Chapter Text
As Dick and Damian enter the elevator up to Dick’s apartment, Dick’s phone starts ringing. The caller ID reads SW.
Dick picks it up with a cold but urgent, “Yes?”
“Targets are on the move,” Slade says, tone clipped, “Said they’re heading out for lunch with the kids.”
“Where to?”
“Luigi’s Finest Pizzeria.”
Dick curses. “How do we want to follow them?”
“Beat them there. They haven’t left yet, and I know you’re always dying to show off your driving skills.”
Dick lets out a delighted laugh and hits the close doors button on the elevator, selecting the button for the lobby.
“Get there early, get a booth next to the door and act friendly so they sit with you,” Slade orders, “I’ll join you there twenty to thirty minutes after you both reach.”
“On it,” Dick responds, “Should we force them to stay in public? Or should we encourage them to come home fast?”
“Hmm,” Slade muses, “My in-home defenses are pretty good. I added an electroshock factor to the window. To ours and theirs. Anyone with an unidentified biosignature will get—”
“Tasered,” Dick interrupts, “I get the idea. But how high is the voltage? I don’t want—”
“Not high enough to kill, if that’s what you’re worried about, birdie.”
The nickname makes Dick blush. “I was just checking! When did you even get time to install—”
“Hold on,” Slade says quickly, voice dropping into something almost dangerous, “Someone’s at the door.”
Dick frowns, opening their front door camera feed on his phone.
“Face rec says it’s Mia Elder. She’s 32 years old, recently divorced, single mother and our neighbor—”
“Three doors to the left,” Dick interrupts, “I know. I memorized all the identification details about everyone on our floor and six floors above and below.”
“Impressive.” Slade says, and Dick can hear the smile in his voice.
Dick leads Damian back to the car, filling him in on the situation. Damian cocks an eyebrow impressively high when Dick tells him Slade’s code name is Bruce.
“He chose that?”
“Yes,” Dick says quickly, praying Damian can’t tell how red his face is.
“On purpose?” Dick nods again, and Damian frowns. “Oh.”
Dick doesn’t know why he’s trusting Slade’s intel—other than the obvious reason that it would upset Bruce. As he drives, Slade stays on call with him, and Dick puts the phone on speaker.
He listens as the doorbell rings shrilly through the phone.
The door creaks as Slade opens it.
“Hello?” Slade’s deep voice says to the woman at the door. He sounds so genuinely confused it’s a bit endearing.
He’s a good actor, Dick thinks, I mean, he must have been to keep his mercenary job a secret from the real Adeline Wilson.
His real wife.
The thought sours his mood.
Was he enough of a good enough actor that he could lead me on for days, only to serve his own ulterior motives?
Kiss me and cook me food just to make me think he cares?
Get the opportunity to kill or capture the Garcias several times and not do it?
To what? Let me get my guard down around him?
Help me care for Damian?
Why?
Just so he’d look better?
So I’d let my guard down?
“Hi!” comes a warm, Southern-accented voice, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I’m Mia! I live down the hall. Just wanted to say hello and welcome!”
Slade responds, polite. “Nice to meet you. I’m Bruce.”
There’s a second of silence.
“Sorry but—uh—is the eyepatch real?” she blurts.
From the car, Damian’s eyes widen comically and Dick holds back a snort.
“Yes,” Slade says curtly.
Obviously unable to tell if she’s being intrusive or rude, Mia starts stuttering, “Oh my god, sorry… that was so rude of me! I am so, so sorry. I—It’s very rugged. Makes you look very tough? Very handsome—in a rugged way”
Dick blinks. Did she just…?
“Thanks,” Slade replies, smug and far too amused.
Dick’s eyebrows twitch.
From the corner of his eye, Damian murmurs, “She’s flirting with him.”
Dick stares at the screen, eyes narrowing. “No, she’s not,” he says quickly, like he’s trying to reassure himself.
Damian just raises an eyebrow.
“I—uh. Sorry.” Mia says to Slade. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.” She pauses before trying again for small talk, “So, what, uh, brings you here to this apartment complex?”
“My wife,” Slade says slowly. Unhurried.
Dick goes still.
He tries to pretend that Slade calling him his wife hadn't sent an immediate shiver down his spine.
The way he said it, was just so so casual, yet possessive.
