Chapter Text
Dick curls up on their bed, quietly glowing, waiting for Slade to come back from the meeting with a pack looking to settle nearby. His heat isn’t due for three more days, but he was feeling a little different so he took a test and—now he just wants Slade to come home so he can tell him. There’s a bubble of joy slowly growing inside him, inescapable, unmistakable, and Dick wiggles a little in sheer excitement. He wants to tell Slade now.
Slade’s been worried all week about this meeting, but Dick approves of the strategy. Something is not quite right about the Hive pack; Dick’s not a werewolf but even his non-existent hackles prickled in their presence. Better to pretend acceptance, let them settle nearby, and keep a close eye on them.
The Wilson pack is strong enough to handle them, and the Wayne pack would come and help if it came to outright fighting, but not every pack is so lucky. More than once Slade has faced and destroyed a threat he could have merely driven away, if he wasn’t aware of the innocent lives that would be lost somewhere else. That sense of duty, that caring for other lives, that’s part of what drew Dick to Slade in the first place.
And now they’re going to have their own innocent life to protect and raise, and Dick laughs quietly aloud from sheer giddiness.
When the door opens Dick sits up with a smile, arms outstretched, and abruptly drops them at the expression on Slade’s face.
“Is everyone okay?” Dick asks, worry curling him his gut, because Slade doesn’t look that upset unless someone’s in the infirmary, but it was a peaceful meeting, nothing should have gone wrong—
“They knew,” Slade snarls.
“They figured it out?” Dick asks, still worried. But it’s not that surprising; the Wilson pack isn’t shy about their moral stances, and could have assumed Slade knew about—whatever it is they’ve been doing. “Is anyone hurt?”
“They knew,” Slade says, stalking toward the bed. Usually Slade doesn’t come back when he’s this angry. He kissed Dick once, and told him he never wants to risk hurting him, not even a bruise, not when Dick is so fragile compared to the wolves. He usually burns through his anger in the gym or sparring. “They knew, because someone told them.”
“Slade,” Dick says firmly as Slade stands over the bed, trying to snap him out of his fury. “Is anyone hurt?” If someone is hurt, the alpha and his mate should be there, offering help and comfort, trying to keep the pack’s emotions stabilized. And as the alpha’s mate, Dick needs to help Slade temper his fury.
Instead, Slade is standing next to the bed, hands clenched into fists, iris flickering with red. Dick isn’t sure he’s ever seen him so angry, and wants to pull him into a hug, but something makes him hold back. He’s not afraid of Slade, and part of him still full of luminous joy, making plans for when to tell Slade, and yet—
“Slade,” Dick says softly, trying to calm his mate. “What happened?” There’s a curl of cold fear in his chest, true worry for his packmates, because something is clearly badly wrong.
“I told you my plan,” Slade says. “I told only you—” Because the idea was to warn the pack quietly after, just in case of this, and Dick still doesn’t know what happened. “—and you told them. You betrayed the pack, Dick.”
There’s a pause while Dick gapes up at Slade, absolutely shocked, and then Slade is grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him off the bed.
“What the hell,” Dick exclaims, as Slade drops him on his feet. “Slade, what the hell? That’s absurd. Who—why would you think that?”
“You told them,” Slade repeats, and Dick’s anger sparks. They’re mates, and Slade isn’t listening.
“This is—” Dick starts, matching Slade’s fury, but Slade doesn’t let him speak.
“You betrayed us, and now Grant might not make it through the night.” Just like that, Dick’s fury drops away.
“Grant?” Dick says, with wide eyes. “But—it was supposed to be a quiet meeting and—”
“It was,” Slade agrees, grabbing Dick by the arm. “It was.”
Slade is holding Dick’s arm tightly, and it—it hurts. He can’t possibly think Dick was actually a traitor to the pack. When would Dick have told them? Why?
“Love, you’re hurting me,” Dick says evenly, looking directly into Slade’s one eye. He lost the other long before Dick knew him, saving a packmate, and Dick needs Slade to snap out of this insanity, back into that man. They need to get to the infirmary, and find out who actually betrayed the pack, if it wasn’t just their reputation getting ahead of them.
But Slade’s grip doesn’t slacken, and Dick’s stomach flips over in real fear. This isn’t—this isn’t Slade, isn’t his mate, something is wrong.
Dick raises his voice and says, “Let go of me,” yanking his arm free. Slade lets him and Dick backs up a pace. “You need to go to the infirmary,” he says firmly. “You’re not thinking clearly; you might have been hit with something or—”
“I’m fine,” Slade says darkly, unswayed. “But you won’t be. You betrayed us.”
Dick’s fear and frustration boils over. “You’re being ridiculous. Get over this stupid idea, so we can go check on Grant and support the pack.”
“You told someone,” Slade says, not budging an inch.
“Who the fuck would I tell? Why?”
Slade stalks forward and Dick moves backward until he hits the wall. He’s never been afraid of Slade, not until this moment. Dick can handle himself among humans just fine, but he’s never entertained the idea he could stand against a wolf, let alone Slade.
Dick swallows. “Slade, I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” Slade snarls. “Who. Did. You. Tell.”
“I swear,” Dicks says intently, looking up at Slade, willing Slade to remember that they’re mates, they swore loyalty to each other for the rest of their lives, and Dick has had no reason to break that. He loves Slade, and he’s carrying his child. “I didn’t tell anyone, Slade. You know me. I wouldn’t.”
Slade reaches out a hand, and Dick doesn’t flinch back, and—and fire burns through Dick’s arm. He looks down in time to see Slade’s claws slide back into skin, to see blood on his arm—there’s blood on his arm, because Slade attacked him, because Slade thinks—
Abruptly, the bubble of joy Dick has been carefully nursing throughout all of this pops.
His mate just attacked him. His mate thinks he’s betrayed the entire pack, and it’s not some kind of—of misunderstanding, Slade isn’t seeing reason and Dick goes cold. He knows what they do to traitors.
“Slade,” he tries again, hand clenching over the bleeding wounds instinctively. “It—it wasn’t me.”
But it’s clear Slade isn’t listening, is beyond reason, the betrayal overwhelming him, the fear of his son dying—
Dick distantly wonders if he’s carrying a boy or a girl.
“We’re locking you up for now, before you get someone else killed,” Slade says, roughly grabbing him. Dick doesn’t resist, doesn’t say another word. Any thought of resistance vanished as soon as Slade attacked him. He’s not pushing Slade any further, and risking himself or the baby.
This isn’t the Slade he knows, the man he wanted, so—if it was a spell or a drug, it will wear off soon and then—the truth will come out, because Dick is innocent.
