Fic: No Guiding Light -- Dick/Tim
Title: No Guiding Light
Author: suki_blue
Fandom: DC Comics
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dick/Tim, Damian, Jason, Bruce, Deathstroke, Ragdoll
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): None
Summary:When Bruce Wayne returns from the dead and reclaims the Batman mantle, Dick is relieved to slip back into the Nightwing costume, and Gotham becomes a family concern. But things do not go smoothly. Dick finds it strangely lonely not having a partner swinging by his side, Damian clashes with his father over the reintroduction of Jason to the household and Tim, still wearing the Red Robin costume, cannot shrug away the dark shadow of the last three years. It’s up to Dick to get their collective heads together so they can function like the family they long to be, and that’s not easy when he’s fallen in love with one of his brothers and another is intent on revenge.
Thank you to kitty_poker1 for an amazing beta job. I would have been lost without her. Massive thanks also to darkhavens and amejisuto for looking the fic over for me. We're an awesome team, huh?
The artwork is by the hugely talented ani_bester and you can find it all embedded throughout the fic.
Posted as part of comicsbigbang in three parts because it's, uh, big.
Pure hearts stumble
In my hands they crumble
And fragile and stripped to the core
I can't hurt you anymore
Loved by numbers,
You're losing life's wonder
Touch like strangers; detached
I can't feel you anymore
There's sunshine trapped in our hearts
It could rise again
But I'm lost, and crushed, and cold, and confused
With no guiding light left inside
~ Guiding Light - Muse
No Guiding Light
Prologue
The best and worst night of Dick’s life happened unexpectedly on a rainy and mild Thursday night in Gotham. There was nothing unusual to indicate it was going to be such an important and life-changing night, only four robberies and three muggings, one attempted suicide and one overly plump grey tabby rescued from an oak tree in Gotham Park.
Dick returned to the penthouse a little tired, but not overly so. His feet ached, but not much. His back was giving him trouble, but no more than usual. He had no inkling, no strange feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck were not standing up and there was no ominous feeling in the air. In fact, the first sign that something had happened was the unmasked expression of surprise on Damian’s face, the almost perfectly round ‘o’ of Damian’s lips and his wide, rapidly blinking eyes. It was a cartoonish expression and Dick grinned and opened his mouth to ask him where the cartoon fire was or maybe ask him straight what the matter was, or maybe he would have asked him something totally different. Maybe he would have walked calmly up to him and ruffled his hair like he often did when he wanted to see him indignant rather than pained or sad. But there wasn’t a gesture or words enough in the world that could wipe the intense expression of shock from Damian’s face and return him to his usual guarded air.
‘What?’ Dick asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else.
Damian didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Dick caught a flash of red from the other side of the room and he saw Tim, tall and unmasked, walk into the room. Beside him, dressed in suit that looked like it had been made in the twenties, was Bruce. Their Bruce. There was a little grey in his hair and his eyes wrinkled a little more when he smiled, but he was their Bruce.
‘Dick,’ Bruce said. ‘Tim tells me you’ve been doing well.’
There should have been a million thoughts and questions rushing through Dick’s brain. Where had Bruce been all this time? Had he really been dead? Had he been hiding? Was someone after him? Were they all safe? Did the JLA know? But the detective inside Dick had fallen down in shock and the only part left was the little boy leaping through the sky in a blaze of yellow, green and red.
Suddenly, the cowl was too hot. It was suffocating him, darkening everything. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. He ripped the cowl from his head and took his first few steps. He staggered and then Bruce was there. Dick clung to him. There was no doubt this was really Bruce. This was his brother, his friend, his master, teacher, and confidant. This was his father and Dick was sure he would never let him go again. They sank to the floor and Dick heard Bruce’s voice and realised it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
Clasped in Bruce’s arms, unable to think straight, and happier than he’d ever been in his life, Dick looked up at Tim. Thank you, he mouthed, and Tim nodded and closed his eyes.
Chapter 1
The southwest of Gotham was Dick’s domain. It was even in the papers. For six months now the once elusive and nearly forgotten Nightwing had been spotted swinging between the buildings, running down the streets and depositing tied-up and dazed criminals at police drop-off points. He’d even taught a random and impromptu self-defence class at a ladies’ book club meeting. Nightwing was back and Dick was as happy as a slightly fucked-up hero could be. He could smile again. He could wave into windows as he swung past and crack as many damn jokes as he wanted. Those criminals didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘pun’ before they’d met him. But most of all - well, most of all apart from Bruce being back - he was so very overjoyed to lose the damn cape. At least he could flip and tumble through the air without hanging himself on a power line. Dick wasn’t the kind of man who tripped over a lot, but he’d done it once, on a drugs bust at the docks, and he’d been absolutely terrified of doing it again. Batman did not trip. But now, Nightwing could not trip.
Dick rolled into an extra tumble as he landed to seal the point, and came to rest on the edge of a seven-story office block. He sat, pulled out his binoculars and scanned the area. A young boy and girl ran down the street. Their body language told Dick they were playing, probably running home and not running for their lives. On the other side of the road a man strolled with a newspaper tucked under his arm and an elderly lady struggled to pull her canvas shopping cart up the stairs to her apartment. In a few seconds Dick was down on the ground and the cart and its grateful owner were safely deposited inside a gently warming apartment. Dick left with a cookie and a slight feeling of melancholy.
Something wasn’t quite right.
But the night was young and those kids were still running down the street in a neighbourhood that sometimes turned nasty, so Dick gripped the cookie between his teeth and fired his line back up into the sky.
It was the same the next night and then the next. The rain came down in misty clouds of damp almost-nothing and Dick busted a drug deal and a street fight, pulled a young woman from a fire and had a near miss with a Coca Cola truck. The holidays definitely weren’t coming and the air stayed tepid and just a little too cold, and every night the Batcave became a little more like its old self.
Dick parked in his usual spot and was met by a frowning Alfred.
‘Problem,’ Dick asked, but then he saw it. One giant gleaming penny. Check. ‘Ah. It’s back.’
‘Yes,’ Alfred said through teeth that were swaying towards gritted. ‘We’re nearly back to normal, if the Cave was ever considered normal to begin with.’
Dick shrugged. ‘It’s always been normal to me. Life with Bruce wouldn’t have been the same if we hadn’t shared it with giant currency.’
At Dick’s words, some of the tension seemed to leak out of Alfred’s countenance. Dick had been keeping a close eye on him. Alfred had been tense, fussy and fretful. It was as though he couldn’t quite believe everyone was alive and well and he was waiting to find out which piece of the puzzle was missing. Dick knew exactly how he felt.
‘Master Damian is working on the car, sir. I know you were interested in the upgrades he’s been designing. Perhaps you would like to go over them with him.’
Dick pointed up at Bruce who was sitting at the computer, his back straight and stiff. ‘Actually I wanted to talk to Bruce first about-’
‘But Master Damian is working on the car now, sir. I’m sure your immediate input would be appreciated.’
Dick gave him a doubtful look. ‘My input would be as welcome as an upset stomach.’
Alfred’s expression settled into something resembling the Alfred of old. ‘I’m not sure that’s exactly true, is it? In fact, your opinion seems to be the only one Master Damian has any respect for, as has always been the case.’
‘Not always,’ Dick said under his breath. ‘Okay, what’s happened?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine as to the specifics, but it seems Master Bruce and Master Damian have had a tiff. Master Bruce is speaking to no one and Master Damian is clanking his spanners again.’
‘Got it. I’ll talk to the squirt first.’
‘I’d be most grateful. It hasn’t been ... no, perhaps this is a discussion for another time. I’ll put some tea on. I’ve managed to get hold of the most delightful chocolate chip shortbread today, all the way from Scotland. Anyway, I’ll let Damian show you his newest way to maim the criminal population.’
Dick found Damian under the Batmobile. His green-booted feet were sticking out the side and Dick sat down beside them and crossed his legs. Damian was hardly a squirt. He was nearly fourteen and had the physique of a twenty-year-old. He’d broadened in the last few years, grown taller and sturdier. Damian was quick and lethal and when he glided through the air he was breathtaking. Not that Dick had noticed, but one day Damian was going to be hotter than hell itself - and probably just as bad tempered.
‘Hey,’ Dick said, and the sound of mechanical fiddling ceased for a moment.
‘Working,’ came the reply.
‘How’s it going? I thought you might have trouble with the release function.’
The fiddling sound stopped again and this time Damian rolled himself out and sat up. ‘I do not have “trouble” with anything.’
Dick put his hands up. ‘Not criticising. Not in a position to. The only thing I ever added to the Batmobile was a batarang-shaped air freshener. You’re doing a great job.’
Damian frowned. ‘You’re a suck-up, Grayson,’ he said, and rolled himself back under the car.
Please, never change, Damian, Dick thought, and he was surprised to find he meant that. Damian was one of a kind, which was a good thing. If there was ever another, the world would surely implode.
Dick crawled underneath the Batmobile and turned onto his back so they were lying side by side. ‘Yes, I am a suck-up. But I still meant what I said. I always mean what I say.’
Damian nodded without looking at him. He stared up at the engine above him, his arms lax by his side. He wasn’t going to saying anything.
‘So, let me get this straight; when the Batmobile is in flight, this will allow the dispersal of a chosen liquid or chemical at a two hundred foot radius. Those must be some hydraulics.’
Damian still said nothing. He stared up at a small rubber pipe that was detached at one end.
‘So what is this thing actually going to dispense? It’s not ketchup, is it? Everyone get your burgers at the ready.’
‘He’s bringing Jason back,’ Damian said, and then he went back to work.