Affectionate, and almost covetous, like a claim.
It leaves Dick feeling warm, treasured, and dizzy in a way he hates.
My wife, my wife, my, my, mine.
Mia’s voice perks up immediately. “You moved to be closer to her? Oh, lucky girl!”
“Yeah,” Slade says, his tone laced with amusement. “I’m trying to convince her not to leave me.”
Dick’s jaw drops open, scandalized. He stares at the screen, mouthing, Is he serious right now? at Damian.
Mia’s silent again, and Dick’s sure she’s staring at him blankly. “You’re funny,” she says slowly. “So where is she?”
“She’s, uh, actually not here right now,” Slade clarifies, “She’s out. Well, you can say hi if you want, I’m calling her right now.”
Dick grabs Damian’s shoulder. “Did he just throw us under the bus?”
Damian shrugs. “Probably not. Well-intentioned sabotage, maybe.”
“Addie," Slade interrupts, "you’re on speaker. This is Mia, one of our, uh, new neighbors.”
“Hi,” Dick chirps, cringing at how fake he sounds, “I’m Addie. I wish I was there in person to say hello but I’m out getting lunch with our youngest.”
“Hello,” Damian says politely.
“Introduce yourself, honey,” Dick stage-whispers to Damian.
“I’m Devin,” Damian says.
“Hi Devin, Addie! Nice to meet you!” Mia beams. Her voice gets quieter as she turns back to Slade, “You both have kids?”
“Yes,” Slade says tiredly, “Several, in fact.”
Dick has half a mind to scold him for being so dry.
“Oh, how precious!” Mia says, clapping her hands together, “You know what? We’re having my daughter's birthday party next Sunday, and we’re hosting it in the rec room.”
“The what?” Slade asks. This time, Dick is sure the confusion isn’t an act.
“Oh, you know! One of the communal spaces? The little building next to this apartment complex? It has some rooms people rent out for parties,” Mia explains, “Why don’t you all join us?”
“Oh, we couldn't,” Slade tries to reason, “We don't want to intrude.”
“Nonsense! A lot of the kids in this building are coming! It’ll be a great place for your son to make some new friends before school starts. And, you know—since their parents are also coming—for you both to meet some of your other new neighbors. We have a very active and, uh, tight-knit community here.”
“I, uh, I can see that," Slade admits, "But, I don’t know if we can. Addie’s the one who does all the event scheduling. I don’t even know what we’re doing then.”
“We’re free,” Dick says immediately. “And we’d love to come.”
Mia had said all the kids would be there, meaning the Garcia’s probably would as well, and Dick had a hunch Cheyenne wasn’t someone who ever let her kids skip a birthday party.
Plus, if I can push Slade out of his comfort zone, maybe he’d start to be more obvious with just how many of his acts were pure goodwill and how much of his acts were manipulation tactics.
“I thought your brother was coming over for dinner on Sunday?” Slade snaps back at Dick.
“That’s on Saturday,” Dick responds sweetly. “But anyway, thank you so much for inviting us, Mia! We’ll definitely be there.”
She gives them a quick goodbye and a cheerful see-you-soon! before heading back to her apartment. The moment Dick hears the sound of the front door closing with a soft click, he jerks up straighter in the passenger seat, eyes narrowing and tone dropping to something too haughty to be casual. “You know she was flirting with you, right?”
Slade’s voice is innocent. “Oh, was she?”
“Oh, please,” Dick mutters. He stares intensely at the steering wheel like it personally offended him. “She called you handsome and rugged. That’s Southern-woman-speak for I would climb you like a tree."
“Huh,” Slade says, pretending to be thoughtful. “I thought she was just being polite.”
“Polite does not involve flirting!”
“She doesn’t know we’re married,” Slade says dryly. “It’s not exactly on the doorbell plaque or anything.”
“That’s because you were never supposed to be here!” Dick mutters under his breath. “It’s just a cover! One that you ruined!”
Slade’s voice turns smug. “Just a cover? You tell that to your reaction.”
Dick flips him off through the call screen and makes a sound of frustration. “Oh, fuck off.”
—
Damian swears they’ve broken at least six different traffic laws by the time they reach Luigi’s Finest Pizzeria, but Dick just laughs, unfazed. He speeds into the parking spot like it’s a pit stop at a race, and switches the gear to park with flair.
