Archive of Our Own

Jason and Dick sat next to each other at a back table of a dingy bar in New York City, both undercover twice over. Jason was there as Jay Austen who was there as Todd Dashwood, and Dick was Neal Caffrey as Nick Halden. 

Jason had caught wind of a smuggling operation running through Gotham from New York. Gold, mostly, but also some gems including, on a couple of occasions, kryptonite. One of his Merry Men worked at the dockyard the smugglers were using, and with his help, Jason was able to get enough evidence to actually bring the case to the FBI’s White Collar unit in New York. 

To be clear, it wasn’t that Jason needed help. He was the Red Hood. He was fully capable of taking down one measly smuggling ring. That said, allowing the FBI to take point made it easier to cut down the network at the root instead of just pruning away its Gotham branch. So Jason grabbed a fake ID and temporarily put aside his hatred for law enforcement, since they were actually being useful for once.

The fact that Dick Grayson, undercover as a White Collar CI named Neal Caffrey, worked at the New York FBI office was just a coincidence. This definitely wasn’t an excuse to visit his kind-of brother. 

Given their association, Neal's handler, Special Agent Peter Burke, seemed to think Jason was also a con artist or something similarly shady, despite Jay Austen’s record of being a respectable, law-abiding citizen. To be fair to Peter, he wasn't wrong; he was just connecting the wrong dots.

So, when Neal needed a partner to go undercover with him when he posed as a potential new client for their mark's smuggling business, Agent Burke let Neal talk him into taking Jason himself. It was… fun. Dick was a born performer. ‘Yes and’ was practically in his blood. Working undercover with him was easy in a way that spending time together as their bare selves never really had been. Jason was enjoying himself.

And then Slade fucking Wilson walked through the door of the bar. Jason hadn't even known he was in New York, and he would much prefer if the man could be in literally any other bar in the world right now. Or, better yet, lying in a ditch somewhere with a hole in his skull. He didn’t know everything about what Deathstroke put Dick through during those early years with the Teen Titans, but he knew enough to hold a grudge. He probably knew more than Bruce did, even, and wasn’t that a rare treat. And even if Deathstroke and Dick had found something like a balance between them since then, that didn’t mean Jason was eager to watch their weird-ass creepy bickering today. Or ever.

Dick, fully immersed in his airheaded cover identity, didn't even look at the door when it opened. Jason should, maybe, be flattered that Dickwing trusted him to watch his back like that, but right now he was too busy cursing the Fates, and any other entity that may or may not have had a hand in their paths crossing now of all times.

Deathstroke, of course, spotted the two of them immediately, and came their way. Because of course he did. For all that Jason had heard him yammering about Dick being a trouble-maker, Wilson was a pretty big fan of doing the same. At least he wasn't wearing his trademark armor. Maybe he wouldn't be recognized by anyone who wasn't already sitting at the table.

"Little Bird," Slade greeted, a subtly pleased lilt to his tone. And of course his attention went straight to Goldie.

Jason saw Dick tense up the tiniest bit. Jason could read volumes in that miniscule flinch from a man as skilled at holding a cover as his brother was. As his anger rose protectively in response, he fought to hold back the green that tried to lick at the edges of his vision. 

Over the coms, there was a flurry of hushed voices, which he supposed answered the question of whether the FBI knew Deathstroke's face. Then Peter attempted to warn them who they were dealing with, voice as concerned as it ever gets while on a mission. -"Ok, stay calm, but that's Deathstroke the-"-

Dick interrupted him to return Slade’s greeting. "Murder Pirate," he said glibly, voice just a hair tighter than normal.

The coms went silent.

Slade looked unimpressed at the address. "You've done better." He swiftly closed the last few feet of distance to the table, standing almost uncomfortably close to Dick. Jason’s hands closed into fists. 

"I could do worse," Dick offered, turning to Slade with a smile like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Jackass, for one. Creepy Knight in Halloween Armor. Psycho Cyclops."