**
The week dragged on and Dick wondered exactly when Bruce was going to make his grand announcement. They hadn’t spoken about it and Dick had kept Damian’s confidence, even though he was sure Bruce knew they’d talked, however briefly. Did Tim know too? They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk at all the last few weeks. Tim was buried up to his cowl in drugs and prostitution - not literally.
Dick glanced around. It was nearing the end of patrol and he was standing on top of the tallest building in the southwest of Gotham. Nothing much was happening tonight, the weather was mild and Dick wasn’t in the least tired. Maybe Tim could use a spare hand or, if nothing else, maybe they could get pizza together.
It didn’t take long to reach Tim’s position in the northern part of the city. One of these days Dick was going to time how long it took to swing and leap from one end of the city to the other. Maybe they could all have a race. Damian would love that. Dick landed on a yard wall to tell him.
‘Shit,’ he said when he remembered Damian wasn’t beside him anymore. A little empty feeling snuck into Dick’s chest and he gave himself an internal shake to get rid of it.
‘Argh!’
Oh good, the sound of fighting! It was just the distraction he needed and, suddenly enthused, Dick ran towards the sounds of grunting, cursing, and clanging trashcans. He went at a straight run across connecting walls and then he was pounding down an alley and vaulting over a tall, wire gate. He landed easily and caught a staggering man in his arms.
‘Hello,’ Dick said, and grabbed a bat that was aimed roughly in his direction, throwing it aside before the man could do anything other than broadcast an expression of honest surprise.
‘Nightwing!’
‘That’s five points to Team Gonna Spend the Next Six Months in Jail. You can tell the police your name. I’ll let them take my points.’
The man, dressed all in black except for a burgundy woollen cap, starting madly nodding. ‘Yes, yes! Police! Arrest me! That guy is crazy!’
Dick for the first time registered the swelling on the left side of the man’s face and the blood dripping down his cheek. In the distance, there was more clanging and shouting. It sounded like Tim had his hands full. Dick quickly cuffed his catch with plastic ties and made his way towards the sounds of fighting.
Three guys were already spread out on the ground in various positions, prone and dishevelled. Only two were left standing and one of them, a weedy and short individual with a bright shock of red hair, had a knife. Tim stood between them, ready and waiting for them to lunge first, to make their first mistake. First rule, make the bad guys trip. Don’t expend valuable energy when your enemy can expend his own first. If you were lucky, they almost took themselves down.
Red Hair circled, weighing his options. His eyes were wide and nervous, his grasp on the knife tight. The other one, who was wide and stocky with scruffy blond hair touching his shoulders, stood in Tim’s path like a Giant Angora Rabbit caught in a set of headlights. He stared at Tim as if hypnotised, swaying slightly from side to side.
‘Nightwing, good to see you,’ Tim said. ‘Do me a favour and take care of the idiot behind me.’
And then Tim struck.
One step forward and Tim spun and kicked. Dick had time only to register the force of Tim’s blow and the flash of three little white teeth flying through a spray of blood before he ran at Red Hair. He jumped and knocked the knife flying. Dick was fast and Red Hair stood stock still for a moment as if he couldn’t work out where the attack had come from. Dick knocked him down with a well-aimed sucker punch.
‘Bruce is right. You really do have the best timing in the whole world.’
Dick smiled. ‘Just one of my many talents. You okay?’
‘Peachy.’ Tim’s reply was toneless, like Bruce’s voice when you couldn’t tell if he was serious, sarcastic or just plain chipper.
‘What went down here?’
‘Not much. Just a robbery. Looks like these guys were forgetting to buy one before they got the other one free.’ Tim gestured to a dirty blue van parked hastily across two parking bays. Its doors were hanging open and Dick could see boxes of iPods, game systems and widescreen TVs.
‘Looks like a small-time crew,’ Tim said.
Dick nodded at him and automatically went around to each of the unconscious men, checking pulses and binding their wrists. Tim called in their catch to Gotham PD.
‘This one is going to need hospital treatment,’ Dick said. ‘And a dentist.’
‘He’s fine. Hey, you ever wonder how much dentists make around here?’
‘Every day,’ Dick said, deliberately grinning up at him with a full set of shiny, perfect teeth. ‘We’re in the wrong business.’
Dick dragged his earlier catch back to the others and together he and Tim waited until they saw the pulsating blue lights of the police before they vaulted over the back fence and made their way back to Gotham’s streets.
Dick stayed in Tim’s territory for another few hours, patrolling and listening to the handle Tim had on the Drayton brothers’ drugs ring. It was a big operation and there was evidence it was a shared enterprise with one of Gotham’s oldest names in crime. Dick offered his assistance and at the end of the evening they shook hands like brothers and Dick, needing to communicate more, pulled Tim into his arms and squeezed him tight.
When Dick finally went to sleep as Dawn broke, he dreamed of spraying blood and teeth, Tim screaming, and Damian swinging through the air by Dick’s side. Damian landed first with an elaborate somersault. He was ten-years-old again and stood facing Dick with his hands on his hips. Denial, Grayson. It’s your most annoying habit. Even Alfred thinks so.
Dick slept on.
**
Chapter 2
The next time he visited Wayne Manor it was for a family dinner. The manor felt warm and cosy, as though every fire in every room was lit. Warmth seeped through every wall and even the cushions on the chairs seemed plumper than usual. It felt almost Christmassy and as Dick walked into the main lounge he expected to see a magnificent fir decked out in shining gold and ruby red. Of course, it was April so instead of a symbol of festive joy, there was a small brown leather chair and a round, mahogany side-table. They seemed lonely somehow, bereft of any sort of festivity.
Oh Jesus, he was starting to feel sorry for the furniture. Dick scratched at his head and silently told himself to get a grip.
‘You’re here,’ Damian said, which in Damian language meant Hey, great to see you! Damian gestured to the seat next to him on the long couch. ‘Nibbles,’ he said.
Dick sat down. ‘Huh?’
‘Nibbles,’ Damian repeated. He dunked his hand into one of the many wooden bowls littering the coffee table and came up with a handful of potato chips. He showed them to Dick. ‘What is my father thinking?’
‘That we might be hungry before dinner?’
‘He’s thinking we’re children who can be bought with-with-with snack foods. What sort of person would even put something like this in their body?’
Dick took several of the larger chips from Damian’s hand and shoved them in his mouth.
‘Oh, trust you, Grayson.’
‘What’s the big deal?’ Dick asked with his mouth full. It was always such fun to play Damian. He took the bait every time.
Damian tutted. ‘You are a disgusting creature.’
‘Yeah, but I’m pretty.’
‘So I keep being told! You’re an annoying act to follow, you know.’
‘Actually, I do know. So what’s with the bowls of calories and heart-problems?’
‘Like I said, my father is-’
‘Our father,’ Dick interrupted.
Another tut. ‘Very well. Our father is trying to create a warm, comfortable family atmosphere so that we won’t all kill him when he presents us with the man who shot me in the spine.’
Ah, so here it was. Jason. ‘You think he’s here?’
‘It’s very likely.’
Dick wasn’t sure what to think about that. He wasn’t even sure how to feel. He loved Jason like a brother and because he couldn’t help it, but there was a massive part of Dick that hated him, too. Jason was the link that kept failing. He was the thorn in their sides, the spanner in the works and a whole bunch of other useless clichés. For such a long time Jason had been Bruce’s greatest failure. Now he was Dick’s too. A knot started in the pit of Dick’s stomach and he tasted bile instead of cheese and chive.
‘Christ, it’s hot in here,’ Tim complained as he stepped through the lounge door. The Red Robin costume was safely out of sight thanks to the “no costumes in the house” rule and so Tim was dressed in smart black slacks and a red sweater that clung to all the right places. He’d grown tall in the last few years and filled out with hard-earned muscle. He’d let his hair grow too long and it was down to his chin now. Bruce longed to cut it and Dick tried not to think about running his fingers through it.
‘It’s a special occasion,’ Damian said with only a slight sneer. It was a massive compliment to Tim that Damian even looked in his direction. For the first six months of their time together Damian hadn’t even acknowledged his presence when they were in the same room together.
Tim gave Damian a sharp, fully-focused look. ‘He’s here, isn’t he?’
‘Hey, aren’t you two getting ahead of yourselves? How do you even know for sure Jason’s under this roof right now?’
‘Because we live here,’ Tim and Damian said in tandem, and then they glared at each other.
‘You would know too if you didn’t live all by yourself in that terrible little apartment.’ Damian turned away as he always did when the subject of Dick’s apartment came up. He was offended he hadn’t been asked to move in, Dick was sure. Dick really couldn’t see Damian living in such a small, cheap place and there was no way Bruce would have allowed Dick to take his thirteen-year-old son away. He missed Damian, though. Maybe Dick could make things better by telling him that. Or maybe he could bottle it up and let Damian think he didn’t care. That was the Batfamily way.
‘Ah, everybody is gathered, I see,’ Alfred said.
Tim sat down on the other side of Dick. ‘Everybody?’
Alfred’s expression was a perfect illustration of how Dick was feeling right now. Hopeful and disappointed, curious and wary, a little bit righteous and very guilty.
Dick dived in for more chips, much to Damian’s utter disgust. He just wanted this over with. If this was Bruce’s idea of a big reveal, it sucked. An uncomfortable silence descended. Well, silence except for Dick’s crunching. Tim smirked at him and Damian huffed.
Whatever problems their family had these days, they were all at least reasonably comfortable with each other. They felt like family and Dick would even be happy to leave Tim and Damian in a room together for an entire hour without fearing they would kill each other. Jason was a different matter. Jason had crossed the line too many times.
Slow footsteps sounded in the hallway and they all heard them at the same time, their ears pricking up like a line of spaniels and an old afghan hound.
‘Here we go,’ Damian murmured.
Definitely two sets of footsteps, one Bruce’s and one lighter, more hesitant and unsure. Dick tasted bile again. He clenched his hands in his lap and felt Tim’s shoulder press against his.