Inside, the pizzeria is warm and bustling, filled with the smell of garlic, tomatoes and melted cheese. Thankfully, they manage to snag a prime booth by the front window—the perfect spot to be noticed by unsuspecting neighbors.
Damian slides in with little fanfare and immediately pulls out his oversized sketchbook, flipping to a blank page. Dick watches him for a moment, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he watches Damian sketch out vague shapes with confident strokes.
From the corner of his eye, he watches as the Garcia family’s car pulls in. “Right on time.”
“I could have gotten us here faster if I was driving.” Damian mutters, sketching out vague shapes.
“I’m sure.” Dick says, ruffling his hair. Quite fondly, he thinks back to Damian’s brief obsession with taking the Batmobile for joyrides.
It had always translated to at least a few heart attacks a week for him and Bruce.
Bruce.
He feels a flush of shame as he thinks back to his and Bruce’s confrontation, and he stares down weakly.
Screw him.
Is it that hard to believe someone—anyone—would want me for who I am? I’m not a soldier, and I’m not just a tool.
Can’t he see I’m more than that?
Or is he just assuming everyone else sees me the same way he does?
The thought sours his mood immensely.
When the waiter approaches, and Dick waves him off with, “Can you give us a few minutes? I’m waiting for…” he pauses, giving the waiter a frantic smile, “For my husband,” he says quickly.
Finally, the bell on the door jingles as the Garcias walk through the door.
Cheyenne’s bright eyes scan the restaurant until they rest on Dick, who pretends to be very interested in what Damian is sketching.
“Addie!” Cheyenne calls cheerfully. Her smile truly lights up the room. It’s so truly genuine it makes Dick feel guilty.
“Cheyenne?” Dick asks, pretending to be confused. “Oh my gosh, what a lovely surprise!” He scoots over, gesturing for them to come over and sit in their booth. “Here, why don’t you all come sit with us?”
“Oh, we don’t want to intrude,” Manuel says politely, glancing around the crowded restaurant.
Dick waves his hand, “Nonsense! We haven’t even ordered yet. I’m still waiting for… Bruce.” The name leaves a funny taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let it show.
“Well… in that case, why not?” Cheyenne exclaims, sliding in the seat next to Dick’s. Danny and Rosa follow, sitting on the bench opposite to her.
Manuel sits down with his kids, extending his hand out to Damian for a handshake. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet, little buddy. I’m Manuel.”
Dick hides a smile. He knows Damian must have liked the handshake—he loves being treated like an adult.
“I’m Devin,” Damian says politely, “Nice to meet you all.”
“Aww,” Cheyenne cooes, “He’s so polite.”
“Just like his mama, right?” Dick asks, leaning down to press his face against Damian’s sweetly.
Damian’s ears turn red, but he leans into Dick nonetheless.
“Just like his mama,” Cheyenne repeats with a smile.
—
Almost twenty minutes later, Manuel, Cheyenne, and Dick are in deep conversation about Killer Moth’s break-in at Gotham World bank in Bristol. “Honestly, I don’t even know if he wants to be a supervillain, or if he just likes costumes,” Manuel jokes, and Dick laughs.
Cheyenne sips her drink, amused. “I’m still stuck on the part where he sprayed moth pheromones inside the vault.”
Dick grins. “To be fair, I think that was the distraction part. He just didn’t think through how it’d attract actual—”
That’s when the door swings open.
Slade.
Dick glances up, and involuntarily, he straightens a little in his seat.
Slade walks in like he owns the place, and his imposing height and presence immediately draw the eyes of everyone in the restaurant.
Gothamites don’t scare easily, but they definitely notice—and even in a city where clowns carry rocket launchers, Slade Wilson is still definitely the kind of man who turns heads.
Dick glances up and involuntarily straightens a little in his seat.
Slade walks right up to them, sending the Garcias a quick nod. He leans down to ruffle Damian’s hair—who scowls and swats at his hand—and leans in to press a kiss to Dick’s cheek, who as much as he tells himself to, can’t seem to lean away. “I see we have company.”
Slade grabs a chair from a nearby table and pulls it up to the booth—his bulk won’t fit in the minuscule booth they’re all sitting in.