Slade shoves him into a small cell, and Dick barely keeps his feet. By the time he turns back to Slade, there’s only a closed door. He looks around the room slowly, shock settling over him. There’s a cot, a small bathroom with a sink and toilet, but no window
Dick swallows, because packs don’t have trials. If Slade says he’s guilty, he dies.
He shakes his head. He can’t think like that. He can’t. Someone is going to realize Slade is being insane and talk to him, or figure out what’s wrong, or even just help him. Slade will apologize, and hug him, and Dick can tell him about the baby, and this will feel like a bad dream.
When he goes to settle a hand on his stomach, he hisses at the sudden pain from the scratches. They aren’t deep, but they’re still bleeding, and he’s not going to heal them like a wolf would. He stands up and knocks on the door, intending to ask for some medical care, but no one answers. He knocks again. No answer.
Either they’re ignoring him, or they’ve left him alone, and neither option is good. Even if he’s not here long, Dick can’t let the cuts keep bleeding. For lack of a better option, he strips the sheet off the cot and wraps it around his arm.
He swallows, taking one last look around the room, before curling up with a hand on his stomach. He’s waiting for Slade again, but everything has changed.
Dick is cold. He didn’t know any rooms in the pack den got this cold, so it’s probably deliberate. When his arm stopped bleeding he wrapped himself in the blood-stained sheet, but it didn't provide much warmth. His eyes are burning, but he won’t let himself cry. It’s not that bad; Slade is going to come back and apologize. He has to. Dick won’t let himself imagine another option.
He has no idea how long it’s been, but it feels like it’s been too long. Every moment that passes, the pit in his stomach yawns wider. He wants to hope, but the longer it takes the more he worries. What if nothing is wrong with Slade? What if this is just—his mate? What if Dick’s misjudged him the whole time?
Will he let Dick live long enough to have his baby?
By the time the door opens, Dick is almost sick with fear and anxiety. He looks up as Slade strides in and says, “Tell me who you told.”
Dick shivers as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, because he can’t—there’s no answer—Slade is still—“Is Grant okay?” Dick asks instead of answering, because he can’t face Slade’s question. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“He’s still alive,” Slade says brusquely. “The only reason you still are.”
Dick’s stomach lurches, and he swallows. Slade is icily angry now, and he still thinks Dick somehow betrayed the pack. “I didn’t—”
Slade’s eye glows red. Dick snaps his mouth shut and looks away. What is he supposed to say?
There’s a hand on his chin, turning him back to face Slade, crouching before him, and Dick didn’t even hear him move.
“Tell me, Dick,” Slade says softly, looking at him intently. “You know we can get it out of you, one way or the other.” A shiver goes through Dick; he does know. “You were my mate,” Slade says, the past tense cracking open Dick’s chest. “If you just tell us what you know, we’ll make it quick for you. We might even just send you back home to your family.”
Dick doesn’t think either of those things are likely. The Wilson pack doesn’t run on sentiment. Bruce was concerned about their brutality when Dick mated into them, but they’re so honorable, never brutal to innocents, and Dick—Dick talked him into agreeing. He regrets that at this moment.
The tears he’s been suppressing well up, this close to his mate, seeing the hatred the man he loves suddenly has for him, how easy it is for Slade to think of hurting him, when Dick didn’t even do anything. Does Slade think so little of him?
“Don’t cry,” Slade says softly, wiping a tear away. “Don’t cry, when we haven’t even done anything yet.”
Dick blinks, sending more tears sliding down his face, but Slade is still crouched in front of him, hand cupping his cheek now, falsely gentle.
“Please,” Dick chokes out, aware of how hopeless it is, how helpless he truly is. “Please, Slade, you know me, you know I wouldn’t. Why would you think I could do something like that?” He’s terrified, for himself and the new life inside him, but he’s also aching as their relationship fractures, pieces splintering painfully off and falling away, unable to be put back together. Why won’t Slade trust him?
“Just tell me,” Slade says quietly, gently, and Dick shudders.
“I can’t,” he says, despairing, trying to blink the tears away. “I can’t, because I didn’t—” But his throat is too tight to continue.
Slade stands up, gentleness falling away, every inch the ruthless alpha.
“Your heat is due in two days,” he says coldly. “Let’s see if you’re willing to talk after spending it alone.”
It would be excruciating, no suppressants and alone, a painful need burning through him. Slade was late once, and only once, and Dick was in such a state he swore he’d never risk being late again. There’s something especially agonizing about Slade choosing to turn that against him now.
“You asshole,” Dick says, too tired to have any real bite to it, scrubbing the tears off his face. “I didn’t betray you, I didn’t do anything, and you’re being—”
“You don’t want to spend it alone?” Slade asks, raising a brow. “If you’re that desperate, I’m sure I could arrange an alternative.”
He’s not—he wouldn’t—Dick can only hope with all his heart that something has happened to Slade and somehow no one else has noticed, because this isn’t the man he fell in love with.
But he is the alpha with power of life and death over him, the alpha who’s threatening to have him raped for information Dick simply doesn’t have. Horror churns through him, but it doesn’t matter. Because his heat—
“It’s not coming,” Dicks says numbly.
Slade pauses at the door. “What?”
“My heat isn’t coming,” Dick says, emptiness settling throughout him, pain echoing through him. Yesterday, what he thinks was yesterday, he was deliriously happy, and now—
A longer pause, and Slade strides back to stand above Dick. Dick doesn’t bother to look up, to see that vicious anger slice through him again. He slumps forward, elbows on his knees, and buries his head in his hands. Not like he can stop Slade, or literally anyone else in the pack, from doing whatever they want.
“Your heat isn’t coming,” Slade repeats, voice flat.
Dick doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to watch realization steal across his mate’s face, doesn’t want to see if Slade even think it’s his, if he trusts Dick so little—
“You’re pregnant?” Slade says, but instead of the excited joy Dick imagined, Slade sounds anything but pleased. “When were you going to tell me?” he demands when Dick doesn’t answer, as though Dick was hiding it from him.
“I was waiting for you to come home,” Dick says dully into his hands. “I took a test after you left because—” Slade doesn’t care, why is he bothering? “I was going to tell you when you came home, but—” Dick stops again, tears pressing at his eyes.
There’s a longer silence, and then Dick hears the door close. He doesn’t move, because there’s no point. His life is over, now or in nine months. What’s the point of anything?
He doesn’t even look up when the door opens again, doesn’t want to see Slade as he pronounces a final judgement, but a familiar voice says, “Dick? I’m here to take a look at you.”
It’s one of their healers, the one that’s specialized in human medicine just for Dick, because Slade wanted to have a fully qualified healer for him before Dick joined the pack.
“Elizabeth?” Dick says, voice cracking as he raises his head. She’s carrying a medical bag and a plate of food.
“Hey, Dickie,” she says softly, sitting next to him.
