Joey will finish. When no more is forthcoming, he asks "What else?"

Shock flickers across his face before confusion. Fast, but not fast enough to fool someone with Slade's reaction time. "What do you mean?"

Slade levels him with a flat stare. "You want my help. What aren't you telling me?"

Joey dithers and sighs before—predictably—breaking. "When I confronted him about it, all he'd admit was that he needed to be the only one in control of his body for a bit. Asked me not to do it again unless it was an emergency or he said it was okay. Said 'I know you're not her' under his breath like I wasn't quite meant to hear it. I think something may have happened to him, and I was just hoping you'd check on him when you're in town. Please, Dad?"

And how could Slade refuse that sort of offer? "Of course, Joey. Anything for you."

He starts by staking out Dick's apartment for the better part of a week. The news came during a convenient lull in contracts, so he has all the time he needs. His first opportunity comes in the form of the little Robin slipping through Dick's window. Slade watches through the scope of his sniper—unloaded, for now—as Timothy Drake deactivates the many traps littering Dick's apartment, before settling in on the couch as if he belonged there. Some sort of inside joke or ritual, it seems. 

The next night, Slade enters Dick's apartment shortly after Nightwing takes to the skies. He collects the traps, taking note of each one's location and mechanism, before retreating to his rooftop perch. Robin doesn't show that evening, and Slade is forced to reset the traps when his proximity alerts show Nightwing is returning to the neighborhood for the night. No matter. Slade is a patient man. 

Within a few days, Robin returns. Slade watches again as he searches high and low for traps, failing to find any. He seems uncertain as he paces the apartment, leaving before Nightwing can return. Slade resets the traps after he leaves. 

Robin returns the next night to an apartment devoid of traps. 

And the next. 

And the next. 

Within the week, he stops coming. 

Slade finds Dick brooding on a rooftop, likely missing his brother's company. No matter, Slade can keep him far more entertained than the little Robin can. Dick laughs as they dance across the rooftops, still as sharp and skilled as ever. The kid is wasted on the Bats. Slade could make him better. Could break him down and reforge him into something legendary, if only Dick would let him. For tonight, he settles for being the only one to claim Dick's complete attention. Maybe his prize isn't so unattainable after all.

The discovery of the Red Hood's identity shocks even Slade. He doesn't believe the informant who tells him, staking out the crime lord's base of operations until he catches the man without a helmet to see for himself. If it's a lie, it's a damn good one. And word on the street is that the Bat already knows. 

Notably, Dick Grayson does not. Wouldn't include his kid brother in his daily prayers for the dead if he did. Which means the Bat is either keeping this from his eldest or has been too distracted to loop him in. It's easy enough to know which one Dick—with his perpetual need to be useful, to be significant—would hate more. Slade calls in every favor he's owed in that hellhole of a city, and buys a few more, to make sure the Bat is far too busy to reconsider whichever it is. 

Slade watches his patience pay off when Nightwing is finally summoned to Gotham and encounters the Red Hood for the first time since his identity was revealed. Dick's anger is a beautiful thing, burning hot and fierce. He doesn't look at the Red Hood and see the returned Jason Todd, only the man who slit the little Robin's throat and left him for dead. And the way he explodes is nothing short of perfection. 

He cherishes the way Dick's face crumples when he realizes what he's done. The kid may even be crying under the mask as he takes his bike and flees back to Bludhaven. Slade takes his time tracking him down, letting him stew in his missteps. 

"C'mon, little bird. You're starting to look like your father with all that brooding. Out with it."

By the end of their time together, Dick has been convinced that Bruce doesn't care about him and Jason will forgive him more readily if ignored. He's even grateful to Slade for the advice. 

Despite Slade's interventions thus far, Dick's connection to the Bats remains strong in two particular members: Barbara Gordon and Cassandra Cain. The latter is unwaveringly loyal to the former, more so than to her own brother. All Slade will need to do to sever Dick's final ties is sabotage Dick and Barbara's relationship. 

His observations reveal that Barbara is the jealous type. She shows clear distaste and distrust whenever Dick receives attention in public. Punishes him for it, even, regardless of whether or not he sought it out to begin with. The plan that begins to take shape is a juvenile one, sure, but it's all the more likely to succeed for it. 

He pays the girl well, points out the friend of his son's that he's playing a "harmless prank" on. She performs her part admirably, waiting until Gordon is returning, but still too far to intervene. The kiss is aggressive enough to stun Dick into accepting it. Even across the room, Slade can hear the way his heart stutters and quickens in pure panic. Barbara is livid. She breaks up with him, leaving him at the table before he's gathered himself enough to even move after the assault. 