‘Everybody,’ Bruce said as he came through the door, his chin up and his eyes defiant, ‘I’m sure you’ve all worked out by now that Jason is back with us. I want you to all make him feel welcome.’
Damian stood abruptly, as everyone knew he would. ‘Welcome to our home,’ he said, and the whole room knew Jason wasn’t included in the word “our”. ‘When should my father expect the knife in his back? Before or after you’ve tried to cut my throat?’
‘Damian,’ Bruce warned. ‘That’s enough.’
‘No, enough was when that psychotic parasite paralysed me.’ Damian turned his furious glare on Jason. ‘Don’t think you’ll ever get that close again. You got lucky. It won’t happen again.’
Dick slowly stood, realising he was the only one still seated. Jason hadn’t even looked at him yet and Dick worried about what he’d see in his eyes when he finally looked Dick’s way. Would he see hatred? Disgust? Betrayal?
He had to make this right. He had to try.
‘Jason,’ he said, plunging right in at the deep end. He stepped closer and held out his hand. ‘It’s ... good to see you again.’
Jason’s eyes flicked from Dick’s hand, briefly to his eyes and then back down to the hand. It was one of those moments that dragged on and on, like time itself had deliberately slowed to cause maximum pain and worry. It was like leaping through the air and knowing you were so close to missing the edge of a ledge and only chance could save you, landing you safely or plunging you thirty storeys to your death.
‘It’s good to see you too, Dick,’ Jason said. He gripped Dick’s hand, slackly at first but then more firmly when Dick got a grip (ha ha, Grayson, you’re so funny) and shook his hand properly. Behind him, an obvious puff of annoyed breath told him he’d done the wrong thing. When Damian walked out of the room with controlled, confident strides and nearly slammed the lounge door off its hinges, it told Dick he’d just committed the ultimate act of betrayal.
Chapter 3
Dick was due to meet Damian on top of the Gotham PD building at oh-two-hundred hours. That was two hours away and, yet again, Nightwing’s turf was quieter than the grave. Maybe not a Gotham grave, or Metropolis or Star City grave, but a ... Okay, so it wasn’t an accurate comparison considering the events that took place a few years back. Dick still had the occasional nightmare about the Black Lanterns. In his dreams they came back for him again, his parents, but this time no ring controlled them. They pulled him down, smothered him with flesh that was shrivelled and dry. His mother kissed his cheek with a lipless mouth and his father closed strong fingers around his throat.
Perform and fall with us forever, Dick.
Dick shuddered and refused to close his eyes against the revulsion. Closing his eyes always made it worse anyway; it brought them closer.
Shit. He shouldn’t have thought about it. Now he would probably have another nightmare tonight. This was the problem when the mind was left to wander. There was only one thing he could think to do. He had to find some mischief and stop it, or maybe find some mischief of his very own. He had two hours to kill. What to do?
Dick smiled suddenly and fired his line into the air. ‘I’m heading your way,’ he said into his radio. ‘Hope that’s cool.’
Tim’s voice came back to him. ‘You know it is. Actually, I could use a hand.’
‘I’ll give you two, plus the rest of me.’ That could have been said in a reasonably innocent way, but Dick’s tone made it an outrageous flirt. He was sure he could hear Tim shaking his head two miles away. And was that a blush he could detect in the brief silence before Tim spoke?
‘What’s your ETA?’ Tim asked.
‘Just swung past Julio’s. The special smells great tonight.’
‘Okay, five minutes?’
‘Ish. Where are you?’
‘Use the GPS. I’m in a tree overlooking a seemingly normal three bedrooms and two baths.’
Uh-huh, and what’s inside this text-book case of normal suburban living?’
‘Five alarming examples of what a life of excess does to you. Oh, and drugs.’
‘I’m having fun already. Tell me more.’
Dick let Tim’s voice flow through him as he navigated the rooftops of Gotham. It was a mild night and a full moon. The breeze felt cool and pleasant on his skin and there was something else in the air that was making his heart beat a little faster. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing they were about to bust up someone’s party or maybe it was the soft voice in his ear.
Dick was in mid-swing from a tall office block down onto a smaller one when he caught a flash of blue and orange. The smooth arc he was making through the air faltered and he cancelled any thought of firing the next line and instead dropped to the roof of the smaller building. He folded into a roll and landed neatly next to the fire escape.
‘This is not a good place for you to be,’ Dick said, and six feet away Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke, smiled.
‘Good evening to you too, Dickie bird.’
Dick took stock of the situation. In a one-on-one fight, if Slade Wilson got a good grip on him, Dick was as good as dead. They’d fought many times before, for many years and in many costumes. He’d known Slade since he was Robin and leader of the Teen Titans. Their history was long and fraught. Really, it was a miracle Dick was still alive and as much as he would like to put it down to his exceptional fighting skills alone, it also had a lot to do with a grudging mutual respect and the ability to run like fuck.
Slade was an easy man to read. Generally speaking, it was simple to tell when he was about to lop your head off with a sword. Tonight Slade was relaxed and unmasked. His arms were hanging loosely by his side and his stance was casual and unworried. Dick wasn’t fooled, though. It would be easy for a stranger to assume there was nothing to worry about, but Slade wasn’t standing in such a relaxed manner because he was here to pass the time with an old friend. He was relaxed because he knew he could tear off all Dick’s limbs and toss them off the side of the building if he so desired. Slade was standing in the manner of a man who knew he was good. He also had something to say.
‘Clearly you’re not in the mood to socialise. I’ll cut right to it, shall I?’
See? Dick waited silently for the bomb to drop. Oh, wait, he’d already done that back in Bludhaven. Dick’s lips twitched at the irony of that thought, although he wasn’t sure if they were twitching up or down. Slade gave him a slightly quizzical look before he continued.
‘I’ve been intercepting your communications. You’re meeting with Red Robin.’ Slade stepped forward until he was standing nearly nose to nose with Dick. He lowered his voice. ‘You and I will never be friends, Nightwing, but perhaps I owe you.’
Dick tilted his head. ‘For destroying my city?’
Slade remained motionless and silent, his expression closed. Dick stared into his cold eyes and resisted taking a step back (or a step forward). Slade blinked and broke the spell.
‘What do you want, Deathstroke?’
‘Red Robin has to die,’ Slade said, and it took all the strength Dick had not to react.
‘There are wealthy people in Gotham who are willing to pay good money to see he ceases his interference with their business plans.’
This time Dick did react. ‘You’ve taken out a contract on his life?’
‘Yes. It seems his suburban dealers don’t like losing all their money and all their clients. They don’t like all their bones broken, either. The Draytons. Ring any bells?’
Oh god, Slade had heard their communications. If he’d hacked that, then there was a chance he’d hacked their tracking system too. Slade knew where Tim was. Dick’s heart sped up and he felt like his brain had done a double back-flip inside his skull. He punched out before he knew what he was doing and caught Slade square in his good eye. Clearly Slade had been unprepared and possibly distracted, otherwise Dick would have missed by a mile with such a clumsy move. He turned back to Dick with bared teeth and his arm moved like a hungry snake and gripped Dick’s throat.
‘Is this payment for my warning?’
Dick wasn’t listening. He kicked and got lucky. Rolling out of Slade’s grabbing range, he jumped and kicked again. Slade ducked and came up with a strike that knocked Dick a clear five feet backwards across the roof. Dick rolled and got to his feet, his brain still doing flips and tumbles in his head. He ran at Slade and lost track of the blows he failed to land. Slade blocked until perhaps he got bored or maybe short on time, because in one quick, fluid motion he pinned Dick to the wall and twisted his arm up his back.
‘Sloppy, Nightwing.’ He twisted Dick’s arm again to seal the point and kept up the pressure until Dick was sure Slade would break his arm.
Dick gritted his teeth against the pain and the pressure remained until he stopped fighting. He relaxed in Slade’s grip and Slade in turn relaxed his hold.
‘Do I need to wait longer for the fog to clear or are you ready to hear me?’
The pain in his arm and shoulder had brought him back to reality, just as Slade had intended it to. There was more here than Slade boasting about his latest contract.
‘Talk,’ Dick demanded, and Slade let go and stepped back.
‘You say that like I was the one who just got my ass kicked.’
‘Just tell me what’s going on, Slade.’
Slade regarded him carefully for a moment, running a regarding gaze over Dick’s tense body. ‘I have been offered a very large amount of money to kill Red Robin. He’s become an unacceptable irritation to my client.’
Some people were so dumb. ‘And what do they think Batman will do? Irritate them less or truss them up and hang them all outside Gotham PD ?’
Slade shrugged, an easy gesture. Slade was back to laid back. ‘I am not responsible for my clients’ IQ levels. They want Red Robin gone, I’m their terminator.’
‘So why are you telling me?’ Dick asked.
Slade regarded him again and then looked off into the distance, either stargazing or pondering how to answer the question. Maybe both. ‘It’s been a difficult few years, for all of us.’
Dick nodded without thinking. Damn Slade! This weird behaviour was throwing him off his game.
‘Call this a gift,’ Slade continued. He turned his head back and pinned Dick in place again, this time with a mere look. ‘Yes. Call this a gift for our many years of acquaintance. You are like a fixed point in time, Dick Grayson. You will always be here, always running after me, always fighting and picking up the pieces of others. Your brothers-in-arms might not be so lucky and so I wish to help him.’
‘Sounds like a gift for him, not me.’
The grin that spread over Slade’s face made Dick regret speaking. He could feel a full body blush creeping up.
‘The gift is for you. Who will clear up the broken pieces of you if Tim Drake dies? And if he carries on down his current path, it will only be a matter of time. He goes too far.’