He rests his arm behind Dick’s seat, and the gesture itself is casual, almost lazy, but Dick can feel the weight of it like a brand.
It’s nothing too obvious. Just enough for anyone watching to know who he’s here with.
Just enough to make Dick’s breath catch.
Cheyenne smiles at Slade apologetically. “Sorry to intrude—this was totally impromptu.”
Slade shakes his head. “None of that.”
“Truly,” Dick adds, “We’re so glad to have you join us.”
—
When the pizza comes, they eat slowly, with lots of laughs and stories exchanged. The Garcias are easy to be around—loud in a comforting way, full of stories and warmth. Manuel’s in the middle of recounting a grocery store argument between two old women over cantaloupes, complete with impressions, and everyone’s busy holding their stomachs in laughter.
Everyone but Dick.
He forces a smile, picking at his crust, but he avoids looking directly at Manuel. Every time his gaze hovers that way, he finds himself flinching inward.
He doesn’t know why. It’s not like Manuel did anything wrong—he hadn’t, not at all. That awkward tension from last time wasn’t Manuel's fault. It had been Slade, reacting like a territorial wolf.
Still, something sits heavy in Dick’s chest. An ache. A guilt that makes no sense.
It feels like cheating, his subconscious whispers, that’s why.
Dick pinches his thigh hard.
It’s not fucking cheating because me and Slade aren’t together.
Get your shit together, Grayson!
Give none of your loyalty for the man who only cares about money.
Give none of your heart to a man who acts like he doesn’t have one.
You know he definitely doesn’t care about you.
—
When all the slices are finally gone, Cheyenne claps her hands and beams. “Okay! Who’s up for the mall next? We’ve been putting off back-to-school shopping forever, and I could use another adult opinion.”
Dick agrees instantly, voice bright. “Sounds like fun.”
He turns to look at Slade intently, wondering—hoping—if this is the moment Slade will stop indulging the fantasy. It was the perfect moment for him to drop the facade—for him to stop pretending.
Back-to-school shopping wasn’t a phrase that should come easily to a man who’d buried most of his children.
Dick sat up straight, watching intensely as he waited for Slade’s smile to drop.
For Slade to just admit he’s just performing.
For Slade to confirm what Bruce has been saying all along.
But Slade just turns to Damian and hands him a napkin. “Back-to-school shopping,” Slade repeats, the words slow, a little distant. “Haven’t done that in… a while.”
The weight behind the words makes Dick’s chest clench.
From his right, Cheyenne smiles, “Well, get ready to get your steps in. These two are ruthless when it comes to shopping,” she nods a head toward her kids, who are already buzzing about which stores they wanted to hit first.
The moment of silence shatters when Manuel stands, digging into his jeans for his wallet. “Alright, let me grab the check for y'all.”
“No,” Slade says quickly, tone final. “Let me.”
Manuel waves him off. “We’re the ones who crashed your lunch plans. The least we can do is cover the bill.”
Dick cuts in, “Now, that’s not a fair statement at all—”
“It’s perfectly fair,” Cheyenne says sweetly, dabbing Danny’s face with a napkin. “Besides, you did just agree to come with us to the mall.”
Dick scoffs playfully. “Maybe I just love shopping.”
“Maybe,” Cheyenne teases. “But that’s not it, is it?”
“What else could it be?”
Cheyenne’s deep brown eyes crinkle as she smiles at Dick. “I dunno,” she says slowly, “you’re just... very kind. Giving. It’s not easy for you to say no if someone asks for help, is it?”
“I—” Dick finds himself unable to answer, his mouth feeling instantly dry. “I… No?”
Slade smiles, his sharp canines making it look almost predatory. “He’s always been like that,” Slade says pointedly, “And it’s not just with small errands or favors—he’ll always bleed out trying to fix someone else's mess,” he pauses for a second, and an exasperated smile breaking out on his face, “Especially if he loves them.”
The word love echoes in Dick’s head and his cheeks flush red. “I—Oh.” He looks down.
He can't tell if he's truly embarrassed or if he's just playing the part, but most of all, it irritates how just one compliment, one word of praise from Slade makes his heart flutter. Makes his face red. Makes him feel like a blushing bride, all bashful and demure.
Slade gives him a fond smile.
Damian stares at Dick and Slade, expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, he stands up, scraping his chair back louder than necessary.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Damian says quickly. “Be right back.”
