Chapter Text
Slade never brought Dick along with him to contracts. And Dick preferred it that way—preferred not to work alongside Slade at all if he didn't have to. It was somewhat of an intimate thing, working side-by-side with someone in the midst of battle. There had to be a certain degree of trust and communication. Dick and Bruce had had that. Slade could never be like Bruce.
Yet here Dick was, five months into being Renegade, suited up and standing to Slade's right. For some reason, today was the day Slade thought Dick was ready to accompany him on a contract.
"My client's request is relatively simple," Slade explained. "He wants an enemy down, but he's a high profile man and worried he'll somehow get caught. I'm the guy he trusts to get the job done."
Dick stiffened, a fear that had been lingering at the back of his head resurfaced immediately. "Down as in . . . ?"
"Relax. I'm just going to put him out of commission long enough for my client to take what he needs from the target's company."
“Okay," Dick said reluctantly. Maybe he was already desensitized from all the crime he'd committed within the past couple of months, but this job didn't sound too bad. "And what do you want me to do?"
They were in a wealthy neighborhood in Gotham located right besides a large lake. Slade pointed to the wooden panels of the dock they stood on. "You wait here until I make sure the coast is clear. Turn on comms." With that he left, walking towards one of the mansions, but not before giving Dick a casual pat on the back.
It was a quick, offhanded gesture. It probably hadn't meant anything to Slade, but it made Dick feel unwell. An overwhelming homesickness crashed onto him and had him struggling to keep his breath steady. Bruce used to pat him like that when Dick had done something to make him proud. His chest tightened. He missed everyone: the Titans, Barbara, Alfred, but most of all, Bruce. He wanted his dad.
Dick looked down at the water below the dock. This was the first time Dick had been in Gotham in so long. The last time he'd been in the city had been before he met the Titans. After he had gotten into that fight with Bruce . . . Dick's masked face stared back at him through gentle ripples of the lake. Would Bruce even be able to look at him the same way if he knew what Dick had become? He could've avoided all of this if he just hadn't gotten so caught up in finding out who Slade was. Now Dick wanted nothing to do with Slade.
The man wasn't as terrible as he had been in the first month he had made Dick become Renegade. Once the Titans had given up on Dick—not that he had given them much choice—Slade cooled down. He trained Dick and even revealed his face, and before Dick knew it, he and Slade were living under the same roof like normal people. Dick still found it bizarre that Deathstroke the terminator could be domestic. Sometimes it could almost fool Dick, make him forget that he was the same man who took him away from his friends and family. Almost .
Dick had to find a way out. He had to. But he couldn't let the Titans get hurt. Not to mention that Slade knew Dick's identity now, and that was an entirely different dilemma to worry about. Dick had eventually given up his identity two months into the apprenticeship when Slade had made a deal that he'd give Dick more freedom if he took off the mask. Dick had relented, not because of the offer, but because if he wanted to get himself out of this mess, he needed to gain Slade's trust.
"Renegade," Slade said through comms. Dick jumped at the sudden intrusion to his thoughts. Well, speak of the devil. "Meet me at the main entrance. I want you to observe how I handle the target."
"Yes, Master," Dick said, trying to sound monotonous. The target . Dick hated the way that sounded. But at least Slade wasn't killing anyone. Not today.
The sixteen-year-old began to make his way towards the mansion when a red glare caught his eye. He snapped his attention to his side and found a man in red and silver armor approaching him from a distance. Dick recognized that glowing red lens anywhere. Deadshot.
"Well, what do we have here?" Deadshot remarked. "A mini Deathstroke?"
Dick's heart began to race. Dick had only encountered Deadshot once. It had been a brief interaction, and it had been with Batman. Dick eyed the guns attached to Deadshot. The mercenary was famous for never missing, and though Dick didn't know if that was entirely true, he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. He put his hands up defensively.
Deadshot tilted his head. "Hm. You got a name?"
"Sure. Renegade," Dick said. "Not of my own will though. Deathstroke's in the house if you want him."
A spout of laughter burst out of Deadshot. When he was done, he breathlessly said, "Well, that's not the answer I was expecting."
"But was is it the one you needed?" Dick asked. If Deadshot left to fight Slade, that would get either Deadshot or Slade off his back. He welcomed the idea.
"Renegade, what's taking you so long?" Slade prodded through the comms.
"You're a curious one," Deadshot commented instead of answering Dick's question. "I almost feel bad for what I'm about to do. But I've got to give the big guy a lesson, you know? It's simply bad manners to interfere in another man's contract."
Dick didn't give Deadshot the chance to raise his wrist-mounted guns. He dropped to the ground and swept Deadshot off his feet with a low kick. When the man fell on his back, Dick aimed to strike his face with a kick only for Deadshot to seize his foot with both hands. Dick strained to pull his foot out of the grasp but Deadshot was strong. Dick yelped when he felt Deadshot squeeze hard, trying to break his ankle.