The way Slade was looking at him, amused, serious and taunting, made Dick want to shrink down to nothing. He envied the Atom at that moment. Clearly Slade thought he knew something.
‘You will get him out of that costume. Red Robin will be no more, one way or another. Bring his costume to me or I will get it myself, along with his body.’
Dick just had time to blink before Slade turned and walked away. He disappeared down the fire escape and left Dick wondering what the hell had just happened. He blinked again and the action seemed to clear his head of the sudden fuzz.
He needed to find Tim right now.
Chapter 4
Tim was exactly where he said he’d be, in a tree across from a normal-looking family home. Neat lawn, windows all lit, flowerbed in bloom, exactly like all the other twee family homes in this little slice of Gotham heaven. The only thing that stood out about this street was the short line of Beamers and the Cadillac. Two of the cars had men waiting inside, engines running and their gloved hands gripping the steering wheels. Dick crept past them and leapt up into Tim’s tree.
‘You took your sweet time,’ Tim said. ‘You stop for that special after all?’
‘Sorry. I, uh, had an interesting meet-up I didn’t know I was due for.’
Tim lowered the binoculars he’d been glued to and passed them to Dick. He probably had a puzzled look on his face, but it was hidden by the cowl and all Dick got was a blank stare. It was frighteningly like Bruce’s.
‘Are you going to explain that?’
Dick looked through the binoculars. ‘Later.’ The curtains were closed, but there was gap where someone had tried to close them hastily or absentmindedly and Dick could see people moving around. A woman in a pink cardigan, a man in a navy blue blazer pulling her aside, another man with bare arms, a leather wrist-strap and a knife. A child with his head pulled back and his throat exposed.
Dick dropped the binoculars. ‘There’s a kid. We move now.’ He dropped to the ground and knew he needed to say no more to Tim. This wasn’t Nightwing taking over Red Robin’s operation. This was a child in immediate danger.
Dick ran for the window. He knew exactly what he aiming for. He focused on the crack in the curtains and the figures. The window was slightly ajar and Dick thanked his sudden run of good luck and yanked it open. He was inside in a second and he heard the front door crack as Tim threw himself at it.
The room was in chaos. Wrist-strap guy let go of the kid, a knee-jerk reaction Dick was used to seeing and always hoped for. Sometimes criminals, if you surprise them good, regress back to childhood in the moments after they are caught. They react like kids yanking their hands out of a cookie jar when Mom yells, ‘What did I tell you?!’
Dick kicked at the knife and it flew across the room. He felt satisfied and pleased with that result until the other four guys in the room pulled guns.
Dick ducked and rolled and the guy in the navy blazer fell to the ground, a patch of red blooming across his starched white shirt. Fine, shoot each other, Dick thought. Real sensible. There was a flash of red and black in the room now and Dick took a moment to locate the woman and the little boy. They were hovering by the door, the woman pale and shaking and the boy red-faced, cheeks tear-streaked.
‘Get upstairs!’ Dick yelled, and he pointed just to be sure they’d got the message. Upstairs was better than outside where two other men were waiting in their cars. Oh, there was a point.
Someone fired another shot and Dick felt a bowling ball hit his shoulder. The force of this bowling ball which, now that he thought about it, was more likely to be a bullet, knocked him backwards against the window and he heard it crack behind him. In front of him, the barrel of a Glock G21 stared him down from two feet away.
He tensed, ready to kick, but another boot got there first. Tim connected with the gunman’s wrist and Dick was reasonably sure he heard a bone snap.
‘On your left!’ Tim yelled and Dick punched before he looked and knocked down another guy. This one was sweating profusely, his black moustache gleaming with it. The man dived for the fallen Glock and Dick kicked it away and disabled him with the same move Slade had used on him not ten minutes ago.
All the men were down except one, the original Glock wielder, and Tim was busy with him. Very busy. It was one of those moments when you see something and you don’t quite believe it. Maybe the hit to the shoulder had penetrated his costume and he was actually lying on the laminate floor beneath yellow curtains and a cracked window and Tim wasn’t using brutal force on an unarmed man.
No way.
Tim punched and the man’s nose broke and bled. He punched again and blood sprayed into the air. Tim’s teeth were bared, every muscle in his body taut. He pulled back his fist again.
‘That’s enough!’ Dick shouted, and then the room went silent.
**
Tim’s old apartment was small and the furniture sort of sparse, but it had a great view and it was much closer than the Manor. They used it as a safe house now. What Dick needed more than anything was pain pills and an ice-pack for his shoulder, and he couldn’t wait the extra time it would take to get to the Batcave.
That was his story and he was sticking to it.
Tim helped him peel off the top part of his costume and they were both unsurprised to see a large bruise in full bloom.
‘Better than a hole,’ Dick said in response to the sympathetic grimace on Tim’s face.
There weren’t too many bullets that could penetrate their costumes these days, even at close range. This was the first time Dick had tested that theory out and he was pleased with the results, even if the results did hurt like hell. And maybe now the results of getting shot were much less dramatic, he’d actually stop getting shot in the first place. It was a bit of an in-joke.
‘Here,’ Tim said. He gestured with the ice-pack and gently pressed it against Dick’s shoulder.
Pain flared for a moment and Dick concentrated on not showing it. Tim was closer than he’d been for a long time and Dick just wanted to indulge in enjoying the moment before he destroyed it. He touched his fingertips to Tim’s arm and felt him tense. It had been so long since they’d touched, since they’d whispered to each other and pressed their lips together. Tim looked up at him and Dick was sure he was feeling exactly the same.
‘We can’t,’ Tim said, and Dick nodded in agreement and nudged his cheek against Tim’s anyway.
Of course they couldn’t. That road was blocked now. Bruce could never find out about them.
Dick tilted his head anyway. The door was locked, the blinds were drawn and no-one would have to know.
Tim stepped away. His cheeks were rosy and he ran a hand that was unsteady through his dishevelled hair. ‘Do you want a drink? I think I’ve got a can of soda in the fridge. We could share?’
‘Actually, can we talk?’ And here was the moment when Dick kicked a puppy, pushed a child in a puddle and generally behaved in a way that made him feel like a complete asshole.
‘Okay,’ Tim said. He straightened and gave Dick his full, defiant attention. He knew what was coming. Or at least he thought he did.
‘The reason I was late tonight? Deathstroke paid me a visit.’
Whatever Tim had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.
‘You’re kidding. What did he want?’
Dick had already been going over in his head what he would say and how he would handle things. He’d come to the conclusion that if their roles were reversed, he’d want Tim to be brutally honest with him. This wasn’t a game and there was no place here for coddling.
When did he start sounding like Bruce? Dick pushed away the thought that he’d been permanently tainted by his years under the Cowl.
‘He’s got a contract.’
‘In Gotham? That’ll please Bruce.’
‘A contract on you, Tim. On Red Robin.’
Tim was visibly taken aback. His arms fell from their crossed position to his sides and for a split second he looked more open and vulnerable than he’d ever looked before. Then he shrugged. ‘Right. Okay. I guess that was inevitable sooner or later.’
Dick shook his head. ‘This is Slade, here. This is more than your average contract. Everyone with criminal intent wants us out the way, but this is someone big, someone with the balls, connections and cash to approach Deathstroke. He’s says it’s the Draytons. You can’t shrug this off, Tim.’
Tim went from mildly concerned to seriously pissed off in a heartbeat. ‘I’m not shrugging anything off!’
‘You need to take this seriously. You’ve done more than ruffle a few feathers - you’ve broken into someone’s henhouse and shaved all their chickens. They want you gone. This is Ra’s al Ghul all over again.’
Tim narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin. ‘Why would Deathstroke bother telling you this? Is he fucking with us? Oh, wait, no, he’s fucking with you, or at least he’s hoping to.’
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Slade Wilson,’ Dick said through clenched teeth. This was one conversation he’d got sick of a long time back.
Tim folded his arms again. ‘He looks at you.’
‘That’s because I’m great to look at!’ Dick snapped.
They glared at each other.
If anyone else had been in the room they would have been scrambling to get out. The atmosphere was thick with tension and anyone who didn’t know either of them all that well would have been convinced they were about to fling themselves at each other with pounding fists.
It struck Dick that the last words of his argument were pretty stupid. His annoyed expression faded and he smirked.
‘You’re right,’ Tim said. ‘I’m sorry. You are great to look at.’ His expression was softer now too and he smiled, albeit a little wonkily.
Dick smiled back, but the expression turned sad. He wanted to gather Tim in his arms and hold him tight until all their problems took flight. He wanted to be the one to make Tim happy all the time, not the one who hurt him.
‘You need to stop,’ Dick said. ‘Take off the costume, step back. You’ve lost the meaning of cautious. You’ve been going too far and it’s got to stop. Right now.’
‘What ...? Too far? Dick, I’m only doing what I’ve been trained to do.’
Dick shook his head, slowly. How had this happened to them? To Tim?
Tim’s expression turned furious. ‘Take that fucking look off your face!’
‘You’re too brutal. You’re hurting people.’
‘I’m doing my job.’
‘You could have killed that guy tonight.’
‘He shot you!’
‘It’s not what we do. We disarm, disable, we work with the police. We-’
‘Some people need more of a deterrent. I’m not planning on killing anyone, Dick. How could you think that?’
‘It’s not about your intentions. It’s about the slope you’re on. It’s dangerous.’ Dick turned and rubbed his hands over his face. When he turned back and dropped his arms, he was ready to deliver the final blow. ‘I know you’re angry about a lot of things, but ... that’s just how Jason started.’ He stopped there and waited, his arms unthreatening by his side, his body language open.
‘I am nothing like Jason,’ Tim said, his voice quiet and low.
Dick nodded. ‘Then prove it.’
They stared at each again, but this time both their expressions were blank.