He backs away from the table, eyes flicking between Dick and Slade with the sharp, quiet calculation of someone finally realizing something he really didn’t want to.
Dick’s stomach drops.
No.
No, Damian can’t seriously be thinking—
“Honey, wait!” Cheyenne calls after him, already scooting out of the booth. “I’ll come with you, too.” She gestures for Rosa and Danny. “Let’s all go. We can wash our hands too.”
Damian pauses, reluctant, but doesn’t argue. He disappears with the rest of them toward the back hallway, the sound of children’s chatter fading around the corner.
Dick exhales slowly, trying to shake the tension out of his shoulders. When he peers back at Slade, the older man is still glaring at Manuel, who’s at the far counter swiping his credit card.
Slade’s eye softens as he turns to face Dick. He steps closer.
“It’s nice,” Slade murmurs softly, “Being out. Like this. With you.”
Dick stiffens, smile faltering. A spark of panic flickers in his chest.
No.
No, he thinks, don’t say that. Don’t make this harder.
Dick immediately grabs his glass of lemonade, but it’s already empty. He fidgets with the straw anyway, needing something to avoid looking at Slade. He tries to keep his voice even, and almost dismissive. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Slade. It’s just for a cover. A mission. We both know that. So whatever this is”—he gestures vaguely between them—“just… stop. I don’t even know what game you’re playing… I don’t even know if I trust you.”
Slade doesn’t flinch. He leans in, voice low. “Why not?” he says. “It’s believable, isn’t it? Makes a damn good cover.”
Yes, Dick thinks.
“We work well together. We are good together. There's chemistry. Trust. More." Slade’s head tilts ever so slightly. “Doesn’t it ever feel tempting?”
Dick’s breath catches. Just for a second, he lets himself look at Slade—and he knows Slade can see the hesitation in his eyes. Before he can speak, a quick, familiar flash of black hair moves quick as a ninja from the bathroom hallway's door to behind a pillar. Damian's good at stealth, no doubt, but Dick recognizes him easy—he's been in the business longer than Damian has been alive.
He's watching us, Dick realizes.
“Damian’s watching us." Dick says under his breath, "Don't do anything. He's... he’s a kid, Slade. Don’t make him think this is—” he swallows again, “—more than what it is. Don't drag him into something this complicated."
"Complicated?" Slade leans in further, and there’s no smugness in his voice now. No manipulation. Just something raw and strangely bare.
"You know what I mean, Slade."
Slade sighs. “Is it really that hard to believe?” he asks softly. “That I’d want something like this?”
Dick doesn’t answer.
“I’m not manipulating him,” Slade continues, “And I’m not trying to manipulate you.”
“So you say,” Dick mutters, but the fight’s gone from his tone.
Slade turns to him, voice becoming almost beseeching. “It’s true.”
—
“Look!” Danny calls out, voice bright with excitement as he tugs insistently on his mother’s sleeve. He’s pointing at the large display window of the toy store—inside, a picture-perfect family of dolls sit at a miniature dinner table, all smiles and plastic casseroles under warm golden light. “Can we please get more LEGOs?” he asks, eyes wide and sparkling, lower lip already starting to pout.
Manuel doesn’t even hesitate. “Sure.”
Cheyenne turns toward him, giving him a look that’s only half-heartedly reproachful. “Didn’t you just get a new set for your birthday, mijo?”
Danny just flashes her a mischievous little grin, knowing he’s already won.
“Please, mama?” Rosa chimes in, clasping her hands together for dramatic effect.
Cheyenne sighs, exasperated but not truly annoyed. “Fine,” she relents, allowing herself to be tugged into the store.
Dick chuckles softly and follows, glancing back to make sure Slade and Damian are right behind him.
As soon as they step inside, Rosa and Danny dart to the back corner of the store like kids on a mission, already tugging Damian along between them. He lets them, surprisingly tolerant, as they start pointing out the various LEGO sets they’ve either gotten, want for Christmas, or insist are totally necessary to complete their existing collections. Damian listens to them with more patience than Dick would have expected.
Meanwhile, Slade’s standing just inside the threshold of the store, completely still. His eye moves slowly around the space, scanning the walls and shelves stacked floor-to-ceiling with toys of every kind—stuffed animals, science kits, miniature train sets, action figures in every color.