Dick clumsily pressed a finger to his comms and frantically blurted, "Slade, it's Deadsh—ack!"
Deadshot pulled Dick's foot, forcing him onto the ground. The mercenary got up just enough to kneel over him and aim his gun at Dick's forehead. Right as Deadshot pulled the trigger, Dick kicked him directly up the jaw. The bullet flew over the boy, nearly grazing the top of his head.
Deadshot cursed, but he wasn't slowed down. He lifted his weapon and hovered over Dick. The boy scrambled to his feet and paced backwards, trying to get away, but when he looked back he realized he was being led to the docks again. Cornered. Nowhere to run or hide.
For the first time in a long time, Dick was genuinely terrified for his life. This man was on par with Slade. Dick couldn't best him. He was actually going to kill Dick. All that training, and for what? He was still too weak and now he was going to pay the price for it.
Deadshot didn't offer any parting words before shooting Dick in the chest. He felt an explosion of pain sear through him and then there was a splash. It took him a moment to realize that the sound had come from him. He was submerged in water, bubbles flooding out of his mouth. His body screamed in agony, seeking aid and, most desperately, oxygen. He struggled to swim up to the surface, but he was too weak. At last, his vision darkened until the last thing he saw was the lake tinted red with his own blood.
__________
Dick hacked his lungs out when he woke up, rasping and wheezing but alive. His sight was blurry with tears and disorientation, but he could make out a figure hunched over him. It was someone lithe and dressed in black. They pressed something soft, perhaps a piece of cloth, against the wound in his chest. Dick vaguely noted that he couldn't feel any pain. Or anything at all for that matter, except for the cold. He was shivering, weak, and scared.
For a moment, the mysterious figure rested a comforting palm on Dick's arm. There was no warmth in that hand, but it was comforting nonetheless. Dick croaked, wanting to thank the stranger. He fell out of consciousness before he could do so.
__________
The next time Dick stirred awake, he couldn't think straight. All he knew was that he was still freezing and numb in some spots. He felt like he was going to die.
"You're awake," a voice that Dick easily recognized to be Slade's said, sounding relieved.
"'M cold," Dick practically whimpered, his teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
There was a frustrated sigh. "I don't have anything warm with me right now. I'm sorry, Dick. Just hold on a little longer."
Dick's lips wobbled at the thought of waiting. He didn't think he was going to make it long enough to reach wherever they were heading. He didn't even know where he was now.
Slade—at least, he assumed it was Slade; everything was still a groggy fever dream—placed his hands on Dick's shoulders. Immediately Dick noticed two things. One: the armor parts of their suits had been taken off, and two: Slade's hands were warm . Dick leaned into the touch. Warm .
Dick felt Slade stiffen, so he just tightened his hold. He wouldn't be able to bear having this newfound warmth taken away from him so soon.
Slade pulled away despite Dick's efforts. He was about to complain until two arms suddenly wrapped around him, pushing him towards Slade's unarmored chest. Dick felt like he had just been tucked under a blanket. He hugged back, not feeling completely satisfied, but much better. Yet again, his world went black, but this time with his cheek against a warm chest.
__________
Dick slowly opened his eyes, blinking lazily. As the fogginess clouding his brain began to dissipate, he realized that he was lying on a soft bed.
His near death experience flashed into his mind, causing his morning peace to be replaced with anxiety. Dick looked down at his chest and brought a hand up to feel the area. The top half of his Renegade suit was peeled down so that his chest could be bandaged up, but there were no blood stains on the material. Dick was surprised to find that he felt only the dullest pain when he poked his wound. In fact, he was surprised to even be alive.
There were some spare clothes left for him off to the side of the bed. They weren't his clothes from the looks of it, but Dick was too tired to question where they had come from. He forced himself up and changed out of his musty suit before trudging towards the door. He faltered, staring at the door knob. Slade probably wasn't too far from this room. Dick didn't want to talk to Slade right now. He felt embarrassed and ashamed. He couldn't remember some of the details of yesterday's events, but he definitely remembered the part where he clung onto Slade like a piece of gum at the bottom of his shoe.
And he had gotten shot. He would've died if not for the stranger who had saved him from drowning. Dick felt incompetent.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before opening the door. He was greeted with walls so white they hurt his eyes and expensive furniture that appeared to have never even been used. This must've been one of Slade's safe houses. As expected, Slade had been lounging at a table right by his door in civilian clothing. The man instantly stood up.
He surveyed Dick, looking like he was inspecting a ghost. Maybe Dick looked like one. Regardless, he felt scrutinized, and just shifted on his feet awkwardly. He didn't know what to say, so he looked around the house to get his bearings and noticed a nearby clock hanging on a wall that read that it was one in the afternoon. Dick had been asleep for about a whole day.