‘Get out,’ Tim said.
Part Two
Author: suki_blue
Fandom: DC Comics
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dick/Tim, Damian, Jason, Bruce, Deathstroke, Ragdoll
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): None
Summary:When Bruce Wayne returns from the dead and reclaims the Batman mantle, Dick is relieved to slip back into the Nightwing costume, and Gotham becomes a family concern. But things do not go smoothly. Dick finds it strangely lonely not having a partner swinging by his side, Damian clashes with his father over the reintroduction of Jason to the household and Tim, still wearing the Red Robin costume, cannot shrug away the dark shadow of the last three years. It’s up to Dick to get their collective heads together so they can function like the family they long to be, and that’s not easy when he’s fallen in love with one of his brothers and another is intent on revenge.
Thank you to kitty_poker1 for an amazing beta job. I would have been lost without her. Massive thanks also to darkhavens and amejisuto for looking the fic over for me. We're an awesome team, huh?
The artwork is by the hugely talented ani_bester and you can find it all embedded throughout the fic.
Posted as part of comicsbigbang in three parts because it's, uh, big.
Pure hearts stumble
In my hands they crumble
And fragile and stripped to the core
I can't hurt you anymore
Loved by numbers,
You're losing life's wonder
Touch like strangers; detached
I can't feel you anymore
There's sunshine trapped in our hearts
It could rise again
But I'm lost, and crushed, and cold, and confused
With no guiding light left inside
~ Guiding Light - Muse
No Guiding Light
Prologue
The best and worst night of Dick’s life happened unexpectedly on a rainy and mild Thursday night in Gotham. There was nothing unusual to indicate it was going to be such an important and life-changing night, only four robberies and three muggings, one attempted suicide and one overly plump grey tabby rescued from an oak tree in Gotham Park.
Dick returned to the penthouse a little tired, but not overly so. His feet ached, but not much. His back was giving him trouble, but no more than usual. He had no inkling, no strange feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck were not standing up and there was no ominous feeling in the air. In fact, the first sign that something had happened was the unmasked expression of surprise on Damian’s face, the almost perfectly round ‘o’ of Damian’s lips and his wide, rapidly blinking eyes. It was a cartoonish expression and Dick grinned and opened his mouth to ask him where the cartoon fire was or maybe ask him straight what the matter was, or maybe he would have asked him something totally different. Maybe he would have walked calmly up to him and ruffled his hair like he often did when he wanted to see him indignant rather than pained or sad. But there wasn’t a gesture or words enough in the world that could wipe the intense expression of shock from Damian’s face and return him to his usual guarded air.
‘What?’ Dick asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else.
Damian didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Dick caught a flash of red from the other side of the room and he saw Tim, tall and unmasked, walk into the room. Beside him, dressed in suit that looked like it had been made in the twenties, was Bruce. Their Bruce. There was a little grey in his hair and his eyes wrinkled a little more when he smiled, but he was their Bruce.
‘Dick,’ Bruce said. ‘Tim tells me you’ve been doing well.’
There should have been a million thoughts and questions rushing through Dick’s brain. Where had Bruce been all this time? Had he really been dead? Had he been hiding? Was someone after him? Were they all safe? Did the JLA know? But the detective inside Dick had fallen down in shock and the only part left was the little boy leaping through the sky in a blaze of yellow, green and red.
Suddenly, the cowl was too hot. It was suffocating him, darkening everything. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. He ripped the cowl from his head and took his first few steps. He staggered and then Bruce was there. Dick clung to him. There was no doubt this was really Bruce. This was his brother, his friend, his master, teacher, and confidant. This was his father and Dick was sure he would never let him go again. They sank to the floor and Dick heard Bruce’s voice and realised it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
Clasped in Bruce’s arms, unable to think straight, and happier than he’d ever been in his life, Dick looked up at Tim. Thank you, he mouthed, and Tim nodded and closed his eyes.
Chapter 1
The southwest of Gotham was Dick’s domain. It was even in the papers. For six months now the once elusive and nearly forgotten Nightwing had been spotted swinging between the buildings, running down the streets and depositing tied-up and dazed criminals at police drop-off points. He’d even taught a random and impromptu self-defence class at a ladies’ book club meeting. Nightwing was back and Dick was as happy as a slightly fucked-up hero could be. He could smile again. He could wave into windows as he swung past and crack as many damn jokes as he wanted. Those criminals didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘pun’ before they’d met him. But most of all - well, most of all apart from Bruce being back - he was so very overjoyed to lose the damn cape. At least he could flip and tumble through the air without hanging himself on a power line. Dick wasn’t the kind of man who tripped over a lot, but he’d done it once, on a drugs bust at the docks, and he’d been absolutely terrified of doing it again. Batman did not trip. But now, Nightwing could not trip.
Dick rolled into an extra tumble as he landed to seal the point, and came to rest on the edge of a seven-story office block. He sat, pulled out his binoculars and scanned the area. A young boy and girl ran down the street. Their body language told Dick they were playing, probably running home and not running for their lives. On the other side of the road a man strolled with a newspaper tucked under his arm and an elderly lady struggled to pull her canvas shopping cart up the stairs to her apartment. In a few seconds Dick was down on the ground and the cart and its grateful owner were safely deposited inside a gently warming apartment. Dick left with a cookie and a slight feeling of melancholy.
Something wasn’t quite right.
But the night was young and those kids were still running down the street in a neighbourhood that sometimes turned nasty, so Dick gripped the cookie between his teeth and fired his line back up into the sky.
It was the same the next night and then the next. The rain came down in misty clouds of damp almost-nothing and Dick busted a drug deal and a street fight, pulled a young woman from a fire and had a near miss with a Coca Cola truck. The holidays definitely weren’t coming and the air stayed tepid and just a little too cold, and every night the Batcave became a little more like its old self.
Dick parked in his usual spot and was met by a frowning Alfred.
‘Problem,’ Dick asked, but then he saw it. One giant gleaming penny. Check. ‘Ah. It’s back.’
‘Yes,’ Alfred said through teeth that were swaying towards gritted. ‘We’re nearly back to normal, if the Cave was ever considered normal to begin with.’
Dick shrugged. ‘It’s always been normal to me. Life with Bruce wouldn’t have been the same if we hadn’t shared it with giant currency.’
At Dick’s words, some of the tension seemed to leak out of Alfred’s countenance. Dick had been keeping a close eye on him. Alfred had been tense, fussy and fretful. It was as though he couldn’t quite believe everyone was alive and well and he was waiting to find out which piece of the puzzle was missing. Dick knew exactly how he felt.
‘Master Damian is working on the car, sir. I know you were interested in the upgrades he’s been designing. Perhaps you would like to go over them with him.’
Dick pointed up at Bruce who was sitting at the computer, his back straight and stiff. ‘Actually I wanted to talk to Bruce first about-’
‘But Master Damian is working on the car now, sir. I’m sure your immediate input would be appreciated.’
Dick gave him a doubtful look. ‘My input would be as welcome as an upset stomach.’
Alfred’s expression settled into something resembling the Alfred of old. ‘I’m not sure that’s exactly true, is it? In fact, your opinion seems to be the only one Master Damian has any respect for, as has always been the case.’
‘Not always,’ Dick said under his breath. ‘Okay, what’s happened?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine as to the specifics, but it seems Master Bruce and Master Damian have had a tiff. Master Bruce is speaking to no one and Master Damian is clanking his spanners again.’
‘Got it. I’ll talk to the squirt first.’
‘I’d be most grateful. It hasn’t been ... no, perhaps this is a discussion for another time. I’ll put some tea on. I’ve managed to get hold of the most delightful chocolate chip shortbread today, all the way from Scotland. Anyway, I’ll let Damian show you his newest way to maim the criminal population.’
Dick found Damian under the Batmobile. His green-booted feet were sticking out the side and Dick sat down beside them and crossed his legs. Damian was hardly a squirt. He was nearly fourteen and had the physique of a twenty-year-old. He’d broadened in the last few years, grown taller and sturdier. Damian was quick and lethal and when he glided through the air he was breathtaking. Not that Dick had noticed, but one day Damian was going to be hotter than hell itself - and probably just as bad tempered.
‘Hey,’ Dick said, and the sound of mechanical fiddling ceased for a moment.
‘Working,’ came the reply.
‘How’s it going? I thought you might have trouble with the release function.’
The fiddling sound stopped again and this time Damian rolled himself out and sat up. ‘I do not have “trouble” with anything.’
Dick put his hands up. ‘Not criticising. Not in a position to. The only thing I ever added to the Batmobile was a batarang-shaped air freshener. You’re doing a great job.’
Damian frowned. ‘You’re a suck-up, Grayson,’ he said, and rolled himself back under the car.
Please, never change, Damian, Dick thought, and he was surprised to find he meant that. Damian was one of a kind, which was a good thing. If there was ever another, the world would surely implode.
Dick crawled underneath the Batmobile and turned onto his back so they were lying side by side. ‘Yes, I am a suck-up. But I still meant what I said. I always mean what I say.’
Damian nodded without looking at him. He stared up at the engine above him, his arms lax by his side. He wasn’t going to saying anything.
‘So, let me get this straight; when the Batmobile is in flight, this will allow the dispersal of a chosen liquid or chemical at a two hundred foot radius. Those must be some hydraulics.’
Damian still said nothing. He stared up at a small rubber pipe that was detached at one end.
‘So what is this thing actually going to dispense? It’s not ketchup, is it? Everyone get your burgers at the ready.’
‘He’s bringing Jason back,’ Damian said, and then he went back to work.
**
The week dragged on and Dick wondered exactly when Bruce was going to make his grand announcement. They hadn’t spoken about it and Dick had kept Damian’s confidence, even though he was sure Bruce knew they’d talked, however briefly. Did Tim know too? They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk at all the last few weeks. Tim was buried up to his cowl in drugs and prostitution - not literally.