“Elizabeth,” Dick says urgently. “Something is wrong with Slade; I didn’t betray the pack.”
She looks at him coolly. “Dick, his word is law here, you know that.”
“But something is wrong,” Dick insists, desperate for someone else to understand.
“What do you think is wrong?” she asks, as she carefully cleans and disinfects his arm. Dick barely notices the sting.
“What do—what do I think is wrong?” he says. “Elizabeth—he thinks I betrayed the pack. He’s not—he’s not acting like himself.”
“I’ve seen him like this before,” she says, pulling a vial and needle out of her bag. “When he needs to protect the pack from a threat.”
Dick flinches back from her, and stands up.
“I’m not a threat,” he says, voice shaking. “I didn’t tell anyone anything. I didn’t do anything to harm the pack.”
She looks up at him, unmoved. “Slade has kept the pack safe for decades, Dick. You haven’t even been here three years. If Slade says he told you something in confidence that the Hive pack knew...we have no reason to doubt him.”
Elizabeth’s simple words gut him. No reason to doubt him. He’d given Slade no reason to doubt him, and that’s worked out so very fucking well so far.
“I need to take some of your blood,” she says, and Dick looks at her a moment and then sits down. What’s the point in resisting? In arguing? She, and the pack, side with Slade. Either something is wrong with Slade and Dick’s the only one who can see it, or—or he’s the one who hasn’t seen Slade clearly.
Either way, he has no allies in the pack.
Before she leaves, she gently sets a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re truly innocent, the truth will come out,” she says. “Slade won’t execute you without solid proof.”
Dick doesn’t respond. Solid proof could mean anything, and just because she believes it doesn’t make it true. Slade doesn’t need any reason to kill any member of his pack, although they’d likely stop following him if he started indiscriminately murdering them. But his human mate? The weak link in the pack? No one’s really going to put up a fuss, not when Slade is so confident of Dick’s guilt.
She left food for him, and Dick looks at it and turns away. He should eat, for the baby if nothing else, but he doesn’t think he’ll live long enough for it to matter. And he’s not even sure he could keep anything down. He’s seen the pack bringing tempting morsels to their pregnant pack mates when they had morning sickness, and he wondered what Slade might try if Dick were sick and—
His breath hitches with a sob, and he doesn’t—he doesn’t understand why his happiness is in ashes, how Slade could ever even doubt him, let alone believe—but regardless of Dick’s inability to understand, it’s his reality now. Coldness has settled so deeply in him that Dick doesn’t think he’ll ever feel warm again.
Slade is the next person in the cell, and he says, “The test confirmed it. You’re pregnant.” Dick looks at him flatly from the cot, because he already knows that, and the silence stretches.
“Will you—” Dick’s voice cracks and he has to swallow. “Will you let the baby—” He can’t make himself finish.
When Slade steps towards him, Dick flinches back and Slade stops, a dark look passing over his face.
“This pack has never, and will never, hurt innocents,” Slade says firmly. “Born or unborn.”
Dick chokes down the wild desire to laugh, because he’s not guilty either, but he’s not—if there’s a chance the baby can live—
“We’re moving you to a different cell,” Slade says, still studying him. “More light and fresh air, more room to move. Better for the baby, the doctors say.” Slade glances disapprovingly at the still-full plate by the cot, and steps back to open the cell door.
“Oh, you don’t want your pregnant mate sleeping on blood-stained sheets?” Dick asks acidly, getting up.
“You’re not my mate,” Slade says flatly, and Dick refuses to let him see how much the words hurt. Slade said it before but—Dick doesn’t find it so easy to cast their vows aside.
He follows Slade through the hallways, conspicuously absent of any packmates, and stops outside another door.
His new cell is larger, airier, and the attached bathroom has a shower, instead of just a sink and a toilet. There’s a large window that’s not even locked. Dick could actually get out through it, if he was stupid enough to try. He’s not risking the baby’s life, though.
He’s not even sure this room was meant as a cell, but it’s not like he’d be able to get very far from an isolated settlement of werewolves. They could let him sleep unguarded out in the woods and he’d still be trapped. It takes half a day of travel to get to any other settlement, and it would take two days to get back to his family, the closest settlement that might offer safety for him. It might as well be two years for how likely it was his absence would go unnoticed for more than a few hours.
Someone is coming by every couple of hours with food, small plates designed to tempt a pregnant appetite, and Dick dutifully picks at each one. No one says anything to him, and his faltering attempts to talk to them die down when there’s no response. Elizabeth made the pack’s position very clear, and Dick supposes he should be grateful they’re willing to let him carry the baby to term.
It’s just—it’s been days and Dick can’t make himself eat very much. His arm hurts as it heals, and he can’t stop remembering that Slade hurt him. His mate, the person he trusted to protect him above all else, and—he would have said it was impossible, a few days ago. He still can’t quite believe it, but the healing cuts are available any time he dares to doubt, dares to try to pretend it’s a bad dream.
There’s a jagged hole gaping inside him, and every breath scrapes the edges painfully. He misses Slade, misses his mate, hell, he misses the fucking pack. No one touches him, no one really even looks at him, they’re just letting him grow a baby. A baby that he’ll never get to see grow up, never get to hold, never get to watch shift for the first time with Slade and—
It’s the hormones making him cry so much, he tells himself, curling back on the bed. He’s been doing exercises and stretches, moving his body, but in-between, he just curls up on his bed and tries not to feel the aching loneliness, the slicing betrayal, the way he’s a little emptier every day, even when his joy should be growing. He wonders if his packmates even notice his red-rimmed eyes, his pale face, the tear streaks he can’t always wipe away. Even if they notice, no one says a word.
After a week, Elizabeth comes and checks on him again. Dick tries not to tremble, but no one has touched him since she last saw him, and he’s never gone so long—even growing up, he had his dad, and eventually his brothers and sisters; he was never without contact. And he was never rejected, surrounded by people who used to care. It might not hurt so much if he were actually alone, instead of being blamed for something he didn’t even do.
But Dick knows Slade is the alpha; his word is law. Friendships are meaningless right now. He recognizes everyone who comes into his cell, but doesn’t get even one sympathetic glance. No one comes close to touching; Slade would smell it on them and assume the worst. Anyone who tries to sympathize with him is going to be branded a traitor alongside him, only they won’t get a nine month stay of sentence.
Maybe the pack will be kind to his child, in his memory.
Elizabeth frowns as she listens to his heartbeat and studies him, actually looking at him, and Dick could cry just from the sensation of being seen. Hormones, he’s blaming the hormones.
“Tell me about your symptoms,” she invites, and Dick doesn’t know where to begin. Agonizing loneliness and rejection isn’t a pregnancy symptom.