"How do you feel?" Slade asked first. If Dick didn't know better, he'd say Slade sounded concerned. But that couldn't be right. He was probably just worried that he had almost lost his apprentice.
"I'm fine," Dick said with a shrug, avoiding eye contact with Slade. He tapped on his chest. "Barely even hurts."
Slade nodded. "Your armor took the blunt of the damage. It’s the blood loss that took a toll on you."
Dick felt his face flush. He couldn't stop thinking of the way he had acted when he'd been delirious and freezing. What a way for him to ruin Slade's contract.
Shoot . He'd messed up Slade's contract.
The blood that had made him blush a few moments prior now drained from his face. The Titans. "Look, I-I know I messed up the mission—"
"Dick," Slade tried to say, but Dick wouldn't let his mistake hurt his friends.
"But I can make it up,” Dick insisted.
"It's fine ."
"But the Titans—"
" Kid ," Slade said sternly, enough to make Dick jumped slightly at the authority in his voice. "Would you just worry about yourself for once?"
Dick swallowed and his gaze fell to the floor.
Slade sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Besides, I'm the one who screwed up."
Now confused, Dick scrunched his brows and looked back at Slade.
"The target in my contract had hired his own mercenary to protect him and take down my client. That mercenary being Deadshot. Clearly Deadshot did not appreciate my involvement, albeit unintentional. You got caught in the crossfire and he took it out on you. That's . . . That's my fault. It was supposed to be a simple mission. I wouldn't have set you up against Deadshot. You're not ready for that yet."
It would be a lie to say that Dick wasn't surprised to hear Slade admit he messed up, but it didn't ease the pit of dread in his gut. Not until he got clarification. "So," Dick said hesitantly, "you're not going to hurt the Titans?"
Slade looked annoyed at the question, like he was holding back the urge to roll his one gray eye. "No. I think we're past the point where I need to blackmail you, don't you think?"
Dick thought about it. Obviously the blackmail was the reason Dick was even in this room with Slade, but the man didn't actually carry the nanobot's trigger around with him anymore. At least, not that Dick could see. He also hadn't threatened to hurt the Titans in quite some time, but that was because Dick hadn't given him a reason to.
"There's something I need to know, though," Slade mentioned, sitting down onto his chair and gesturing to the one across from him. Dick cautiously took a seat and grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruits centered on the table. He fiddled with it, throwing it slightly in the air and catching it repeatedly as Slade continued. "When I found you after you had been shot, you were soaked, and had something pressed against your chest to stop the blood loss. Someone helped you, didn't they?"
Dick stopped messing with the apple and stared at the glossy surface as he recalled the memory of the blurry figure. "Yeah."
"Who was it?"
"I don't know," Dick said. He looked up to glance at Slade whose single grey eye was narrowed and fixed onto his. "I'm serious," Dick claimed, feeling a bit indignant at Slade's unconvinced expression. "I mean, I was hardly conscious when it happened. I just remember the person wearing lots of black. And no: I'm not talking about Batman. They were on the leaner side."
Slade didn't respond. Instead his gaze became distant like he had gone deep in thought. Dick decided to not pay it any mind for the sake of his sanity and opted to bite into the shiny red apple in his hand.
__________
Slade gave Dick time to rest—more time than necessary, but Slade had been shaken by Deadshot's attack on his apprentice and needed time to reflect.
It was one thing for Deadshot to start a fight with Slade, but for him to try killing Dick had him outraged. No . . . If he was being honest with himself, he had been scared. That wasn't something that happened to Deathstroke the Terminator.
Slade had rushed out of the mansion the instant he had heard Dick's shout through the comms. He remembered the anxiety he had felt when he heard the gunshots and then the dread that had engulfed him when Dick and Deadshot were nowhere to be found.
After scouring the perimeter, he had finally found Dick lying on the grass by the lake, drenched and unconscious. Judging by the material used to stop Dick from bleeding out, someone had saved him, but Slade had been in too much of a rush to think any further of it. Dick had been as pale as paper and breathing very shallow breaths. He kept falling in and out of consciousness as Slade hurried to get him medical treatment. It was a troubling sight. The reality that Dick, as skilled as he was, was truly just a child hit him like a truck. Especially when he had held onto him for warmth. He had depended on Slade to survive.
When Slade had made Dick his apprentice, Dick had become his responsibility. His health and safety had become his responsibility. Slade was now struggling to accept that he'd failed to handle that responsibility.
He couldn't help but wonder if this was how Bruce Wayne felt.
__________
"Gee, I was beginning to think that you quit the merc business," Dick dryly joked when Slade told him that they would be going on a contract together after a month of inactivity.
The boy had completely recovered and was back to his usual cheeky self. Slade was glad; Dick had become a bit withdrawn after the incident with Deadshot. The Titans also hadn't been brought up in weeks, which was a good sign, and Dick was excelling in his training, growing stronger everyday. Overall, things were better, and Slade wanted to bring Dick along to see the rundown of certain contracts and get him used to the lifestyle. He didn't want one bad experience to ruin Dick's already biased mindset.