Dick glanced around. It was nearing the end of patrol and he was standing on top of the tallest building in the southwest of Gotham. Nothing much was happening tonight, the weather was mild and Dick wasn’t in the least tired. Maybe Tim could use a spare hand or, if nothing else, maybe they could get pizza together.
It didn’t take long to reach Tim’s position in the northern part of the city. One of these days Dick was going to time how long it took to swing and leap from one end of the city to the other. Maybe they could all have a race. Damian would love that. Dick landed on a yard wall to tell him.
‘Shit,’ he said when he remembered Damian wasn’t beside him anymore. A little empty feeling snuck into Dick’s chest and he gave himself an internal shake to get rid of it.
‘Argh!’
Oh good, the sound of fighting! It was just the distraction he needed and, suddenly enthused, Dick ran towards the sounds of grunting, cursing, and clanging trashcans. He went at a straight run across connecting walls and then he was pounding down an alley and vaulting over a tall, wire gate. He landed easily and caught a staggering man in his arms.
‘Hello,’ Dick said, and grabbed a bat that was aimed roughly in his direction, throwing it aside before the man could do anything other than broadcast an expression of honest surprise.
‘Nightwing!’
‘That’s five points to Team Gonna Spend the Next Six Months in Jail. You can tell the police your name. I’ll let them take my points.’
The man, dressed all in black except for a burgundy woollen cap, starting madly nodding. ‘Yes, yes! Police! Arrest me! That guy is crazy!’
Dick for the first time registered the swelling on the left side of the man’s face and the blood dripping down his cheek. In the distance, there was more clanging and shouting. It sounded like Tim had his hands full. Dick quickly cuffed his catch with plastic ties and made his way towards the sounds of fighting.
Three guys were already spread out on the ground in various positions, prone and dishevelled. Only two were left standing and one of them, a weedy and short individual with a bright shock of red hair, had a knife. Tim stood between them, ready and waiting for them to lunge first, to make their first mistake. First rule, make the bad guys trip. Don’t expend valuable energy when your enemy can expend his own first. If you were lucky, they almost took themselves down.
Red Hair circled, weighing his options. His eyes were wide and nervous, his grasp on the knife tight. The other one, who was wide and stocky with scruffy blond hair touching his shoulders, stood in Tim’s path like a Giant Angora Rabbit caught in a set of headlights. He stared at Tim as if hypnotised, swaying slightly from side to side.
‘Nightwing, good to see you,’ Tim said. ‘Do me a favour and take care of the idiot behind me.’
And then Tim struck.
One step forward and Tim spun and kicked. Dick had time only to register the force of Tim’s blow and the flash of three little white teeth flying through a spray of blood before he ran at Red Hair. He jumped and knocked the knife flying. Dick was fast and Red Hair stood stock still for a moment as if he couldn’t work out where the attack had come from. Dick knocked him down with a well-aimed sucker punch.
‘Bruce is right. You really do have the best timing in the whole world.’
Dick smiled. ‘Just one of my many talents. You okay?’
‘Peachy.’ Tim’s reply was toneless, like Bruce’s voice when you couldn’t tell if he was serious, sarcastic or just plain chipper.
‘What went down here?’
‘Not much. Just a robbery. Looks like these guys were forgetting to buy one before they got the other one free.’ Tim gestured to a dirty blue van parked hastily across two parking bays. Its doors were hanging open and Dick could see boxes of iPods, game systems and widescreen TVs.
‘Looks like a small-time crew,’ Tim said.
Dick nodded at him and automatically went around to each of the unconscious men, checking pulses and binding their wrists. Tim called in their catch to Gotham PD.
‘This one is going to need hospital treatment,’ Dick said. ‘And a dentist.’
‘He’s fine. Hey, you ever wonder how much dentists make around here?’
‘Every day,’ Dick said, deliberately grinning up at him with a full set of shiny, perfect teeth. ‘We’re in the wrong business.’
Dick dragged his earlier catch back to the others and together he and Tim waited until they saw the pulsating blue lights of the police before they vaulted over the back fence and made their way back to Gotham’s streets.
Dick stayed in Tim’s territory for another few hours, patrolling and listening to the handle Tim had on the Drayton brothers’ drugs ring. It was a big operation and there was evidence it was a shared enterprise with one of Gotham’s oldest names in crime. Dick offered his assistance and at the end of the evening they shook hands like brothers and Dick, needing to communicate more, pulled Tim into his arms and squeezed him tight.
When Dick finally went to sleep as Dawn broke, he dreamed of spraying blood and teeth, Tim screaming, and Damian swinging through the air by Dick’s side. Damian landed first with an elaborate somersault. He was ten-years-old again and stood facing Dick with his hands on his hips. Denial, Grayson. It’s your most annoying habit. Even Alfred thinks so.
Dick slept on.
**
Chapter 2
The next time he visited Wayne Manor it was for a family dinner. The manor felt warm and cosy, as though every fire in every room was lit. Warmth seeped through every wall and even the cushions on the chairs seemed plumper than usual. It felt almost Christmassy and as Dick walked into the main lounge he expected to see a magnificent fir decked out in shining gold and ruby red. Of course, it was April so instead of a symbol of festive joy, there was a small brown leather chair and a round, mahogany side-table. They seemed lonely somehow, bereft of any sort of festivity.
Oh Jesus, he was starting to feel sorry for the furniture. Dick scratched at his head and silently told himself to get a grip.
‘You’re here,’ Damian said, which in Damian language meant Hey, great to see you! Damian gestured to the seat next to him on the long couch. ‘Nibbles,’ he said.
Dick sat down. ‘Huh?’
‘Nibbles,’ Damian repeated. He dunked his hand into one of the many wooden bowls littering the coffee table and came up with a handful of potato chips. He showed them to Dick. ‘What is my father thinking?’
‘That we might be hungry before dinner?’
‘He’s thinking we’re children who can be bought with-with-with snack foods. What sort of person would even put something like this in their body?’
Dick took several of the larger chips from Damian’s hand and shoved them in his mouth.
‘Oh, trust you, Grayson.’
‘What’s the big deal?’ Dick asked with his mouth full. It was always such fun to play Damian. He took the bait every time.
Damian tutted. ‘You are a disgusting creature.’
‘Yeah, but I’m pretty.’
‘So I keep being told! You’re an annoying act to follow, you know.’
‘Actually, I do know. So what’s with the bowls of calories and heart-problems?’
‘Like I said, my father is-’
‘Our father,’ Dick interrupted.
Another tut. ‘Very well. Our father is trying to create a warm, comfortable family atmosphere so that we won’t all kill him when he presents us with the man who shot me in the spine.’
Ah, so here it was. Jason. ‘You think he’s here?’
‘It’s very likely.’
Dick wasn’t sure what to think about that. He wasn’t even sure how to feel. He loved Jason like a brother and because he couldn’t help it, but there was a massive part of Dick that hated him, too. Jason was the link that kept failing. He was the thorn in their sides, the spanner in the works and a whole bunch of other useless clichés. For such a long time Jason had been Bruce’s greatest failure. Now he was Dick’s too. A knot started in the pit of Dick’s stomach and he tasted bile instead of cheese and chive.
‘Christ, it’s hot in here,’ Tim complained as he stepped through the lounge door. The Red Robin costume was safely out of sight thanks to the “no costumes in the house” rule and so Tim was dressed in smart black slacks and a red sweater that clung to all the right places. He’d grown tall in the last few years and filled out with hard-earned muscle. He’d let his hair grow too long and it was down to his chin now. Bruce longed to cut it and Dick tried not to think about running his fingers through it.
‘It’s a special occasion,’ Damian said with only a slight sneer. It was a massive compliment to Tim that Damian even looked in his direction. For the first six months of their time together Damian hadn’t even acknowledged his presence when they were in the same room together.
Tim gave Damian a sharp, fully-focused look. ‘He’s here, isn’t he?’
‘Hey, aren’t you two getting ahead of yourselves? How do you even know for sure Jason’s under this roof right now?’
‘Because we live here,’ Tim and Damian said in tandem, and then they glared at each other.
‘You would know too if you didn’t live all by yourself in that terrible little apartment.’ Damian turned away as he always did when the subject of Dick’s apartment came up. He was offended he hadn’t been asked to move in, Dick was sure. Dick really couldn’t see Damian living in such a small, cheap place and there was no way Bruce would have allowed Dick to take his thirteen-year-old son away. He missed Damian, though. Maybe Dick could make things better by telling him that. Or maybe he could bottle it up and let Damian think he didn’t care. That was the Batfamily way.
‘Ah, everybody is gathered, I see,’ Alfred said.
Tim sat down on the other side of Dick. ‘Everybody?’
Alfred’s expression was a perfect illustration of how Dick was feeling right now. Hopeful and disappointed, curious and wary, a little bit righteous and very guilty.
Dick dived in for more chips, much to Damian’s utter disgust. He just wanted this over with. If this was Bruce’s idea of a big reveal, it sucked. An uncomfortable silence descended. Well, silence except for Dick’s crunching. Tim smirked at him and Damian huffed.
Whatever problems their family had these days, they were all at least reasonably comfortable with each other. They felt like family and Dick would even be happy to leave Tim and Damian in a room together for an entire hour without fearing they would kill each other. Jason was a different matter. Jason had crossed the line too many times.
Slow footsteps sounded in the hallway and they all heard them at the same time, their ears pricking up like a line of spaniels and an old afghan hound.
‘Here we go,’ Damian murmured.
Definitely two sets of footsteps, one Bruce’s and one lighter, more hesitant and unsure. Dick tasted bile again. He clenched his hands in his lap and felt Tim’s shoulder press against his.