Deathstroke snagged an empty chair from a nearby table and sprawled in it, eyes focused unerringly on Dick. "I thought I taught you to watch that mouth of yours,” he said, dangerously blank. And how very fucking dare he.

“And then we taught him better, you fucking creep,” Jason sneered, venom dripping from every syllable. 

-"Oh my God, they know each other. Did we know Neal knew Deathstroke?"- Poor Peter. He sounded a bit strained there. One might say Jason was strained too. 

Dick’s attention snapped to Jason for the first time since Slade appeared, and Jason almost winced at the strength of the silent warning to stay out of this.

And- look, Jason normally wouldn’t just back down. After everything Deathstroke put Dick through all those years ago, Dick deserved someone to actually stick up for him. On the other hand, Jason did know- he was aware, that getting in the middle of their dynamic was a bad idea on a good day. Today was not a good day. Dick was currently juggling more balls than even his circus-born ass could be comfortable with, including the FBI listening in from the van.

“Still a mouthy little brat, hmm?” Deathstroke said, with an infuriating amount of amusement. 

Jason opened his mouth in outrage to snap something back, but Dick’s hand landed on his knee under the table and squeezed. His brother kept his eyes firmly on Slade as if he could lure Deathstroke’s attention away from Jason with the force of his gaze alone. 

“He learned from the best,” Jason’s dumbass older brother claimed.

They’d be having words about that fucking blasphemy later. 

For now though, Jason grit his teeth and firmly stomped down the Lazarus Pit until he felt like he could actually speak without snarling every word. “I guess that’s my cue to dip. Deathstroke, always an experience. Nick, find me outside when you’re done.” 

He tried his best to convey that Dick should get done quickly, but he got the sense he was being ignored almost as thoroughly as Peter was. Dick nodded to him, though he didn’t entirely turn his attention from Slade, who had raised a judging eyebrow. "Nick?" Slade said derisively as Jason pulled himself away.

-"Jay, where are you- Neal, it's ok. Just make your excuses and get out of there. We can call off the operation for tonight."-

Jason couldn’t help but strain to hear the continuing conversation at the table. Dick didn't seem like he was going to go anywhere, despite Peter's hopes. Honestly, he hadn't thought he would. Dick and Slade bickered like an old married couple—or maybe old divorced couple—despite everything. Dickwing could probably even talk Slade into helping on this sting. That or they'd end up brawling in the middle of the bar.

”Nick Halden," Dick introduced himself. "I’d say it’s a pleasure, but then we’d both be liars.”

He heard Slade snort. "I've never been the liar between us, Kid."

-"Come on, get out of there."-

Dick's voice was understandably bitter when he responded to Slade, "Oh, of course. You prefer other means of getting your way."

"Worked on you. Remember?" Slade said casually, just as Jason reached the door.

Dick did not respond for a long, long moment. Jason’s hand froze on the knob as worst-case scenarios about Dick’s mental state rushed through his head. He almost turned around and stormed back there, but then Dick let out a belated—and choked—"Fuck you."

Jason would never admit how relieved he was to hear Dick say that. He left the building without looking back, but he could picture the smug grin Slade was probably wearing for having scored a point in his and Dick’s twisted little dance.

-"Ok. I'm calling it. Neal, hang on. All units prepare to move in-"-

Thank fuck he was out the door by now. He could safely snap his rebuke into the communicator without drawing every eye in the bar. "No! No, absolutely not. All units hold your positions. No one move. Do not fucking engage, are you insane?"

Dimly, through the com, Jason's straining ears could pick out Slade's low chuckle. No doubt he could hear everything that was said over the com in Dick's ear.

-"Jay, you do not have the authority to make that call. Everyone, prepare to move. We'll breach-"-

-"Peter, don't. Let me handle this."- Dick said, quietly but sharply.

-"Neal, don't give away the com in front of the deadliest mercenary in the world!"-

Woah, way to distrust your partner. Because that always works out so well on sensitive missions.