But that wasn't the only reason he was bringing Dick along. Ever since the last contract, he suspected that his apprentice was being followed and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.
"So, what are the details on tomorrow's contract?" Dick asked reluctantly with crossed arms as he watched Slade polish his sword on the couch.
"I think you're going to like this one," Slade said without looking up from his task. "We're private security for my client. He ticked off some people and now they put on a hit on him. Typical mobster activity as I'm sure you're already familiar with."
Dick hummed. "Okay. And who's the client?"
"Oswald Cobblepot," Slade said. He waited for the incoming outburst.
" What ?" Dick shouted. There it was. "You're kidding , right?"
Slade didn't bother with a response.
"Oh, great. So we're protecting murderers now."
"From other murderers, yes." The only logic that would get this boy to comply it seemed.
Dick tilted his head back and ran his hands over his face. "This is ridiculous."
"Lighten up," Slade encouraged, unable to hold back his smile. "It'll be fun."
"We'll be going to back to Gotham," the boy noted quietly.
True, and the mission wouldn't be in the outskirts of Gotham like their was mission had been. They would be at the core of the city where crime thrived. Where the Bat lurked. Slade could tell that Dick was thinking of his old mentor, too, probably scheming of how he could find him. Slade had expected this, of course. And he wasn't worried about Batman, or any heroes for that matter. It was the unknown stalker of Dick's that was Slade's current concern. He only seemed to have appeared in Gotham, so that's where they were going.
"Here," Slade said, grabbing the other sword that had been lying on the coffee table in front of him and holding it out for Dick to grab. "Help me with this one."
Dick's expression hardened in a way that would have been nearly imperceptible to anyone but Slade. The boy kept his arms at his sides, but his fists became balled and his eyes lingered at the sword. Slade met his piercing gaze and wordlessly challenged him.
Go ahead. Try me .
Hostility hung in the air until Dick slackened and reluctantly accepted the sword, causing Slade to feel faintly disappointed. Dick dropped onto the couch besides Slade with a sigh.
"You'll need to use that sword one day, kid. Whether you like it or not," Slade reminded as Dick grabbed a paper towel from the table.
"Sure," Dick said dryly, not putting up the verbal fight he normally would when this topic arose.
Today Dick would refuse to use the sword outside of training, but perhaps one day the boy would use it to stab Slade in the back. Dick knew how to use the weapon—he wielded it well, and his speed gave him a fine advantage in a sword fight. It was a shame he didn't realize his strength, and worse that his morals were so narrow-minded as to not allow him to use it.
Fortunately, Slade was a patient man. He could wait until Dick saw things his way.
With the sound of paper towel against metal filling the room, they further discussed tomorrow's contract.
__________
The next morning, Slade and Dick arrived at the Iceberg lounge. They stood outside a side entrance where an employee who had come out to throw out the trash had been passing through and gawked at them.
"Go inside and fetch Oswald," Slade told Dick.
Dick made a face of annoyance that was apparent even with the mask on. "Why me? He's your client."
"That was an order, Renegade," the man said without any real venom behind it.
Dick sighed, but complied, giving Slade one last look before going turning the corner to enter the building through the main entrance.
When he thought Dick was far enough, Slade gave it a moment before saying, "Come out. I know you're there, watching from the tree."
There was a pause, and then the sound of tree branches ruffling behind him.
Slade turned around and watched as a man in a black suit and mask that resembled some type of bird jumped down from the tree and soundlessly, effortlessly landed on the ground.
Wonderful , Slade thought wryly. Another animal-themed lunatic . He assumed this was another one of Dick and Batman's old enemies.
But as the masked man approached him, Slade could sense that something was different about him. Something . . . darker. Deadly. A collection of throwing knifes were strapped to the man's chest, and he walked with the poised stance of an assassin. Slade could recognize a trained killer when he saw one.
"How did you know I was there?" The man questioned quietly once he got close enough to converse.
Slade scoffed. "What, no one's ever noticed you creeping up behind them before?"
"No," the man simply said. "They never notice until it's too late."
Interesting. "Is that so? And would you like to tell me why you've been stalking my apprentice?"
"Careful, Wilson," the man warned, a lethal edge to his voice. "He isn't yours."
That was enough to have anger simmer under Slade's skin. "I seem to recall my colors and insignia being on his suit. Who are you?"
"I am a talon of the Court of Owls," the man finally revealed. "Don't take it personally. The Gray Son has been ours since the day he was born. We have just been waiting until the right day to take him back to where he belongs."
Before the talon could process it, Slade shot forward, grabbed the talon by the neck, and jammed him against the nearest wall. "Enough of the mystery and riddles, goggles," Slade spat. "Talk or I'll make sure you never have to worry about your precious Court of Owls again."