‘Everybody,’ Bruce said as he came through the door, his chin up and his eyes defiant, ‘I’m sure you’ve all worked out by now that Jason is back with us. I want you to all make him feel welcome.’
Damian stood abruptly, as everyone knew he would. ‘Welcome to our home,’ he said, and the whole room knew Jason wasn’t included in the word “our”. ‘When should my father expect the knife in his back? Before or after you’ve tried to cut my throat?’
‘Damian,’ Bruce warned. ‘That’s enough.’
‘No, enough was when that psychotic parasite paralysed me.’ Damian turned his furious glare on Jason. ‘Don’t think you’ll ever get that close again. You got lucky. It won’t happen again.’
Dick slowly stood, realising he was the only one still seated. Jason hadn’t even looked at him yet and Dick worried about what he’d see in his eyes when he finally looked Dick’s way. Would he see hatred? Disgust? Betrayal?
He had to make this right. He had to try.
‘Jason,’ he said, plunging right in at the deep end. He stepped closer and held out his hand. ‘It’s ... good to see you again.’
Jason’s eyes flicked from Dick’s hand, briefly to his eyes and then back down to the hand. It was one of those moments that dragged on and on, like time itself had deliberately slowed to cause maximum pain and worry. It was like leaping through the air and knowing you were so close to missing the edge of a ledge and only chance could save you, landing you safely or plunging you thirty storeys to your death.
‘It’s good to see you too, Dick,’ Jason said. He gripped Dick’s hand, slackly at first but then more firmly when Dick got a grip (ha ha, Grayson, you’re so funny) and shook his hand properly. Behind him, an obvious puff of annoyed breath told him he’d done the wrong thing. When Damian walked out of the room with controlled, confident strides and nearly slammed the lounge door off its hinges, it told Dick he’d just committed the ultimate act of betrayal.
Chapter 3
Dick was due to meet Damian on top of the Gotham PD building at oh-two-hundred hours. That was two hours away and, yet again, Nightwing’s turf was quieter than the grave. Maybe not a Gotham grave, or Metropolis or Star City grave, but a ... Okay, so it wasn’t an accurate comparison considering the events that took place a few years back. Dick still had the occasional nightmare about the Black Lanterns. In his dreams they came back for him again, his parents, but this time no ring controlled them. They pulled him down, smothered him with flesh that was shrivelled and dry. His mother kissed his cheek with a lipless mouth and his father closed strong fingers around his throat.
Perform and fall with us forever, Dick.
Dick shuddered and refused to close his eyes against the revulsion. Closing his eyes always made it worse anyway; it brought them closer.
Shit. He shouldn’t have thought about it. Now he would probably have another nightmare tonight. This was the problem when the mind was left to wander. There was only one thing he could think to do. He had to find some mischief and stop it, or maybe find some mischief of his very own. He had two hours to kill. What to do?
Dick smiled suddenly and fired his line into the air. ‘I’m heading your way,’ he said into his radio. ‘Hope that’s cool.’
Tim’s voice came back to him. ‘You know it is. Actually, I could use a hand.’
‘I’ll give you two, plus the rest of me.’ That could have been said in a reasonably innocent way, but Dick’s tone made it an outrageous flirt. He was sure he could hear Tim shaking his head two miles away. And was that a blush he could detect in the brief silence before Tim spoke?
‘What’s your ETA?’ Tim asked.
‘Just swung past Julio’s. The special smells great tonight.’
‘Okay, five minutes?’
‘Ish. Where are you?’
‘Use the GPS. I’m in a tree overlooking a seemingly normal three bedrooms and two baths.’
Uh-huh, and what’s inside this text-book case of normal suburban living?’
‘Five alarming examples of what a life of excess does to you. Oh, and drugs.’
‘I’m having fun already. Tell me more.’
Dick let Tim’s voice flow through him as he navigated the rooftops of Gotham. It was a mild night and a full moon. The breeze felt cool and pleasant on his skin and there was something else in the air that was making his heart beat a little faster. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing they were about to bust up someone’s party or maybe it was the soft voice in his ear.
Dick was in mid-swing from a tall office block down onto a smaller one when he caught a flash of blue and orange. The smooth arc he was making through the air faltered and he cancelled any thought of firing the next line and instead dropped to the roof of the smaller building. He folded into a roll and landed neatly next to the fire escape.
‘This is not a good place for you to be,’ Dick said, and six feet away Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke, smiled.
‘Good evening to you too, Dickie bird.’
Dick took stock of the situation. In a one-on-one fight, if Slade Wilson got a good grip on him, Dick was as good as dead. They’d fought many times before, for many years and in many costumes. He’d known Slade since he was Robin and leader of the Teen Titans. Their history was long and fraught. Really, it was a miracle Dick was still alive and as much as he would like to put it down to his exceptional fighting skills alone, it also had a lot to do with a grudging mutual respect and the ability to run like fuck.
Slade was an easy man to read. Generally speaking, it was simple to tell when he was about to lop your head off with a sword. Tonight Slade was relaxed and unmasked. His arms were hanging loosely by his side and his stance was casual and unworried. Dick wasn’t fooled, though. It would be easy for a stranger to assume there was nothing to worry about, but Slade wasn’t standing in such a relaxed manner because he was here to pass the time with an old friend. He was relaxed because he knew he could tear off all Dick’s limbs and toss them off the side of the building if he so desired. Slade was standing in the manner of a man who knew he was good. He also had something to say.
‘Clearly you’re not in the mood to socialise. I’ll cut right to it, shall I?’
See? Dick waited silently for the bomb to drop. Oh, wait, he’d already done that back in Bludhaven. Dick’s lips twitched at the irony of that thought, although he wasn’t sure if they were twitching up or down. Slade gave him a slightly quizzical look before he continued.
‘I’ve been intercepting your communications. You’re meeting with Red Robin.’ Slade stepped forward until he was standing nearly nose to nose with Dick. He lowered his voice. ‘You and I will never be friends, Nightwing, but perhaps I owe you.’
Dick tilted his head. ‘For destroying my city?’
Slade remained motionless and silent, his expression closed. Dick stared into his cold eyes and resisted taking a step back (or a step forward). Slade blinked and broke the spell.
‘What do you want, Deathstroke?’
‘Red Robin has to die,’ Slade said, and it took all the strength Dick had not to react.
‘There are wealthy people in Gotham who are willing to pay good money to see he ceases his interference with their business plans.’
This time Dick did react. ‘You’ve taken out a contract on his life?’
‘Yes. It seems his suburban dealers don’t like losing all their money and all their clients. They don’t like all their bones broken, either. The Draytons. Ring any bells?’
Oh god, Slade had heard their communications. If he’d hacked that, then there was a chance he’d hacked their tracking system too. Slade knew where Tim was. Dick’s heart sped up and he felt like his brain had done a double back-flip inside his skull. He punched out before he knew what he was doing and caught Slade square in his good eye. Clearly Slade had been unprepared and possibly distracted, otherwise Dick would have missed by a mile with such a clumsy move. He turned back to Dick with bared teeth and his arm moved like a hungry snake and gripped Dick’s throat.
‘Is this payment for my warning?’
Dick wasn’t listening. He kicked and got lucky. Rolling out of Slade’s grabbing range, he jumped and kicked again. Slade ducked and came up with a strike that knocked Dick a clear five feet backwards across the roof. Dick rolled and got to his feet, his brain still doing flips and tumbles in his head. He ran at Slade and lost track of the blows he failed to land. Slade blocked until perhaps he got bored or maybe short on time, because in one quick, fluid motion he pinned Dick to the wall and twisted his arm up his back.
‘Sloppy, Nightwing.’ He twisted Dick’s arm again to seal the point and kept up the pressure until Dick was sure Slade would break his arm.
Dick gritted his teeth against the pain and the pressure remained until he stopped fighting. He relaxed in Slade’s grip and Slade in turn relaxed his hold.
‘Do I need to wait longer for the fog to clear or are you ready to hear me?’
The pain in his arm and shoulder had brought him back to reality, just as Slade had intended it to. There was more here than Slade boasting about his latest contract.
‘Talk,’ Dick demanded, and Slade let go and stepped back.
‘You say that like I was the one who just got my ass kicked.’
‘Just tell me what’s going on, Slade.’
Slade regarded him carefully for a moment, running a regarding gaze over Dick’s tense body. ‘I have been offered a very large amount of money to kill Red Robin. He’s become an unacceptable irritation to my client.’
Some people were so dumb. ‘And what do they think Batman will do? Irritate them less or truss them up and hang them all outside Gotham PD ?’
Slade shrugged, an easy gesture. Slade was back to laid back. ‘I am not responsible for my clients’ IQ levels. They want Red Robin gone, I’m their terminator.’
‘So why are you telling me?’ Dick asked.
Slade regarded him again and then looked off into the distance, either stargazing or pondering how to answer the question. Maybe both. ‘It’s been a difficult few years, for all of us.’
Dick nodded without thinking. Damn Slade! This weird behaviour was throwing him off his game.
‘Call this a gift,’ Slade continued. He turned his head back and pinned Dick in place again, this time with a mere look. ‘Yes. Call this a gift for our many years of acquaintance. You are like a fixed point in time, Dick Grayson. You will always be here, always running after me, always fighting and picking up the pieces of others. Your brothers-in-arms might not be so lucky and so I wish to help him.’
‘Sounds like a gift for him, not me.’
The grin that spread over Slade’s face made Dick regret speaking. He could feel a full body blush creeping up.
‘The gift is for you. Who will clear up the broken pieces of you if Tim Drake dies? And if he carries on down his current path, it will only be a matter of time. He goes too far.’