“Oh, sweet mercy,” Slade mutters under his breath.
Dick turns toward him and catches his expression, one that’s achingly close to grief.
“How did—when did all this get so… much?” Slade murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. His voice is strained, like he’s seeing something far beyond the bright shelves and plastic packaging.
Dick swallows hard.
He knows what Slade is thinking back to—of course he’d be thinking of how much of Rose’s childhood he missed, the years where he didn’t see Grant and Joey grow up, but more than that, all the toy stores he never took them to, the birthday parties he never saw them have, and all the gifts he never was able to give them.
Right now, Dick thinks, he looks like someone who’s stumbled into the life he might’ve had too late to live it.
In a moment of pity, Dick reaches out and slips his hand into Slade’s much larger one. Their fingers curl together without resistance, and Dick looks up at him cautiously. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
Slade doesn’t react.
Across the store, Cheyenne catches their eyes and waves them over.
Dick squeezes Slade’s hand once before gently tugging him toward the LEGO section.
“Come on,” Dick says, voice low. “They’ll want to show you their favorites.”
Slade lets himself be led, wordless, until they stop in front of a bright wall of LEGO kits.
“I want this one,” Rosa declares, pointing proudly to a colorful toucan set near the top shelf.
“What about this one?” Danny asks, holding up one with roses. “It has roses!”
Cheyenne laughs, “You just want it because it matches your sister’s name.”
Danny beams. “Exactly! Then we can be twins!”
Dick smiles at that before turning his eyes over back to Slade, who still looks very much longing. He hates that his heart jumps just from seeing Slade hurt or upset.
He steps a little closer. “You okay?” Dick asks, voice low.
Slade’s head tilts, just slightly. “It’s just been a while,” he murmurs, “Since I’ve… stood in a place like this. Like a father.”
Dick swallows hard, heart twisting. “You were a father,” he says, not quite able to stop himself. “You are one.”
Slade scoffs. “Not a good one.”
Dick falters. His instinct is to reach out again, to give comfort, but his own wariness roots him in place.
He doesn’t want to fall for another performance.
He doesn't say any more, but he does keep his hand entwined with Slade's as a small consolation.
—
In the evening, all who are left is Dick and Damian. The Garcia's had left to go home, and Slade had promised Dick he'd follow them, insisting that Dick spend more time with Damian. It was unnerving, but not unappreciated.
Now, Damian and him sit side-by-side on the hood of his car, watching as the sun starts to dip behind the skyline. It casts long shadows over the city, and from their spot at the highest level of their parking garage, the view is absolutely stunning.
“You’ve been quiet,” Damian finally says, breaking the silence.
Dick exhales through his nose. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
“About Father?” Dick stays silent, and Damian continues, “He got to you, didn’t he?”
Dick frowns. “He talked to me. That’s all.”
A flicker of something unreadable crosses Damian’s face as he meets Dick’s eyes. “You think he’s lying? About Wilson?”
Dick says nothing.
“So you do think he’s here for a contract? That he’s here to kill the Garcias?”
“I don’t know what I think,” Dick admits, voice rougher than intended. “But it’s not off the table. You saw how close he’s getting. To Cheyenne, the kids—”
“To you?” Damian interrupts sharply.
“I—” Dick pauses, brain failing him as he tries to think of what to say back.
“Is that what you’re scared of?”
“I’m not scared,” Dick finally says, “I just… don’t trust him.”
Damian studies him for a moment, then presses on. “Then why let him stay so close? Why not just push him away? Tell him to leave you alone?”
“Honestly? I—I’m not so sure I want him to,” Dick admits. “I mean, I know what Bruce thinks of him—that he’s a master manipulator who only cares about money. That everything he does is calculated. That he’s very obviously using me for something—info or leverage—and I’m the fool for even considering that he really isn’t.” His voice gets heavy. “For even considering that he’d have a genuine interest in me."
“I'm not saying Wilson's not good," Damian says cautiously, "He's the best. Marksman, combat tactician, all of that. But liar? I don't think so," he exhales, swinging his feet and leaping off the hood of the car. "Maybe... maybe he’s not pretending, Richard.”
"Really?" Dick says. He means it to be sarcastic, but the look Damian gives him is genuine, so genuine it hurts his heart.