The talon didn't tense or squirm in his grip. He didn't even resist when Slade tightened his hold on his neck. He was oddly compliant, even as constricted blood began to color his pale face, and it somehow made Slade more infuriated.
"All you need to know is that we will be collecting the boy soon, so enjoy him while you can," the talon said, his voice coming out far too well for someone who was being strangled. "And don't fret, we can keep him alive for as long as we wish, unlike you apparently," the talon taunted. "I do applaud you for snatching him away from the heroes, though. They are quite a nuisance to deal with, especially the Batman."
The talon raised a hand to pry Slade's hand off his neck, but the mercenary had had enough. He snapped the talon's neck with both hands, and the man dropped to the ground like a pile of bricks. Slade looked down at the sight, incredibly annoyed that this was a problem he had to deal with.
"All talk, huh?" Slade muttered to himself. He glanced at the door to make sure Dick wasn't back soon to see this. He should probably be hiding the body right about now or else the kid would freak out.
There was a small chuckle. Slade snapped his attention back downwards. The talon was alive, casually getting back on his feet. Slade was too shocked to do anything about it.
"Be grateful I have been ordered not to hurt you," the talon said, turning his head to the side to stretch his head, and maybe to flaunt that he had been unaffected by the killing strike. "Oh, and give the Gray Son his letter, would you?"
With that, the talon began walking away until he walked under a dark shadow cast against the wall and disappeared into the darkness.
__________
Slade examined Dick intently when he returned, paying extra attention to the gleam of his 'S' insignia. He despised the fact that another group of people were after the boy yet again when he was finally his, though he couldn't completely blame his competitors. Dick burned bright with potential, and it drew in everyone who came near like moths to a lamp.
But Slade had gotten to him first, and despite their past setbacks, the boy was thriving in his care. Anybody could see that the boy had grown both physically and mentally from Slade's training. He had gained more muscle, skill, and experience, and though Dick would never admit it, he knew the boy liked training with him. He liked the challenge and he loved the thrill of all things dangerous, including the looting sprees Slade sent him on every now and then. It was Batman's moral code that shackled him. When Dick realized that the mercenary life could offer more than he thought was possible, he'd be unstoppable. He'd be the perfect apprentice.
His successor, even.
Slade pushed back thoughts of the talon to the corner of his mind for now. He didn't need to have his contract with Dick ruined. Not again.
"Where's Oswald?" Slade asked.
Dick chewed on his lip and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Uh, about him . . . Well, Oswald was being annoying, so I sort of slapped him across the face."
Slade stared, hard.
"Look, I'm used to him being an enemy, not whatever this is," Dick explained, making wild gestures with his hands when saying 'this'. "And when I told him you were waiting, he started squawking about how I'm just a 'kid' and I couldn't protect him for squat. It just escalated." He was tense, watching Slade carefully. "Sorry. I hope I didn't ruin the contract. Oswald's . . . He's waiting inside for you."
"What did Oswald do after you smacked him?" Slade inquired.
"Uh, started crying like a baby?"
Slade burst out laughing. This kid was something else. "Attaboy," he said, putting his arm around his apprentice's shoulders.
Dick flinched. "Huh?"
"Renegade, you overestimate how much I care about Oswald Cobblepot's opinion of me. He needs us far more than we need him, and he knows it. And if he's not giving you respect, then I'm glad you gave him a reason to."
". . . Alright . . ." Dick said unsurely. "If you say so."
__________
Oswald glared daggers at Dick when Slade wasn't looking; Dick stuck his tongue out at him when Slade wasn't looking. That earned him a funny expression of outrage from Oswald, but, really, he should've been grateful that Dick chose to stick out his tongue instead of a certain finger.
Ah, Gotham criminals. Don't they just bring out the best in you?
Oswald had a meeting with Black mask and Two Face to talk about them hopefully taking the target off his head and basically becoming besties again. Dick and Slade were accompanying him in case one of the mobsters decided he was just as annoying as Dick thought he was and tried to wipe him out on the spot.
At least, that's what it was supposed to seem like Dick and Slade were here for.
As they entered Black Mask's penthouse, Dick felt a heavy sense of uneasiness twist his stomach around. It felt so wrong to be here like this. The part of him that was still a hero was screaming at him, forcing him to take mental notes of everything he saw in his enemy's base to use against him later. He was going to get insider knowledge on some of the most powerful crime bosses in Gotham. It was terrifying—he felt like a spy; like he would get somehow get caught; like they would somehow know he had once been Robin—but he couldn't deny he was also very curious and maybe a little excited for what was to come.
One thing was for sure: he could not let his guard down for even a split second.
Bodyguards stood inside and outside the room Dick, Slade, and Oswald entered. It was a conference room with many seats, but only two were taken. Black Mask and Two Face were lounging in the seats, looking up at them with unhappy faces.
"Wilson," Black Mask acknowledged, dressed in a white suit that was stark against his skin.