-"Are we moving or not?"- asked their backup.

-"No!"- Dick snapped, Jason echoing him.

He darted for the surveillance van. He needed to start on damage control before the FBI got someone killed who didn’t deserve it. Or got Dick hurt in other ways. Slade probably wouldn’t kill Dick. Not with everything they had going on between them. But he wasn't above killing random civilians to aid in his escape, or ensuring they need immediate medical care for the same purpose. 

"Don't be stupid, Peter," he snapped the moment he joined the three agents in the van. "Don't move in on Deathstroke in a room full of potential hostages. That’s basic fucking common sense."

-"Agent Burke?"- the backup asked again.

Agent Burke wavered under Jason’s glare, then folded. "All units hold until further notice," he said into the mic.

Jason nodded grimly. Then he muted this end of the coms. The agents protested of course, loudly, but screw them. Dick shouldn’t be distracted right now. And Deathstroke had heard enough already.

-"Trouble in paradise?"- Deathstroke's voice came through the speaker with an edge of dry amusement.

-"Says the man who caused it."-

Jason glared down the agents, only keeping half an ear on Dick's conversation. "You realize that Deathstroke has enhanced hearing, right? He can hear every word that comes through Neal's com. Leave it muted."

-"They're not your usual band of do-gooders."-

-"You know, they say: variety is the spice of life."-

Jason watched the agents in the van attempt to mentally retrace every word that had been said over the com, something like horror entering each of their expressions before they schooled them carefully. 

-"Your talents are wasted on them."-

-"Jealous? Want me all to yourself again?"-

-"Don't tempt me, Little Bird."-

"We're going to be talking about this later," Peter warned, once he had collected himself. "I should never have let you come on this operation."

"Oh my God, Peter," Jason scoffed, "Listen. Right now? I am a better safety net for him than you are." Sure he didn’t exactly like his chances in a one on one fight against Deathstroke, but his odds were better than the FBI’s. Deathstroke had more than one reason to hesitate to kill him. And if it really came down to it, he could contact the Justice League way faster than the agents could, and Deathstroke knew it. Though, doing that would kind of blow the whole ‘covert operation’ thing. All of them.

-"What, you can't resist a little temptation?"- Dick was saying, -"It must be driving you crazy that I'm out of your reach."-

There was a stifled yelp over the coms. The cameras showed Slade pulling Dick into his lap by the hips. Jason saw green red.

-"This what you call out of my reach?"-

The bastard was so damn smug, grinning like the cat that had found the cream, spilled the cream all over the counter, and was halfway through licking it up. Judging by the way Dick shivered on the camera, Slade had punctuated his statement with a squeeze, too. With practiced discipline, Jason started counting out his breaths before his rage could sweep him up.

If he didn't know for a fact that Dick would be a furious and desperate wreck about it, he'd storm back in there, drag Deathstroke away, and damn the consequences. Unfortunately for him, he did know. Dick, as much as it rubbed Jason all kinds of wrong, was allowed to determine his own limits here. Unfortunately, he insisted on being stupidly masochistic and arguing against outside interference whenever Slade came to visit him these days.

Between Jason's claim of being a safety net, and the scene progressing inside the bar, Peter seemed to be at the end of his rope. He poked a finger in Jason's direction, raising his voice. "You left him in there! Alone! With Deathstroke the Terminator!"

"Because being there with him," Jason bit out, "wasn't. going. to help. Having any third party at that table would only make things escalate. Having me specifically there would make Neal’s stress levels go through the roof. You want him to get out of there in one piece? Let him deal with it himself. He can handle it." God, he really fucking hoped Dick could handle it. Because if things really went wrong here Jason was probably actually going to have to call the rest of the Bats to take care of their eldest bird.

-"You're such an asshole, you know that?"- Dick griped, rallying after the manhandling. -"I have a job to do."-

-"I'm not stopping you."-

"Oh, well if he can handle it, I guess everything is fine,” Peter griped, devolving into angry sputtering, apparently at a loss for words.