“I’m tired,” he finally says, and she nods.
“That’s normal this early on. Are you getting enough sleep?”
Like he has a lot of pressing concerns and duties, locked 24/7 in a cell.
“Yes,” he says, but it’s a lie. He lays on the bed awake more often than not, aching to be held.
“Hmmm,” she says, looking at him again. “Are you able to keep food down?”
He hasn’t thrown up once. It’s choking the food down in the first place that’s a problem, each bite painful to swallow through a throat tight with all his unsaid pleas. “I don’t think I’m having morning sickness,” he settles on saying.
“Hmm,” she says again, frowning, and Dick can’t hide the shiver that runs through him when she lays a hand on his forehead. “Be sure to drink enough water,” she says, still frowning. “And try to eat some more. I’ll be back in a week to check on you further.”
A week. With no one else touching him, or looking at him. A week without seeing his mate. A week of looking out the window, dreaming about his family showing up and demanding to see him. A week of cradling his stomach and hoping for a happier life for his child. A week of praying the stress doesn’t cause him to miscarry.
“Okay,” Dick forces out, trying to put on a small smile. “All for the baby, right?”
Elizabeth touches his shoulder again before he leaves, and Dick tells himself it’s the hormones that make that unnecessary touch burn like a brand.
But she is back in a week, and Dick would be lying if he said he wasn’t counting the days. He’d asked one of his guards for books, for cards, for drawing supplies, anything to pass the time. They brought him whatever he wanted, but still never looked him in the eye or touched him. He misses sparring with this pack, gathering food in the woods, preparing meals in the kitchens. He misses being a part of his pack.
He wants to go home, wants to be held by his dad, and be protected by his siblings, something, anything against the empty hollow inside of him.
Elizabeth asks the same questions, does the same check, and frowns just the same. Dick admits to having a little trouble sleeping, and she asks if he wants anything. He thinks of the lure of dreamless sleep, of the chance of endless sleep, and protectively covers his stomach as he declines. Misunderstanding, she explains it’s perfectly safe for pregnancy, but he shakes his head.
“No, thank you,” he says firmly.
She studies him carefully, as though looking for something, and then— she leans forward and she’s—she’s hugging him and Dick is rigid. He’s never felt like this with a hug before, unable to move, overwhelmed, never gone so long, and—before he can process it she’s pulled back and says, “We can discuss it again next week.”
Next week. Dick holds on to that promise all week, trying to choke down food, trying to sleep, but he just—he just can’t. He’s letting the baby down, and when he loses the baby he’s going to get tortured; he knows they’re only holding off to protect the baby, and his expiration date draws closer with every day.
But they don’t seem to be in a hurry to get any information from him; no one’s asking any questions. Dick abruptly realizes he doesn’t even know what happened to the Hive pack, or Grant, and just as suddenly realizes any questions he asks will be taken the wrong way. It doesn’t matter for himself anymore, but Dick is trying to do what he can to keep the baby safe.
The day before Elizabeth is supposed to come back, the door opens to Dick’s room and he can’t make himself look up. Why does it matter? They never look at him. They can just leave the food on the desk like usual and go.
“Get up,” Slade’s voice says, and a thrill runs over Dick’s body as he stumbles up off the cot.
Slade is looming over him, furious, and Dick wonders if his grace period just ran out. There may not be a lot of ways to hurt him without hurting the baby, but he knows there are enough and—
Dick’s mouth is suddenly dry. Slade is stripping off his shirt.
“Slade,” he makes himself say. “What—”
“Take off your shirt,” Slade orders, without looking at him, and Dick—at least his mate should fucking look at him, especially if he’s going to—
“No,” Dick hears himself say, trembling. “You—you accuse me of being a traitor, you threaten to torture me, threaten to rape me, lock me in a cell, and you think can come in here and order me around and I’ll just do whatever you want?”
“Oh,” Slade says, stepping forward. “It’s not a threat. We’ll get the information from you one way or the other.” Dick swallows, but refuses to step back.
“There is no information, because I didn’t do it. I’m your mate,” he says, hearing his voice shake. “You’re supposed to trust me. You’re supposed to believe me! You’re supposed—” His voice breaks.
Slade simply says, “You were my mate. I did trust you,” and the jagged pieces inside Dick slice further into him. He’s breathless for a moment with the pain of rejection, and Slade steps forward and rips Dick’s shirt off, pushing him back down on the cot.
Well, Dick thinks distantly, looking up at his angry alpha, at least Slade isn’t letting half the pack rape him. Yet. And it’s not likely to hurt the baby, even if he does.
But when Slade climbs on the bed and presses close behind Dick, nothing else happens. Dick can feel Slade’s bare chest on his back, and it’s the most skin contact he’s had since they had sex right before Slade went to that ill-fated meeting, and he’s—
He’s warming up. His body was shaking, trembling, heart racing from fear, pain of rejection making it hard to breathe, but the simple act of skin to skin contact is making all of that melt away.
Is Slade going to wait until he’s relaxed? Is he showing Dick they can torture him just by taking away his contact with pack? Is Slade going to leave him if Dick doesn’t admit to a lie, tell him things he doesn’t know? Without meaning to, Dick presses closer and closes his eyes. Even if it’s just another moment, or a minute, he needs this. He needs it.
He should be strong, should pull away on his own, and shouldn't show how much he needs this. But nothing could make him move away, no threat or hateful words would make him stop being desperate for the feel and scent of his mate wrapping around him.
Contentment is seeping unbidden through him, his body knowing his mate is close, knowing he and his baby are safe and protected. It’s—it’s a lie, it’s not what’s happening, but in this case it truly is the hormones overwhelming him. He can’t fight it, the exhaustion of three weeks of being afraid and alone catching up to him now that his body thinks he’s safe. Sleep slips up and over him before he realizes what’s happening.
He’s awakened by Elizabeth’s voice, and he blinks out of the deepest sleep he’s had in a month, confused. The warmth at his back is gone, though, and a blanket is covering his body and—
Slade is gone. Dick sits up and Elizabeth looks satisfied as she says, “I thought so. Your color is much better. Can you eat something?” Dick is—Dick is actually hungry. She offers him a plate, and he eats with more appetite than he’s had in this cell and she looks approving. “You needed contact with your—” She pauses for a second, and finishes with, “—partner.”
Right. Because Slade’s not his mate, not even his alpha, since they think he betrayed the pack. Coldness is settling back into him but he keeps eating, for his baby’s sake. The baby he’ll never see or hold or—suddenly he can’t swallow another bite, and sets the toast down unfinished.
Elizabeth purses her lips at him, but doesn’t comment. “He’ll be visiting regularly,” she continues. “To help stabilize your body.”