"Oswald," Two Face said, glancing between Slade and Renegade, "why is Deathstroke here?"
"And who's shorty?" Black Mask added, allowing himself a momentary smirk that made Dick role his eyes beneath his mask.
"This is Renegade," Slade answered, "and you will refer to him as such. He is my apprentice."
"Don't tell me you’re scared , Pengy," Black Mask teased. "To feel the need to hire a mercenary."
Oswald straightened up. "I am simply taking protective measures. I'd like to negotiate."
"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it?" Black Mask remarked. Oswald took a seat and they began promptly discussing criminal matters.
Dick listened to them talk about horrible crimes with the uncomfortable nonchalance. He watched them smile as they bragged about who had done it better. He wasn't supposed to be here. The thought kept repeating in his mind like a broken record. His skin tingled, itched to do something. To stop them.
Then Black Mask said something, something probably very stupid, and the boom of Oswald slamming his hands against the table and the screech of his chair as he stood up cut through Dick's thoughts like a knife.
" I'm the weird one?" Oswald shouted, his spit flying in the air as he spoke. "Have the two of you taken even a second to look in the mirror ?"
It was Black Mask and Two Face's turn to jolt to their feet.
"This is why no one can tolerate you," Two Face rebuked. "You get offended over every little comment. Do you want to settle this or not?"
Oswald let out a scoff. "You know, for a moment I wanted to, even though that hadn't been part of the plan. But I've remembered why I decided against pleading for your acceptance and mercy."
Two Face appeared confused. Black Mask sighed and put a hand up to his suit where Dick could tell he was hiding a gun. "And why is that?"
Every muscle in Dick's body tensed, waiting for the command.
"Because I quit tolerating disrespect a long time ago," Oswald said, his eyes hard and demeanor cold. He took a step back. "It seems this city needs a reminder of that. Go."
Dick swung his fist at Two Face at the same time Slade struck Black Mask. Two Face dropped to the ground with a grunt, lying on the ground for only a moment to grapple with the pain before attempting to get back up. Dick kicked him on the chest, forcing the man on his back before ducking into a roll to avoid the spray of bullets sent his way from the bodyguards. Between the punches and kicks, spins and twists, Dick caught Two Face squeeze through some distracted goons and slip past the door.
"Get him!" Oswald squealed from under the table Dick just noticed he was cowering under. Dick briefly looked at Slade for approval. The man gave him a single nod before delivering a brutal blow to a guard.
Dick rushed past the cluster of body guards and chased after Two Face, the two of them darting through the long, red hallway. It wasn't a difficult task to catch up to Two Face, but right as Dick's fingers grazed the collar of man's suit, a dark, gloved hand zipped through the crack of a nearby door and snatched Two Face into the room. Not before rudely slamming the door, as well.
For a brief moment, Dick stood in place, just blinking in confusion, but he quickly sought answers. He threw his body weight against the door with his shoulder, his lips parted to let out an annoyed remark as the door aggressively swung open, only to be caught in a lightning speed chokehold. Dick flailed in the grip, fighting around the already depilating position that was cutting off his oxygen and making his head feel like it was going to explode.
The enemy hushed gently at him. "Calm now. I'm here to help. Look at Harvey Dent."
Dick's eyes skittered around the unlit room through the pounding of his heart and stopped at the hunched, unconscious figure of Two Face.
"You see? I'm on your side. I just need to know you will listen."
Dick franticly nodded. Colors danced in his vision. He broke off with a gasp, doubling forward when the grip around his neck was released. The relief was immediate, but Dick was still on high alert. He spun, facing his attacker.
In the dark stood a man in black and gold wearing an odd, bird-like mask. Dick instantly eyed the knifes strapped across his chest, but the man's posture indicated that he didn't plan on using them. Right now.
The man casually, almost pleasantly, as if he were talking about his day with a friend, said, "Richard Grayson, I am your Great Grandfather."
Dick stared. He waited for the man to elaborate. The man didn't; he seemed to soak in Dick's reaction, those gleaming abysses for goggles eerily fixated on him.
Assuming this was the typical Gotham loony, Dick disregarded the Grandfather statement. His current issue was that this man knew his identity.
He swallowed, his head throbbing dully at his temples. "How do you know . . . " he trailed off, his fingers itching towards his bo-staff as the man leaned towards him. He kept going forward until he was at Dick's ear. Quietly, he whispered, "I can help you escape Slade Wilson's grasp. I know about the nanoscopic probes. I know about everything you're dealing with."
The air was knocked out of Dick's lungs. This man knew about Slade. He knew knew the apprenticeship was involuntarily. And . . . he wanted to help. A jolt of interest sliced through Dick's apprehension.
Dick back away from the man and studied him, wishing he weren't wearing those goggles so he could observe his face. "I'm listening," he said.