"How do they even know each other?" Jones asked with a worried frown. "I mean, Neal is a non-violent conman, and Deathstroke is... Deathstroke."

Jason brushed off the question easily. Even putting aside the undercover situation, that story wasn’t for them to hear. "Eh, they’ve got what some people would call a history. Though, personally, I think it’d be more accurate to call it a soap opera.”

Honestly, there was kidnapping, and brainwashing, and a little bit of accidental murder, and a larger bit of very intentional murder. Stockholm and Lima syndrome were both in play, along with both of their stupidly complicated family dynamics. Also, he was pretty sure they had fucked at least once in a mutually consensual way, which Jason really didn’t want to think about thank you very much. He didn't think they had ever fucked in a less than mutually consensual way, but the fact that he wasn’t sure of that was something he wanted to think about even less. It was ridiculous.

-"Does that mean you're going to help? Because if this is what you call helping, we should take a look at a dictionary together sometime."-

Diana seemed caught between amusement and a worried frown. Of the agents in the van, she seemed to be taking this the most in stride, because like her namesake, she was the most awesome person in her organization. "I can't believe he's giving Deathstroke lip,” she said with a mix of fondness and concern. “I mean, I get that they know each other, but that can't really be the best play, can it?"

Jason blew out a sigh. "For anyone else, it wouldn't be. But you don't need to worry about them bickering or even full on yelling at each other. It's… actually a good sign. If Neal stops talking back, then we should worry." Not that they’d have much time to worry in that scenario before Jason put a bullet through Slade’s remaining eye.

-"There are so many better things for us to do... Like deal with your mark, who just walked through the door."-

Oh, if Slade recognized their mark, that... that meant Slade had come looking for Dick specifically, and had done his homework. Which, of course, had been a possibility this whole time, but Jason had been hoping this was Slade dropping by because he was in town, at worst. If Slade had come to town for Dick, though, it meant he had a plan that involved Dick. Which was the exact opposite of what Jason wanted at any given moment. Maybe he wouldn’t be headed back to Gotham quite as soon as he had been planning. He was sure he could find something to do in New York.

-"You really shouldn't be sticking your nose in my undercover operation, you know."-

-"Bit late for that, Kid. Now, you gonna play along?"-

-"Did you miss the part where I said it was my operation? If anything, you should be the one playing along."-

Slade pressed ahead as if Dick hadn't said a thing, though he lowered his voice, presumably for ease of conspiring out of the mark's earshot. -"You remember that time south of Almaty?"-

Dick matched his volume, voice dropping to a quiet hiss. At the same time, his body relaxed into a carefully crafted display of intimacy. Gross. 

-"You mean the time you made me swim the damn Malaya Almaatinka river on no notice? That time?"- Dick whispered in Slade's ear. His tone of voice said it was a complaint, but his body language and expression looked downright sultry.

Ok. Now he wanted to know what the deal was in Almaty. He didn’t like the sound or the look of any of that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Peter looking vaguely nauseous at the way Dick was now draped over Deathstroke's lap. Jason absolutely sympathized. 

"How are you so ok with this?" Peter asked, stricken. "That's Deathstroke. He shouldn't be- This is so far beyond his normal- That is a contract killer."

Jason looked from the screen to the agents, meeting each of their gazes, and noting their matching expressions of worry. And, ok, the story still wasn't for them to know, but maybe he could give them a little bit of context.

"I’m not fucking comfortable with it. I’m really, really not. And I'm definitely not saying this is anywhere near good or safe. God knows their dynamic is messy and unhealthy as all fuck, but I am saying the risks here aren’t what you’re thinking. Deathstroke won’t kill Neal. And it sounds like they're going to try to finish the mission before anything else. So- just- don't mess with their weird fucking relationship."

Inside the building, the mark stopped by the bar at the front of the room, and began conversing with the bartender.