“Yeah. I mean... he's... he's always been drawn to you, so that's not true," Damian says slowly, opening the passenger seat door. "I think he means it. I really do."
—
Later that night, Damian and Dick are sprawled together on the battered queen-size bed, the fan rattling at full speed as it pushes around the thick, humid air. The sound is not quite loud enough to mask the quiet, slow sounds of Damian’s breathing.
Dick smiles down kindly at him, feeling a sudden but fierce burst of affection for the boy—this small, stubborn boy who had come into his life like a whirlwind. He leans down to kiss his forehead but, as he stares at Damian’s sweet sleeping face, all he can see was what he never had.
Bruce’s undeniably thick eyebrows and long, crooked nose.
His high cheekbones and sharp jawline.
Talia’s golden tan skin and long lashes.
Her almond eyes and dimpled smile.
Damian is Dick’s son, yes, but first he is Talia’s.
Not only is Damian Talia’s, Bruce is Talia’s.
Undeniably hers.
Jealousy courses through him, and he’s almost seething again.
Talia, the woman that replaced him. The woman that had everything he so desperately wanted.
She’s not only Damian’s parent, but also Bruce’s partner.
Everything Dick had to fight for.
At least she didn’t get the version of Bruce that stayed, Dick thinks bitingly, he left her too.
The thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.
But what does it matter, when Damian will never be his son the way he’s Talia’s.
No matter how many times Damian has come to him, crying.
No matter how many times Dick held him after his nightmares about dying.
No matter how many days he skipped work because Damian asked for him.
No matter how many parent-teacher conferences he went to when Bruce didn’t.
When Talia didn’t.
Dick pulls his arms tight around Damian’s sleeping body and draws him in, burying his face into Damian’s raven hair. He inhales sharply, and a tear slips down his face. Then another. Then another.
I’m sorry, Dick keeps on thinking. You could have been mine. You should have been mine.
His body shakes quietly as he cries, trying his best not to wake up Damian.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Slade’s gruff voice breaks the silence. “You okay?”
Dick startles, twisting his head toward the doorway. Slade is there, half-shadowed in the arch, expression unreadable.
“Yeah,” Dick whispers, forcing the word past his throat. “Fine.”
Slade steps closer, slow and careful. His hand rests gently on Dick’s hip, grounding but mostly unobtrusive.
“Really?”
“I’m fine,” Dick hiccups. He tucks his nose further into Damian’s hair, turning away so most of his face is covered. “Just go.”
But the words ring hollow.
Slade doesn’t move. He stands there, just watching.
Dick’s shoulders shake again, his fingers tightening protectively around Damian. “Go!”
Slowly, Slade turns to leave.
Good.
Dick watches him from the corner of his eye, uncaring if he’s going to the couch or leaving the apartment entirely.
When he’s out of sight, Dick’s shoulders shake, and he lets out the sob he was holding in.
Bruce’s voice echoes in his head, sharp and cold. He doesn’t want you. He’s using you.
Dick’s fingers tighten around Damian’s sleeping form, clinging to what little comfort he can.
Don’t mistake his strategic choices for genuine interest.
Dick’s arms curl even tighter around Damian, desperate for genuine comfort he knows won’t come from anywhere else. Slade would probably comfort him. But Dick would never know if it was genuine or not. And he wants—god, he wants—to believe that it's real.
For at least someone to tell him he’s more than a pawn. More than a weapon someone to use and discard.
Of course, Bruce could be wrong about Slade. It could just be him acting out on his bitterness and jealousy in that controlling way of his.
It's a tempting thought—Bruce being jealous, and Slade really caring, but of course, maybe they both aren't.
Maybe Bruce is right and Slade is using him, and Dick is just so desperate for someone to choose him—for someone to stay—that he's playing the fool even considering any of it could be real.
The thought hurts.
—
He’s still awake an hour later when his phone buzzes.
It’s a text from Bruce.
Bring Damian home tomorrow, it reads. And if you haven’t already, cut ties with Slade Wilson.
—
By noon, they’re driving up the long, familiar path to Wayne Manor. The silence in the car is comfortable at first, but as the manor comes into view, it tightens around Dick’s neck like a noose.
“Pick you up on Saturday?” Dick asks quietly, trying to keep his voice casual. “For the party Mia was talking about?”