The man gave him a nod. "My name is William Cobb," he said. "I am also known as Talon. I work for the Court of Owls, as does every Talon. They've sent me to assist you. I have much to tell you, but it seems your 'Master' is coming. For now, all you need to know is that an opportunity will present itself. Take it."
Dick open his mouth to speak, but the man, Cobb, held up a finger.
"The less you know the better, Gray Son. I'll be seeing you again soon," Cobb stated, walking towards the door. He paused and turned his neck to give Dick one last, almost inquisitive, look. "Won't I?"
Hesitantly, Dick nodded.
With that, Cobb sped off, as quick and graceful as a dandelion caught in the wind.
Shortly after, Dick heard two unsynchronized footsteps sprint up to the door. Slade pulled up first; Oswald lagged behind him. When Oswald pulled up into view with, his face transitioned from concerned to pleased as his eyes darted from Dick to Two Face, completely unaware of who had just been in the room with them.
"Wonderful," Oswald commented with a sharp grin plastered on his face. "I knew hiring you two would be a good investment."
Dick quirked an eyebrow. "Actually, I seem to recall you doubting us. Well, mostly me."
Oswald made a " pshh " sound dismissively. "I didn't doubt you. Clearly I was just testing you."
"Uh-huh."
Slade walked up to Two Face's unconscious body and knelt down to get a closer look at the man. "You did quite the number on him," he noted. "He's out cold."
Dick shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure if he should tell Slade about his encounter with Cobb. If the Talon had been truthful about what he said, then it would be better if Slade didn't know. But on the other hand, Dick at least understood and trusted Slade on a certain level. Dick couldn't say the same about Cobb. The man had strangled him before claiming to be his Great Grandfather—all in less than five minutes. If that didn't scream danger, he didn't know what did. Keeping this information from Slade might cause more trouble than anything. Especially if Slade found out on his own and got angry . . .
Dick's silence was telling, and he knew it. He knew that Slade knew it. Only Oswald seemed oblivious, having a pretty much one-sided conversation about what he planned to do with Two Face and Black Mask and how he was going to rule the Gotham criminal underworld.
Dick only needed to see Slade's single grey eye to understand the meaning of look the man gave him as Oswald rambled on.
Slade knew something, and Dick had a feeling they were going to have a talk about it.
__________
They stayed in yet another one of Slade's safe houses, though this one was still in Gotham. Dick took a shower and dressed himself in sweatpants and a T-shirt and headed towards the kitchen to see if there was anything in the refrigerator. On the way there, he found Slade in the living room, looking down at an envelope.
Dick went straight to the important questions. "Do we have any food?"
Slade turned his attention to him. "I ordered Chinese."
"Oh," Dick said, pleased. They didn't indulge in takeout often. "Cool."
"In the meantime, let's talk."
There it was.
Dick sighed, but jumped over the back of the couch and landed on the leather cushion. His heart began racing even though he knew there was no real reason to be anxious. Slade might know about the talon from earlier, but Dick hadn't done anything wrong per se.
"I found this in the mail," Slade mentioned, throwing the envelope onto the coffee table in front of Dick before taking a seat on the couch besides him.
On the front of the envelope read: To Dick Grayson.
"I haven't opened it, but I already know who it's from."
Who would send mail to Dick specifically? Especially in a safe house that no one but them should know about.
Unless . . . The Titans? No, that wouldn't make sense. Plus, it'd be way too obvious. This couldn't be a rescue plan of any sort.
Dick turned towards Slade, made a face, and shrugged. "I'm lost."
Slade leaned back into the cushion of the couch. "Dick, frankly, you're being stalked."
Cobb .
"You may have heard of them before. They’re called the Court of Owls. I met one of their assassins; they called themselves talons. They seem to obey the Court's orders, and for some reason they want you ." He paused to take in Dick's reaction. There wasn't much of one at all. "You've met him, haven't you?"
There was no point in lying. "Yeah," Dick admitted. "Today, at Black Mask's penthouse. I was chasing Two Face and the talon snatched him and knocked him out. Next thing I know, I'm in a chokehold."
"What did he want with you?" Slade asked. "Did he tell you anything?"
"I don't know," Dick deflected. He still didn't know if Cobb could be trusted, but the less Slade knew, the more power Dick had over him. "He was spouting nonsense. It was all weird, creepy stuff."
Slade nodded. "The talon I met—he's hardly human. I snapped his neck and he got up a few seconds later, perfectly unharmed. It seems he has powerful regenerative abilities."
"Better than yours?" Dick asked before he could stop himself.
Slade gave a firm nod in response.
That was news. If Cobb and Slade ever got in a fight, Cobb was more likely to win. That would come in handy if he had been truthful about helping Dick.
"How about you open that and see what's inside?" Slade suggested, cocking his head towards the envelope.
Dick reached for the simple white envelope and ripped the seal open. He pulled out a short letter and read its contents out loud.