A mix of emotions runs through him. Seeing Slade, his mate, regularly? It’s a rush of elation, but severely tempered by the knowledge that Slade doesn’t want it, doesn’t want him, and is doing it out of duty. He’s not—he won’t be gentle or soft, won’t be who Dick still loves and remembers. He’s the cold alpha now, doing what he must for the sake of innocent lives, the alpha Bruce saw clearly and tried to warn Dick about and Dick was just—
“I don’t think I need—”
“Dick.” She cuts him off gently. “You’re losing weight, instead of gaining it. You have to think of the baby, not yourself.”
Dick closes prickling eyes, and nods. Even if he declines, they’ll force him into it. Better to just—agree.
“How—how often?” How often does he have to be forced into pretending?
“Every day, for now. If you show improvement, not as frequently.” She looks at him, understanding on her face. “I know it’s not easy for either of you, Dick, but it’s for the baby.”
For the baby. Dick can make himself do this, do almost anything, for his baby.
All the same, he has to try not to shrink away when Slade comes through the door in an hour with a plate of food.
“If you can eat this,” Slade says, seeing his discomfort. “I’ll turn around and leave.”
Dick swallows, but takes the plate. He manages several bites in five minutes before Slade sighs audibly and says, “Take your shirt off.”
Dick wants to protest, wants to say he’s eating, but—he takes his shirt off and Slade positions them on the bed, so Dick is reclining mostly upright against Slade’s bare chest. Within minutes, Dick is actually hungry and eats the entire plate.
“Now go to sleep,” Slade says, half pushing him down on the bed. “And I can finally leave.”
The harsh words jar Dick out of the peaceful fuzziness, sending his stomach twisting in rejection, but the relaxation returns in a matter of minutes. He yawns, nestling back into Slade without thinking about it, mind half-drunk on hormones. Some part of him is actively hiding from the truth, preferring to stay here, where he’s held and safe and warm. Where he feels wanted and special, like nothing has changed. That part of him fights against sleep as long as he can, but all too soon he’s slipping into the blackness.
Begrudgingly, Dick tells Elizabeth he is feeling better when she comes the next week. And it’s true, physically. Even when Slade’s not there, he’s sleeping and eating better.
Mentally, it’s another story. Dick feels like he’s getting whiplash, going from the reality of being locked in a cell until he gives birth, until he can be tortured and murdered, and his former mate showing up every day to make sure he eats and cuddling him to sleep.
Quietly, he asks her, “Can it be anyone else?” Anyone other than the man he still loves, despite everything.
She shakes her head. “Hormones from your ma—partner are proven to be beneficial during pregnancy,” she says, squashing Dick’s faint hope.
It’s exhausting to pretend, and he’s not even sure what he’s pretending anymore. Is he pretending that Slade isn’t his mate? Still is his mate? The cold reality of waiting for execution leaves him unable to eat and sleep, unable to take care of himself and his baby, so he just—leans into the reality Slade’s daily presence suggests.
Well, he tries, but Slade—Slade doesn’t want to pretend.
Dick will be reclining against him, eating, pretending—and Slade will say, “I can’t believe you would do this to us,” and the food will turn to ash in his mouth.
Or Dick will press sleepily back into him, reveling in the warmth and false promise of safety, and Slade will heave a furious sigh and say, “I’m looking forward to making you pay for your crimes.”
Just that morning he said, “You know your baby is going to be better off without you, right?”
Each word a knife into his heart, a knife he sees coming but can’t stop, can’t dodge, because he needs Slade’s physical presence to make sure his baby is safe. And he can’t even get someone else who wouldn’t say such horrible things. He just—it’s for the baby, he tells himself. If it’s the last thing he does—and Slade will make sure it is—he’s going to keep this baby safe.
Another two weeks pass, and Slade still comes daily. Even when Slade is quiet, the dichotomy of Slade's presence and what’s really happening to him make him feel like he’s going crazy.
And Dick can’t stop himself from hoping, at every visit, that Slade is going to change his mind, that he’s going to say “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I love you.” It’s a childish hope, but it’s all Dick has. He can’t ground himself in reality, not without feeling like it’s not worth living, so he has to hope and pretend, but—
One day Slade opens the door and Dick finds himself flinching. He just can’t, not today. He woke up with tears on his face, dreaming of the life he’d once envisioned, and he just—he just can’t, please, not today.
“Go away,” Dick says, without looking at him. “Not today.” He swallows. “Please.”
There’s a charged silence.
“You think I want to be here?” No, Dick was never stupid enough to think that. “It’s not about us, Dick, it’s about protecting the life we created.”
“One day won’t matter,” Dick says, hopelessly, knowing he has no power here. “Please, just—”
“Are you a doctor now?” Slade is standing above him, and the heat of his body calls to Dick. He hates and loves it, torn in two every time his body is made to think he’s getting a happy ending. “Can you eat this plate of food without me?” Dick isn’t sure he can eat even if he’s forced to touch Slade, but knows better than to say it.
“Take off your shirt.” Slade’s voice is cold, and Dick makes himself comply. Better than being forced into it.
Slade hands him the plate and sits, pulling Dick to lean against his chest. As nauseated as Dick feels, the skin contact and hormones do their job, and he devours the entire plate. For the baby. Then Slade pulls them further down on the bed.
“Can’t we—“ Dick starts to ask, pulling away, but Slade doesn’t let him leave.
“Don’t be selfish.” Slade’s voice flays him, and Dick flinches again, hot tears pressing at his eyes.
It’s just hormones. It’s not the rejection and devastation weighing him down. It’s the surge of hormonal comfort making him feel this way, not the bitter knowledge this is all fake.
Whatever the reason, he can’t hold his tears back and he tenses, waiting for Slade’s derision. He’s been able to be brave until now, but he can’t make himself stop crying today. When Slade is just silent, though, it just makes Dick more miserable, crying slipping into heaving, devastated sobs. He wants comfort, he wants his mate, he wants—
“I didn’t do it,” Dick sobs, desperately. “Please, Slade, I didn’t—” Dick just wants to be believed, wants to go back to their den, wants to know he’s going to get to hold his baby.
Slade remains silent, a warm, almost-comforting presence against his back and Dick’s sobs eventually slow as he lets himself sink into the hormonal lie. It’s for the baby, right?
For the first time, he turns his body to face Slade and presses his damp face into Slade’s chest. It’s—it’s not for his comfort, not for him that he’s calming as Slade’s arms reluctantly wrap around him. It’s for the growing life they both will protect with their lives, if it’s needed. Dick’s life will just be needed a little sooner than he expected.
Dick starts crying again, silently this time, and Slade’s arms tighten around him. Dick isn’t sure if it’s meant as a threat or comfort, and he can’t stop himself from shivering.