Damian shrugs, not meeting his eyes.
When they trudge to the door, Damian leans into Dick’s side as they wait for the door to open.
When finally Bruce opens it, his eyes scan them both carefully, slow and deliberate. His gaze settles on Dick with measured calm.
Damian steps in first, still pressed into Dick like a tiny shadow. Dick follows, his spine stiff.
“How was it?” Bruce asks, eyes on Damian. “Did you enjoy?”
“Yes,” Damian mumbles, voice weary. He doesn’t step away from Dick, even once inside.
Dick helps him peel off his jacket and hangs it by the door.
Neither of them speak much.
Bruce watches as Damian climbs up the stairs to his bedroom. Then, after a pause—too casual to be truly casual—he asks, “And with Wilson?”
Dick’s shoulders tense slightly. “What about him?”
“Have you dealt with him?” Dick doesn’t answer, but Bruce continues anyway. Dick's eyes stay trained on the wall, and a thud echoes throughout the manor as Damian slams the door to his room hard. “Have you realized now that he’s using you?”
Dick exhales through his nose. “Yes.”
Bruce steps closer, expression unreadable. “That he doesn’t truly want you?”
Dick lets out a small, tired laugh. It’s not bitter. He just sounds tired. “Of course.”
Bruce’s jaw tightens. Maybe he was expecting a fight.
Maybe he was hoping for one.
But Dick doesn’t give in. “I know what he is, Bruce,” Dick says softly. “I know what he’s done. What means he used in the past. You don’t have to remind me.”
Bruce studies him. “Then why—”
Dick shrugs a little, staring down. “Look, I’m not trying to start a fight, Bruce. Not tonight. I’m tired. Damian’s tired. And whatever point you’re trying to make—”
“I’m not trying to attack you or ruin your life, Dick.” Bruce snaps, voice tight, “I'm not trying to hurt you. I am trying to protect you,”
Dick huffs, eyes flicking back to him. “Yeah,” he says, but there's no heat behind it. “That’s what makes it worse.” He lets out another huff, this sharper. “God, Bruce. You think I don’t know? Who he is? What he does?” Dick continues. “You think I haven’t done the math? What would he even want me for? I’m not naïve, Bruce.” He meets Bruce’s gaze, eyes steady but hollow. “I’m a has-been hero with more baggage than utility. I'm not an asset anymore. Not to you, and definitely not to him.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No,” Dick replies, voice low, "But it’s what you meant. He’s a killer. A strategist. He doesn’t waste time unless it gets him something. And yeah—I get it. I’m being used.” He shrugs. “But sometimes,” Dick says softly, eyes drifting down the hallway toward Damian’s room, “I guess being used feels a little better than being ignored.”
Bruce blinks. “If you knew… if you knew he doesn’t actually care about you… that he never did—”
Dick’s eye twitches. “I don’t know, Bruce! Maybe I just like the attention! Maybe it felt nice that at least someone would try to be around me! That someone would care enough to do nice things for me! But of course. Why would he? Why would anyone?” He scoffs. “I know that, Bruce! I’ve… I’ve known it from the start! You’re just saying out loud what I’ve been thinking to myself every single day!”
“Dick—” Bruce's voice sounds pained but Dick doesn’t let him say another word.
“I knew it, okay? From the start. I knew and I let him stay anyway. Isn’t that pathetic? Aren’t I pathetic?”
Bruce steps forward, voice quieter. “You’re not—”
“Don’t,” Dick snaps. Then, quieter, he adds on, “Don’t take it back now. You said what you meant. That night.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” Dick says, “You just didn’t have to say it out loud like that. Not again.”
They both fall quiet again.
Dick glances up the stairs, toward where Damian had gone. His expression softens. “I’m tired, Bruce,” he says finally. “Tired of defending my choices. Tired of trying to prove there’s more to me than what people want to use.” There’s no anger in his voice, only quiet resignation. “And… I didn’t come here for a lecture. I just came to bring Damian home.” He turns toward the door. “I’ll check on him tomorrow,” Dick adds. “Just text if he needs anything.”
He opens the door, and a burst of cold air cuts in from the outside. He steps forward without hesitation.
This time, he doesn’t pause. Doesn’t look back.
The door clicks shut behind him.