-"Will you ever stop squawking about that?"- Slade grumbled.

-"You threw me over the side of a bridge! In March! I almost lost four fingers to frostbite!"-

-"Would you have preferred to be caught in the explosion instead? Besides, you came out fine."-

Dick held four fingers in Slade's face, playing it off as a movement to comb through the mercenary's hair. The bartender pointed the mark in the direction of Dick's table.

Cool. Note to self: the next time Jason fights Deathstroke, he was going to go out of his way to break a few fingers. 

In his peripheral vision, Jason saw the agents exchange several glances between them, clearly not planning to just leave well enough alone. He growled. "I'm serious, don't poke your noses into their shit. This is sunshine and rainbows compared to their first year of knowing each other. I suggest you don’t ask Neal a single question about his history with Deathstroke. If you ignore me, and manage to send him into a panic attack, I will personally make sure you do not have the ability to repeat that mistake."

He would, too. Dickwing put himself through way too much shit for Jason to let him suffer at the hands of people who claimed to be his friends. Jason could see the way the agents recalculated his threat level. When he was just a roguish acquaintance of Neal's, they had assumed non-violent, small-time, clever and good at whatever illegal thing he was into, but not cruel. Definitely not a cold-blooded murderer.

Except he knew Deathstroke. Neal knew Deathstroke. And both of them interacted with the mercenary as if they weren't wildly outclassed. So when Jason threatened the agents, they believed him. Granted, they were probably taking his words as a death threat, and Jason was more likely to whisk 'Neal' away instead, if only because he knew how easily Dickface got attached. Jason wouldn’t correct them. The misunderstanding was alright with him if it would make them tread lightly.

Their expressions soured. Jason let his own bloom into a confident and predatory grin.

-"I can't believe you're making me switch up my persona mid-op."- Dick griped.

-"You can make it work. You're good at that."-

Jason didn't think he was imagining the flash of genuine pleasure that crossed Dick's face at the praise, but it was quickly tucked away as the mark arrived at their table. The man looked visibly more nervous than he was when he walked through the door, which probably had something to do with the way Slade was staring at him appraisingly.

Peter’s voice drew his attention away from the monitors. "You know threatening federal agents is a crime."

Jason raised an eyebrow in Peter's direction. The barest hint of amusement pulled at the corner of his lip. "Sure, if you can prove it. And hold me long enough to charge me. Neither one seems likely." The audio in the van certainly wasn't being recorded, and since their end of the coms was muted, that wasn't recording his voice either. And even if they did manage to get proof, Babs owed him a favor.

On the cameras, Nick greeted the mark cheerfully. In that moment, he so resembled B’s Brucie mask that Jason almost did a double take.

-"Frankie!"- he said, still tucked into Deathstroke's chest. -"Glad you could make it! Good to see you again! Come join us!"-

Slowly, the man sat down. -"Nick. Is this...?"-

-"Hmm? Oh, no. Todd had to step out. He's very sorry, but he got an urgent call a few minutes ago and had to go put out some fire or another. But that's ok. We can still talk business."-

"You can't just-" Peter started, but Jason cut him off.

"Shh. Your mission is in progress. Focus up."

The mark met Slade's cold stare and stammered, -"...Ah. I don't-"

-"Oh! Frankie, you haven't met Wade, have you?"- Nick chirped.

Jason grinned. Slade would hate that alias.

-"No. I haven't,"- Frankie said slowly. -"It's a pleasure to meet you... Mr..."-

Slade responded before Dick got the chance to come up with a last name too. -"Richards. Nick here tells me you're in the shipping business."-

-"I am."-

-"I might be interested in having a few things shipped myself."-

What followed was a masterclass in intimidation, manipulation and unparalleled teamwork. Jason may hate it, but he could admit they played off each other as well as any of the Bats. Neal played the 'enthusiastic and somewhat clueless younger partner' to Slade's 'paranoid and volatile potential client,' and it worked beautifully to keep the mark off-balance and stumbling over himself to assure them of his experience, professionalism, and security. Jason was grudgingly impressed, for all that he didn’t like how easily Dick fell into a submissive role on Slade's lap.