Slade follows him to a seedy bar on the outskirts of Bludhaven, watches from the shadows as Dick downs whiskeys like water. He won't even need to use the drugs he'd brought just in case, not with Dick drinking like that on an empty stomach. He settles on the stool next to him and waits. Eventually, the kid begins to talk. Slade listens. Carefully keeps his face free of any disdain, just as he does when Joey or Rose expect him to listen to them complain. Helps Dick walk to the car and drives him home. Even dumps him into his bed, turned onto his side so he won't choke on his own puke if those whiskeys come back up. 

The fumbling kiss Dick lurches up to press to his lips takes him entirely off guard, but he keeps the presence of mind not to push Dick away. Even if he's far too drunk now to remember it come morning, his subconscious might recall a harsh rejection. He'd known Dick was attractive, sure; but in the clinical, abstract sense. Had never considered the merits of access to such a body, both in terms of his own stress relief and as a way to keep the kid's favor. The idea bears closer examination. 

"Get some rest, little bird," he whispers as he runs his fingers briefly through Dick's hair. Whether the kid knows it or not, he's already Slade's. 

It's simple work to lead the Titans into a trap. 

Dick is fully isolated from the Bats now, having gone weeks without so much as a check-in. When Slade surreptitiously sends intel his way about a large-scale meta-trafficking operation on the outskirts of Bludhaven, Dick has no choice but to call in the Titans. Meanwhile, the D-list villain with a bone to pick is fully prepared for their arrival, his base outfitted on Slade's dime (cash, of course). 

He lets the man rant for a moment, building anxieties among the Titans and casting aspersions at their mission leader. When he's sure they've heard enough, he slits the bastard's throat and watches him choke on his own blood. Good riddance. Someone so pathetic has no right to go after something of Slade's. 

"Need some help, little bird?"

It's no surprise that the speedster grabs him once he kills the dampeners and raises the walls. He could kill the kid now, even a speedster is no match for him once firmly grappled. But in front of the Titans is right where he wants to be. How else will he reveal to them just how… close he and their leader have become lately? He doubts they'll be quite so quick to rally behind him after that. 

Slade waits for Dick in his apartment afterwards. His apology is entirely insincere. Dick may or may not realize as much. Either way, the fact that it's said at all is far more than he's used to from anyone else in his life. And Dick opens beautifully for him. 

He cuts Slade off with a kiss all teeth and violence. Needy, volatile, looking for someone to wreck him. But Slade’s already broken him, and nothing has ever been so satisfying as putting those pieces back together. As molding Dick into his own image. 

After they finish, he can feel the way Dick curls in on himself. Waiting for Slade to leave. To be alone. Slade thinks about it for a long moment. Dick is already feeling isolated and abandoned. Leaving now would only make him more vulnerable. But staying? Staying will cement Slade as the one person he can trust. The one person who won’t run. 

He stands up slowly, just to hear the panic in the kid’s heartbeat as he stoically braces for Slade to leave. Instead, Slade grabs a cloth to clean Dick up, then slides into the bed behind him, holding him close and pressing a kiss into his hair. He doesn’t comment on the silent sobs that shake his frame, responding instead with a soothing hand up and down Dick’s side.

“I’m here, pretty bird." It's equal parts promise and threat as he adds, "I'm not going anywhere."

It happens sooner than Slade would have preferred. 

Sure, the confrontation was inevitable. But he had been hoping to have his apprentice—his Renegade—firmly under his control before the Bats noticed. Instead, he watches the Bat approach Dick on a rooftop mere weeks after Slade claims him as his own. 

Dick is loyal to his master, though. He grapples away from his father. He removes the comm that his family is surely trying to reach him through, scattering it as he runs for good measure. When he calls Slade on his burner, Slade waits a full ring before answering, just to watch the barest flicker of panic cross his face. He'll learn, in time, that there's no cause for his fear. Slade will always answer. 

He directs Dick to his most secure safehouse, watching as he employs every anti-tracking measure in the book to avoid leading the Bats to it. Very good. Slade joins him as quickly as he promised to. It wouldn't do to keep the kid waiting on a night like tonight. 

He's filthy with sweat and the city's grime. Slade strips him from his armor and guides him to the shower, gentle and slow like a spooked animal. He washes Dick's hair and holds him under the stream, ignoring his tears. If Dick wants attention called to them, he'll make it obvious. Once the kid is clean enough, Slade guides him to the bed. 

It didn't take long after their first time for Slade to realize that Dick is easily controlled by physical intimacy, both sexual and non-sexual. He's slow to surrender to it, the type to only seek it out with those he loves and trusts. Funny, that he gives it up so easily for Slade. And who is he to deny them both a good roll in the hay when it keeps the kid so happy?

Slade will always reward his pretty bird. Just like he’ll never leave him. Not after he’s put so much work into catching him. Dick is his now, and he intends to keep it that way. No matter what it takes.