“Please,” Dick whispers into his chest, not even sure what he’s asking for, but nothing happens either way.
When he wakes, Slade is gone, as always.
But now that he’s broken down once, it happens almost every day. He tries to tell himself it’s the hormones, but he doesn’t even believe that lie anymore. If he had any secrets to tell, he’d tell them in the hopes that Slade would just leave him alone and never come back. Dick would find a way to take care of himself for the baby without him.
Slade comes every day, though, no matter how Dick is starting to loathe it. He loathes his vulnerability, the way he can’t even pretend to be brave. At least Slade’s cruel comments have stopped; Dick is shattered enough without them.
The third day Dick is crying into his chest, Slade says, “You have to calm down, for the baby,” as though Dick was doing this on purpose.
“I can’t,” he gasps out, and Slade sighs. Dick wonders if maybe he will just leave, if he will give up on being able to help Dick, if—
Instead, a warm hand rubs up and down his back, offering a silent comfort. Dick shudders, pressing his face closer into Slade’s chest, but it’s—it’s actually helping.
Anything for the baby.
Elizabeth is pleased with his progress, and Dick tries to suggest they change Slade’s visits to every other day. She refuses.
“Don’t mess with progress, Dick. I’m sure it’s hard,” she says briskly. “But it’s about the baby, and not you.”
“But—”
“I consulted with the other healers,” she adds. “We all think this is best for the baby.”
They’re all talking about him like he’s just a vessel for the baby, but—that makes sense. No one really cares about what Dick is feeling or thinking. And once the baby is out of him, he’s just another threat to the pack to break and get rid of. But his baby will be safe. That’s the best he can hope for, for now.
It hasn’t been a week but Elizabeth is back.
“Time for an ultrasound,” she says, and holds the door open. Dick blinks for a moment, then stands and walks out of his cell. It feels weird to be somewhere new. It’s been—he’s not sure how long. Elizabeth has visited four times? Five times? More than a month, but that’s all he can tell. Time blurs together.
But an ultrasound. Maybe Dick will get to see his baby, in a way.
“Can we tell the gender yet?” he asks, suddenly eager, trailing her down the hallway.
She glances back, amused. “Oh, no. Not this early. This is just to make sure everything is progressing on track.”
“But we can see the baby?” He can’t keep the hopeful note out of his voice.
“There’s not much to see,” she says. “But yes.”
Dick cherishes the thought, and surely there will be ultrasounds later, when there’s more to see. Maybe they’ll let him keep a picture in his cell. Maybe Slade will want to see it.
Maybe seeing the baby will make Slade think more kindly of him, because they talked about wanting children. Slade already has three, but more is better for the pack, and Dick always wanted to be a mom. Maybe Slade might believe him, might give him a chance, might let him live out their dreams together.
Nothing is impossible, right?
Lost in thought, he’s not paying attention to where they’re going and is suddenly brought back to himself by the feeling of grass under his bare feet. He jerks his head and looks at Elizabeth, shocked. They’re—they’re outside. He can’t be outside; what if Slade finds him? What if anyone finds him? Why did she—
“I don’t think you’re working with the Hive pack,” she says quietly, glancing around, and hope rises unbidden in Dick. Someone believes him.
“Then—” he starts, and stops. They’re not out here whispering because this is good news.
“And Slade is—I think you’re right,” she adds softly, expression twisting. “I think something is wrong, not just with Slade but everyone, only—only I don’t know how to fix it.”
She hands him a bag. Heart racing, he opens it. Shoes, food, a compass, water. And wolfsbane, to hide his scent.
“You don’t deserve what they’re going to do to you,” she says, pain flickering over her face. “You deserve a chance to hold your baby.”
Dick stares at her, because he wants that, he wants that so badly it hurts, but—
“I can delay the search a few hours,” she says, when Dick stays silent. “They give us privacy in the infirmary.” And with that, she slips back into the den and leaves Dick alone in the woods. Alone with a choice.
He takes a desperate step towards the woods, before he makes himself stop with brutal practicality. Even if he hides his scent, the pack will be able to track him from the small signs he’ll leave through the forest. And he knows how to minimize those, knows how to move carefully and quietly, and there’s the slightest of chances, but—
But even if he makes it home, it’s not like the Wilson pack wouldn’t find him there. It would lead to war. The Wayne pack is strong, determined, and he knows every member would fight to protect him, but the Wilson pack is combat-oriented, vicious, and doesn’t back down. Dick isn’t sure who would win in the end, but the cost in lives would be overwhelming.
His fingers spasm over the straps of the bag, imagining his family laid out in a bloody row. Imagining his friends in the Wilson pack in a row next to them.
Dick is the only one who needs to die, and he’s willing to do so to protect his family, to protect his unborn child. Maybe once he’s dead, whatever has come over the Wilson pack will end.
He closes his eyes a moment and takes a deep breath, hand still tight on the bag. He can’t run, can’t risk his family, can’t risk his baby, can’t—a tremor runs over him. He has to walk back into the den, and deliver himself back into certain death.
Even knowing Elizabeth agrees that something may be wrong with Slade, wrong with the pack, doesn’t give Dick hope. It’s not like they know how to fix it, and he can’t quite shake the feeling that maybe this is just who Slade is, what the pack is truly like. Friendships and love cast aside in a heartbeat, on the barest of evidence.
He bites his lip and takes another deep breath, and then opens his eyes.
Slade is standing in front of him, and Dick’s heart skips a beat as icy shock pours over him.
“Going somewhere?” his alpha asks, with quiet menace, and Dick can only stare at him, heart thudding in his chest. Slade reaches out and takes the bag from Dick’s numb fingers and upends it on the ground. “Did you really think you’d get away?”
“No,” Dick says quietly, hopelessly. He didn’t. There’s no escaping his fate.
“You’ve been planning an escape since the beginning,” Slade says, and Dick can’t tell him it was Elizabeth who put together the bag, not without getting her killed. A quiet resignation fills him, and he looks down so he doesn’t have to see his mate judge him further.
“I can’t believe I was starting to feel sorry for you,” Slade says lowly, and Dick can’t suppress his flinch at the hateful words. “Crying every day, pretending to be worried about the baby, repeating your denials; I was starting to believe you were innocent.”
I am innocent, Dick thinks, but the words die in his throat. He wishes Slade’s words didn’t still have the power to hurt him.
It’s not that he’s afraid, because he knows that Slade isn’t going to hurt him until after their baby is born. He’s just—he’s suddenly, overwhelmingly tired and ready for it to be over. So he waits, waits for Slade to throw him back in his cell, where he can finish waiting to die.
“Did you think your family would keep you safe?” Slade asks, and Dick looks up, hearing the mirror of his thoughts. Slade grabs Dick, gripping his arm painfully tight. “They won’t,” he snarls. “No one can hide you. Traitor.”