Dear Dick Grayson,
This may not be to your knowledge, but you are of Gotham descent. We are providing you the opportunity to meet your kin and learn of the life once destined for you. Should this offer appeal to you, please arrive at the location below at the provided date. We hope to see you there.
Sincerely,
The Court of Owls.
"They think they have some sort of claim over you," Slade informed. "I don't know the specifics, but they want you, one way or another. They're trying to tick me off in the process."
Dick furrowed his brows while shaking his head. "I don't understand. This letter is clearly a ruse. And why go through all this trouble? Why would they want me ?"
Slade had been unwaveringly calm throughout this entire discussion, but strangely enough, that question was what got to him. He lurched forward, gripping two strong hands around Dick's shoulders, a fervent anger in Slade's silver eye. "Why wouldn't they, Dick? You don't realize how important you are, do you? How many people are ready to snatch you up for all the things you're capable of?"
The sudden intensity of Slade's words caught Dick by surprise. Instinctively, he clutched onto the man's wrists, nearly shoving the hands off him, but he didn't. Instead, he used the grip to balance himself against the weight Slade was pressing against him. He stared at the man, wide-eyed.
"They want you for the same reason I wanted you," Slade continued. "They see your potential, but the difference is, they'd use and change you to fit the mold of what they think you should be like. But I know you better than that, Dick. I know who you really are. I know you don't fit in with the Big Bat anymore, and I know you'd never agree with the far opposite side of the spectrum either. You're like me. I'm just waiting for you to see it yourself."
He let go of Dick, so Dick let go of him.
"Alright, well," Dick said after a moment, slightly dazed and not sure how to respond to whatever that was, "what do you suggest we do?"
The corner of Slade's lips twitched upward. "Well, they want you so bad, right? So, fine. You're going to accept their invitation."
A jolt ran through Dick. "W-what?"
"You're going to stay with them for as long as it takes to learn their weaknesses and destroy them."
There was no sign of humor on Slade's face—nothing to indicate that he was joking. Dick could hardly believe his ears. "But—but—"
"Who knows how long they've been stalking you," Slade mused. "They already know you're Renegade and they very well may know you were Robin. I wouldn't put it passed the Court to hurt the people you care about to get to you. Who knows how far they'll go?"
"Well, that reminds me of someone," Dick said harshly. "Y'know, the part about hurting the people I care about to get to me."
Slade's gaze lingered on him until Dick's words registered. The man looked away, clicking his tongue.
"You walked right into that one," Dick remarked, cracking a smile at the way he actually managed to ruffle Slade for once. It was about time.
"Kid, if what the nursery rhyme says about the Court is true, I'm going to seem real nice in comparison," Slade said seriously.
Dick's smirk melted away, a feeling of dread settling in his gut instead. Dread and . . . Fear. Dick couldn't even handle Deadshot, so what made Slade think he would be able to handle going against an entire secret organization filled with assassins?
"What if things don't work out and . . ." Dick swallowed thickly, actively controlling his features in order to prevent his anxiety from showing on his face. "I mean, um, they have regeneration, so if I end up needing to fight, how am I going to . . ."
His voice trailed off as Slade's expression softened.
"I'm not going to throw you in blind," Slade assured. "We'll be communicating the entire time, and you're better off than you think. In these past couple of months you've already improved in what would take the average person a year to get the hang of. I just need you to utilize what I've taught you."
Dick slowly nodded, his eyes briefly sweeping the floor. He hated to admit it, but knowing that Slade believed in him helped ease the tight feeling nervousness in his chest.
He couldn't really believe he was actually going to do this. His objective had gone from protect the Titans, to stay strong and find a way out, to stop the Court of Owls or use them to stop Slade. Right now Dick wasn't sure who his true enemy was, but he knew for sure that he couldn't trust anyone and that he'd need to get more cunning and sly if he wanted to get out of this alive.
Dick almost felt guilty for his ulterior motives, but, really, Slade should know better. Likewise, if Cobb had been lying about wanting to help Dick, he was going to get what he deserved.
The doorbell rang.
"I got it," Slade said. He got up and opened the door to accept their meal from the deliveryman while Dick reached forward to grab the TV remote. When Slade returned, Dick had already switched to his favorite channel.
"We weren't done discussing our plan," Slade claimed, placing the Chinese food boxes on the coffee table and handing Dick a plate.
"Let's finish talking about it tomorrow," Dick insisted. "Today's been a long day and the season finale for my show is playing."
Slade sat down and let out a soft chuckle, but he didn't complain. They both served themselves their food and ate while Dick got absorbed to the TV with Slade idly watching.
Dick felt anxious, tense, and scared, and yet he had to keep hiding a smile behind his fork in between bites.
" For now, all you need to know is that an opportunity will present itself. Take it ," Cobb had said. He had been right, and if for even just a moment, Dick felt like he had the chance to be the one moving the pieces instead of being the pawn.