The way Slade was looking at him, amused, serious and taunting, made Dick want to shrink down to nothing. He envied the Atom at that moment. Clearly Slade thought he knew something.
‘You will get him out of that costume. Red Robin will be no more, one way or another. Bring his costume to me or I will get it myself, along with his body.’
Dick just had time to blink before Slade turned and walked away. He disappeared down the fire escape and left Dick wondering what the hell had just happened. He blinked again and the action seemed to clear his head of the sudden fuzz.
He needed to find Tim right now.
Chapter 4
Tim was exactly where he said he’d be, in a tree across from a normal-looking family home. Neat lawn, windows all lit, flowerbed in bloom, exactly like all the other twee family homes in this little slice of Gotham heaven. The only thing that stood out about this street was the short line of Beamers and the Cadillac. Two of the cars had men waiting inside, engines running and their gloved hands gripping the steering wheels. Dick crept past them and leapt up into Tim’s tree.
‘You took your sweet time,’ Tim said. ‘You stop for that special after all?’
‘Sorry. I, uh, had an interesting meet-up I didn’t know I was due for.’
Tim lowered the binoculars he’d been glued to and passed them to Dick. He probably had a puzzled look on his face, but it was hidden by the cowl and all Dick got was a blank stare. It was frighteningly like Bruce’s.
‘Are you going to explain that?’
Dick looked through the binoculars. ‘Later.’ The curtains were closed, but there was gap where someone had tried to close them hastily or absentmindedly and Dick could see people moving around. A woman in a pink cardigan, a man in a navy blue blazer pulling her aside, another man with bare arms, a leather wrist-strap and a knife. A child with his head pulled back and his throat exposed.
Dick dropped the binoculars. ‘There’s a kid. We move now.’ He dropped to the ground and knew he needed to say no more to Tim. This wasn’t Nightwing taking over Red Robin’s operation. This was a child in immediate danger.
Dick ran for the window. He knew exactly what he aiming for. He focused on the crack in the curtains and the figures. The window was slightly ajar and Dick thanked his sudden run of good luck and yanked it open. He was inside in a second and he heard the front door crack as Tim threw himself at it.
The room was in chaos. Wrist-strap guy let go of the kid, a knee-jerk reaction Dick was used to seeing and always hoped for. Sometimes criminals, if you surprise them good, regress back to childhood in the moments after they are caught. They react like kids yanking their hands out of a cookie jar when Mom yells, ‘What did I tell you?!’
Dick kicked at the knife and it flew across the room. He felt satisfied and pleased with that result until the other four guys in the room pulled guns.
Dick ducked and rolled and the guy in the navy blazer fell to the ground, a patch of red blooming across his starched white shirt. Fine, shoot each other, Dick thought. Real sensible. There was a flash of red and black in the room now and Dick took a moment to locate the woman and the little boy. They were hovering by the door, the woman pale and shaking and the boy red-faced, cheeks tear-streaked.
‘Get upstairs!’ Dick yelled, and he pointed just to be sure they’d got the message. Upstairs was better than outside where two other men were waiting in their cars. Oh, there was a point.
Someone fired another shot and Dick felt a bowling ball hit his shoulder. The force of this bowling ball which, now that he thought about it, was more likely to be a bullet, knocked him backwards against the window and he heard it crack behind him. In front of him, the barrel of a Glock G21 stared him down from two feet away.
He tensed, ready to kick, but another boot got there first. Tim connected with the gunman’s wrist and Dick was reasonably sure he heard a bone snap.
‘On your left!’ Tim yelled and Dick punched before he looked and knocked down another guy. This one was sweating profusely, his black moustache gleaming with it. The man dived for the fallen Glock and Dick kicked it away and disabled him with the same move Slade had used on him not ten minutes ago.
All the men were down except one, the original Glock wielder, and Tim was busy with him. Very busy. It was one of those moments when you see something and you don’t quite believe it. Maybe the hit to the shoulder had penetrated his costume and he was actually lying on the laminate floor beneath yellow curtains and a cracked window and Tim wasn’t using brutal force on an unarmed man.
No way.
Tim punched and the man’s nose broke and bled. He punched again and blood sprayed into the air. Tim’s teeth were bared, every muscle in his body taut. He pulled back his fist again.
‘That’s enough!’ Dick shouted, and then the room went silent.
**
Tim’s old apartment was small and the furniture sort of sparse, but it had a great view and it was much closer than the Manor. They used it as a safe house now. What Dick needed more than anything was pain pills and an ice-pack for his shoulder, and he couldn’t wait the extra time it would take to get to the Batcave.
That was his story and he was sticking to it.
Tim helped him peel off the top part of his costume and they were both unsurprised to see a large bruise in full bloom.
‘Better than a hole,’ Dick said in response to the sympathetic grimace on Tim’s face.
There weren’t too many bullets that could penetrate their costumes these days, even at close range. This was the first time Dick had tested that theory out and he was pleased with the results, even if the results did hurt like hell. And maybe now the results of getting shot were much less dramatic, he’d actually stop getting shot in the first place. It was a bit of an in-joke.
‘Here,’ Tim said. He gestured with the ice-pack and gently pressed it against Dick’s shoulder.
Pain flared for a moment and Dick concentrated on not showing it. Tim was closer than he’d been for a long time and Dick just wanted to indulge in enjoying the moment before he destroyed it. He touched his fingertips to Tim’s arm and felt him tense. It had been so long since they’d touched, since they’d whispered to each other and pressed their lips together. Tim looked up at him and Dick was sure he was feeling exactly the same.
‘We can’t,’ Tim said, and Dick nodded in agreement and nudged his cheek against Tim’s anyway.
Of course they couldn’t. That road was blocked now. Bruce could never find out about them.
Dick tilted his head anyway. The door was locked, the blinds were drawn and no-one would have to know.
Tim stepped away. His cheeks were rosy and he ran a hand that was unsteady through his dishevelled hair. ‘Do you want a drink? I think I’ve got a can of soda in the fridge. We could share?’
‘Actually, can we talk?’ And here was the moment when Dick kicked a puppy, pushed a child in a puddle and generally behaved in a way that made him feel like a complete asshole.
‘Okay,’ Tim said. He straightened and gave Dick his full, defiant attention. He knew what was coming. Or at least he thought he did.
‘The reason I was late tonight? Deathstroke paid me a visit.’
Whatever Tim had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.
‘You’re kidding. What did he want?’
Dick had already been going over in his head what he would say and how he would handle things. He’d come to the conclusion that if their roles were reversed, he’d want Tim to be brutally honest with him. This wasn’t a game and there was no place here for coddling.
When did he start sounding like Bruce? Dick pushed away the thought that he’d been permanently tainted by his years under the Cowl.
‘He’s got a contract.’
‘In Gotham? That’ll please Bruce.’
‘A contract on you, Tim. On Red Robin.’
Tim was visibly taken aback. His arms fell from their crossed position to his sides and for a split second he looked more open and vulnerable than he’d ever looked before. Then he shrugged. ‘Right. Okay. I guess that was inevitable sooner or later.’
Dick shook his head. ‘This is Slade, here. This is more than your average contract. Everyone with criminal intent wants us out the way, but this is someone big, someone with the balls, connections and cash to approach Deathstroke. He’s says it’s the Draytons. You can’t shrug this off, Tim.’
Tim went from mildly concerned to seriously pissed off in a heartbeat. ‘I’m not shrugging anything off!’
‘You need to take this seriously. You’ve done more than ruffle a few feathers - you’ve broken into someone’s henhouse and shaved all their chickens. They want you gone. This is Ra’s al Ghul all over again.’
Tim narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin. ‘Why would Deathstroke bother telling you this? Is he fucking with us? Oh, wait, no, he’s fucking with you, or at least he’s hoping to.’
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Slade Wilson,’ Dick said through clenched teeth. This was one conversation he’d got sick of a long time back.
Tim folded his arms again. ‘He looks at you.’
‘That’s because I’m great to look at!’ Dick snapped.
They glared at each other.
If anyone else had been in the room they would have been scrambling to get out. The atmosphere was thick with tension and anyone who didn’t know either of them all that well would have been convinced they were about to fling themselves at each other with pounding fists.
It struck Dick that the last words of his argument were pretty stupid. His annoyed expression faded and he smirked.
‘You’re right,’ Tim said. ‘I’m sorry. You are great to look at.’ His expression was softer now too and he smiled, albeit a little wonkily.
Dick smiled back, but the expression turned sad. He wanted to gather Tim in his arms and hold him tight until all their problems took flight. He wanted to be the one to make Tim happy all the time, not the one who hurt him.
‘You need to stop,’ Dick said. ‘Take off the costume, step back. You’ve lost the meaning of cautious. You’ve been going too far and it’s got to stop. Right now.’
‘What ...? Too far? Dick, I’m only doing what I’ve been trained to do.’
Dick shook his head, slowly. How had this happened to them? To Tim?
Tim’s expression turned furious. ‘Take that fucking look off your face!’
‘You’re too brutal. You’re hurting people.’
‘I’m doing my job.’
‘You could have killed that guy tonight.’
‘He shot you!’
‘It’s not what we do. We disarm, disable, we work with the police. We-’
‘Some people need more of a deterrent. I’m not planning on killing anyone, Dick. How could you think that?’
‘It’s not about your intentions. It’s about the slope you’re on. It’s dangerous.’ Dick turned and rubbed his hands over his face. When he turned back and dropped his arms, he was ready to deliver the final blow. ‘I know you’re angry about a lot of things, but ... that’s just how Jason started.’ He stopped there and waited, his arms unthreatening by his side, his body language open.
‘I am nothing like Jason,’ Tim said, his voice quiet and low.
Dick nodded. ‘Then prove it.’
They stared at each again, but this time both their expressions were blank.
‘Get out,’ Tim said.
Part Two