The word lances through Dick like a knife.
Slade drags Dick back into the den, and Dick stumbles trying to keep up, grip turning to bruising and he’s honestly worried that Slade will dislocate his shoulder. But they’re not heading for his cell, or even the infirmary, they’re heading for the large meeting room. Dread creeps through him on every step as Slade pulls him along, growling audible. Is he angry enough to go back on his word? Will—will the pack not care about the baby inside of him?
When Slade drags him in through the door, Dick can see nearly everyone is there. He’d freeze but Slade’s grip is relentless as he forces Dick into the center of the room and growls, “The traitor was trying to escape.”
There’s an instant hum of anger. It ripples through the room, disdainful sneers turning to enraged scowls, and Dick flinches, desperately trying to find a friendly face. He wasn’t—he isn’t—why does no one believe him? He curls a hand protectively around his stomach, throat tight and choked.
“He thought the Waynes would keep him safe.” Someone in the room actually growls at the idea, and then they’re all growling, snarls reaching a fever pitch. Dick would back up, but they’re all around him, all furious, and he has nowhere to go.
“And it made me realize—they might try to fight for the pup.”
Another thrum of outrage, and someone says, coldly dispassionate, “So kill him now.”
No, Dick thinks, blood running cold. Not his baby. Elizabeth is right, something is wrong with them, they wouldn’t—they said they wouldn’t—“Please,” he says, desperate, but no one is paying attention to him.
“If we kill the pup, there’s no chance of a problem,” someone else agrees and he—no.
A shudder runs through Dick. This cannot be happening. This—this is a nightmare. Something is very, very wrong with them. This isn’t his pack, this isn’t his mate, Dick doesn’t know what’s wrong with them, and it should help, knowing that it isn’t real, knowing that his mate doesn’t really hate him, but all Dick can feel is terror.
“But we don’t kill pups,” another voice protests, and Dick takes a gasping breath, weak-kneed with relief—until the voice continues, “The real problem is the Waynes.”
Dick stops breathing.
“That’s true,” agrees another voice, all of them so achingly familiar, and Dick refuses to put names to voices, he wants to squeeze his eyes shut and cover his ears.
“No,” Dick hears himself saying. “No, don’t, they haven’t—”
“If their eldest is a traitor, they’re all traitors. We’d be doing the world a favor, wiping them out.”
Dick can see the bodies of his siblings, blood strewn and terribly still. Jason, torn to shreds, Tim, pale and bleeding, Cass, limp and still, Steph, dulled and red. Little Damian, still a pup. Bruce, wavering on his feet, collapsing, blue eyes glazing over.
It doesn’t matter if there’s something wrong. It doesn’t matter if they—they’re under a spell, or—or something, it won’t make a difference when they tear his family apart.
Desperation fills him. “Slade,” Dick says, and he dares to reach out and grab Slade’s arm. The room fills with a deadly tension as everyone’s gazes sharpen on him. “Slade, alpha, please. They’re innocent—they’ve—they’ve done nothing wrong.” He has to—he doesn’t know what’ll break them out of it, but he can’t let—he has to make it stop.
“They raised someone like you,” Slade returns coldly, his one eye raking over Dick, no ounce of give in his tone.
“They didn’t—I didn’t—” Dick stops, and swallows. “I didn’t betray the pack,” he says quietly, pleading, and hears an angry murmur go around the room. Wrong tack. “But I’m not—I didn’t try to escape, I wasn’t going to leave, please, just let our baby and my family live. Please.”
He’s already begged before, he’s pleaded, he’s cried, and nothing has worked before but maybe here, maybe in front of the whole pack, maybe someone will snap out of it and realize what they’re contemplating.
Slade looks at him, and Dick’s fingers tighten on his arm before Slade rips him off.
“Why would I let a threat live?” he asks, and the coldness slices through Dick.
He looks around, at all the familiar faces, at his second family, and sees that no one is listening to him. They’re going to kill his entire family, and Dick is helpless to stop them. His throat is tight and his eyes are burning and he—
“Slade, please,” he says, grabbing onto Slade again, and Slade shakes him off effortlessly, like he’s nothing more than an annoying gnat. “Some of my siblings are still children; the Wilson pack doesn’t kill children, you told me that, Slade!” His voice is rising, but Slade isn’t even looking at him, and the pack is sneering, and Dick feels his heart fracture inside of him.
It’s not getting through to them.
He drops to his knees. The instincts aren’t the same for him, he’s not a wolf, but the principle holds. Surrender. “Slade,” Dick says quietly, looking up at his mate, “This isn’t you. You—you have to see that. You told me you don’t hurt the innocent. My pack is innocent. Slade, please.” Slade makes a dismissive sound and turns away from him and Dick pushes forward, grabbing Slade’s leg, forcing him still. “I’m sorry, Slade, please, kill me, my family did nothing wrong.” He looks up, vision blurry, but he might as well be beseeching a stone wall. “Please, Alpha. Slade, this isn’t—this isn’t you.”
Slade looks down at him and icily says, “Maybe you never knew me.” No, Dick—he does know him, knows his mate, only—something tears apart in Dick’s chest as Slade yanks his leg back. He falls painfully to his hands, unable to stay upright, and bows his head as despair crashes over him.
He can’t physically stop Slade, they aren’t listening to him, and it’s wrong, it’s all so wrong, it feels like a nightmare and Dick can’t stop it. He’s the only sane person in the room, but there’s—there’s nothing he can do.
Hopelessness creeps in, burying him, and he can’t fight the tears.
They come silently at first, dripping down his face, but swiftly turn into choking, heaving sobs. His grief is overwhelming, and he gasps for air between sobs, trying to catch his breath. There’s no point in crying, he needs to get up, he needs to stop this, he needs to understand what’s wrong before they kill his family, before the nightmare swallows him whole, but he can’t stop the terrible sounds escaping his chest. He desperately wants his mate, wants his pack, wants the protection that was sworn to him, and the keen tears out of him before he can stop it.
It’s a desolate sound, a desperate, dying cry for pack, and his pack is surrounding him but Dick has never felt more alone. Something’s wrong with them, he knows it, this isn’t rational, it isn’t reasonable, but knowing is useless if he can’t stop it. He’s on his knees, sobbing, and not a single person offers help.
Something tears through him, more jagged than despair, and suddenly, his sobs are the only thing he can hear.
It’s a sharp transition, a sudden prickling down his arms, like a gust of cool wind, and—it’s as if a knot inside of him unraveled, a tension he didn’t know was there. Dick swallows the next sob, and in that brief moment, registers the total and utter silence.