The two of them together wrung out nearly every detail of the mark's operation. The guy began to look more and more harried. He hid it admirably well, but the moment Slade voiced a cold dismissal, the guy bowed out and all but booked it out of the bar.

Immediately, Dick started to peel himself away from the mercenary. Slade, probably just to be a bastard, pulled him back into place. -"What, no thank you?"- he chided darkly.

Jason swore he could hear Dick's teeth clench through the mic. -"Thank you for your help,"- he said robotically, in stark contrast to the light and cheerful tone he’d been using with the mark. Slade released him, and Dick resumed climbing out of Slade's lap. -"Now I should really be heading out. I've kept Jay waiting long enough. Good night."-

On the cameras, Jason saw Slade catch Dick's wrist as he stood up. Dick's whole frame went rigid—a move that Jason echoed in the van—and his other arm jerked up to his ear, turning off his com and stuffing it in his pocket. Then he leaned in closer to Slade. From what Jason could tell, he was hissing something at the man. Jason might not be on Cass's level, but even he could tell that Dick's body language projected fury just as much as it screamed terror. Jason wanted his guns. He wanted to be in there guarding Dick’s back.

The two men exchanged a few more tense words back and forth, until Dick seemed to get fed up. Jason caught a glimpse of the hand Slade wasn't holding as it snapped forward to perform a vicious nerve strike. He only saw it because he knew what to look for. The camera had a bad angle on it, and Dick's hand moved incredibly quickly. To the agents with him, it probably looked like Neal just tugged his arm out of Slade's grip. On the cameras, Deathstroke watched Dick walk away with an air of indulgence. Jason just barely refrained from wincing with the knowledge that the nerve strike probably wouldn't truly have been enough to loosen Slade's grip unless he allowed it.

Deathstroke must have said something else, too, because Dick flipped him the bird over his shoulder as he stalked out of the bar. 

Jason couldn't relax yet. Not until he could see Dick was alright in the flesh.

He got his opportunity only moments later. Dick ripped open the door of the van, stormed inside, and slammed it behind him, muttering to himself about asshole mercenaries and smug, arrogant, manipulative bastards. Something inside Jason unknotted. If he was insulting Slade like that still, he'd be alright. Not that he really thought that Slade would get the better of the Golden Boy of all people, but… yeah. Still, he better break Dick out of this little spiral for now. "You good, N?"

In a blink, every glimpse of Dick vanished under the facade of an unruffled Neal Caffrey. He shot a charming grin in his direction. "Of course, Jay. Why wouldn't I be?"

Jason bit back his first reply, which would have been a bitter 'Because facing your old abuser sucks,' and he smothered his second reply, which would have poked into whatever conversation happened just before Dick left. In the end, he wrangled the words, "Because Deathstroke is an asshole," which at least didn't give away any more sensitive information to the FBI Agents.

Neal chuckled, but said, "I'm fine, Jay. Promise."

Jason nodded, and pretended to believe it. Any further questioning was going to have to wait until he and Dick were alone. Maybe back at June's…

Peter—very, very, cautiously—said. "Are you sure, Neal? Because if you need-"

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

Oh, Jason would love to believe that. He really would, but he remembered Renegade, and the way Slade had twisted Dick’s mind until he was nearly unrecognizable, even if the older heroes had tried to hide it from him at the time. He had no idea why Slade was in town, no idea what was said just a moment ago, and too many ideas of what Slade could do to hurt Dick. The list began with bruises from wherever Slade grabbed him tonight and continued on up through lingering trigger words and beyond.

Peter nodded, uneasy. "Alright. Just- if you ever do want to talk..."

"I know where to find you," Neal said breezily. Then he smoothly changed the subject, filling the van with idle chatter.