He goes still. His arms are still shaking, but he draws back, sitting on his heels, and wipes enough at the tears that his vision isn’t blurry, looking up in trepidation. What if they already left, what if they’re already heading to murder his family, what if Dick can’t stop them—
They’re staring at him. Dick can feel the prickling stares of every wolf in the pack, but it’s no longer heated. He can’t—he can’t see hate or anger or rage.
He sees horror.
He sees—faces crumpling, one after the other, and someone’s eyes are shining, wet, and someone is already crying, and someone covers their mouth with their hands, eyes wide, and someone whispers a soft, broken, “No.”
Dick twists, still on his knees, looking around the room—not hoping, he can’t hope, he can’t, it’ll break him if he’s wrong—and sees no trace of the virulent hate. Everyone looks dazed and horrified, and he tries to suppress the trickle of warmth inside of him, if he names the feeling it’ll hurt, and finally screws up the courage to look up.
Slade is staring down at him, expression blank. Dick holds his breath, heart beating too fast, something painful and warm and burning inside of him, internally begging, pleading, he doesn’t know what was wrong, but please let it have stopped.
Slade crouches and reaches out for him, and Dick can’t help the instinctive flinch back. Slade’s expression cracks, and Dick waits for the disdain, for the sneer, for the anger he got used to—
But Slade stops. Curls his hand into a fist and pulls back. Stays where he is, looking at Dick with—there’s something agonized in his eye, the horror that Dick has felt these past weeks condensed into a moment, and his voice is hoarse and cracking. “I’m so sorry, little bird.”
It’s the nickname that does it, the one thing Dick hasn’t heard in weeks, the name always full of soft affection, and Dick is scrambling up and throwing himself at his mate before he can think. Slade catches him, warm arms wrap around him, holding him tight, almost painfully tight as Dick clings to Slade’s neck and buries his head against Slade’s shoulder and starts crying again.
“Dick,” Slade says, low, wounded, upset, and Dick knows that a month and a half of memories are probably hitting him all at once, but Dick can’t let go, not when he has Slade back, he doesn’t want this to be a dream, please—it will break him if this isn’t real, actually break him, and Dick is clutching Slade so tightly his arms are protesting.
“What happened?” a furious, confused voice bursts through the growing clamor, noise level skyrocketing as shouts and tears and waves of upset echo around the room. Dick is—is the alpha’s mate, it’s his job to reassure the pack, to make sure everyone’s okay, but if he lets go of Slade, he will shatter.
He can’t reassure them, he can’t even stop crying, he just hides against Slade and listens to the voices, listens to confusion and disgust and alarm, listens to his pack, furious but sane.
“Dick?” Slade asks, quiet, but Dick doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to speak, doesn’t want to listen to Slade with churning dread in his stomach, he just—he doesn’t know what he wants, he just twists his arms together and doesn’t move.
Relief wars painfully with dread, hope tentative and terrifying, and all Dick can do is sob. He can’t identify what he’s feeling, and he doesn’t even try. His mate is here, and Dick is never letting him go.
Slade shifts—Dick’s heart skips a beat—but he’s just settling, drawing Dick more comfortably in his lap. The past weeks made him painfully aware that if Slade could break out of Dick’s grasp as easily as tearing a piece of grass in two, and that Dick’s white-knuckled grip doesn’t mean anything, but he can’t bring himself to loosen it.
“How the hell,” Slade’s voice rumbles, low and very, very angry, “Did this happen?” Dick can’t let go, his heart stutters at the very thought, but Slade sounds furious and—he’s shivering again, trembling like a leaf, waiting for Slade’s grasp to constrict, waiting for it to hurt—
But it never does. Slade’s hold stays firm and gentle, his chin tucking Dick against his neck, a deeply vulnerable position for a wolf, and Dick feels like he’s guarded. Protected. Safe.
The tears just keep flowing.
“It—a spell it had to be—”
“But where did they get the chance—”
“It affected all of us—”
“The attack was the only possible source—”
“The Hive pack has opinions on humans joining wolf packs,” a voice cuts through the noise, cooler than the rest but by no means calm, “It would make sense that this was their idea of a fitting curse.”
Slade’s arms tighten a fraction around him.
“Dick?” comes a quiet voice as the room falls to a hush. Dick stays pressed against Slade, and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to answer. He’s tired, he’s weary down to his bones, his emotions have swung wildly over the past month and he just wants to bask in relief.
There’s shuffling around them, and a hesitant, “How is he?”
Slade shifts enough to run a hand down his back, warm and present and grounding, and his quiet sobs die to even quieter hitched breaths. “We need to focus on the threat,” Slade says, “Take out the Hive pack before they realize their spell has failed.”
“Those fuckers,” someone hisses.
“I’m going to enjoy tearing them to shreds.”
A low thrum of anger begins to rise again, but it’s not directed at Dick, and bracketed Slade’s arms, he’s perfectly safe.
“Can it affect us again?” Slade asks, and a sharp silence falls.
“No,” comes a confident voice, “Mental magic is...finicky. It relies on suggestion—enough doubt, and the whole thing falls apart. The spell is broken.”
Pressed this close, Dick can hear Slade’s heartbeat stutter, and slow.
“Make sure it’s broken for everyone in the pack,” Slade’s voice drops to a growl, “And prepare for an attack. We need to rescout their fortifications.” There’s a movement around them, voices swirling around, and Dick—should let go, Slade is the alpha, he needs to coordinate his pack, the close contact has done what it’s supposed to, his cheeks are stiff and itchy but he’s no longer crying.
But Slade doesn’t let go of him, and Dick can’t bring himself to uncurl his arms. This is everything he dreamed of during the nightmare he lived, and he’s afraid that it will fall apart if he looks up.
“I am so sorry, little bird,” Slade murmurs softly, “They must’ve hit us with the spell during the attack.” And a spell on the alpha would affect the whole pack. “I didn’t—with Grant—”
“I didn’t do it,” Dick whispers quietly, because the Hive pack still knew of their plan, knew of the plan that Slade told to only him and—
“I believe you.”
Three words. Three words, and it’s enough to unspool him, the three words he’s needed to hear for weeks, and Dick is crying again.
“I—I would never, Slade, I wouldn’t ever betray you—” and Slade leans back and Dick panics, heart rate climbing, but Slade doesn’t move away, he just cups Dick’s face, and Dick blinks up at his mate.
“You are my mate,” Slade says, quiet and low, “I trust you without question.”
Dick closes his eyes at the sincerity, and keeps one hand curled into Slade’s shirt. This is real. The warmth of his mate is real. The protective grumbling of his pack around him is real. The tiny life inside of him is real. There was a spell, but it’s broken, and this is real.
“What do you need, little bird?” Slade asks, his tone almost fragile, and Dick opens his eyes again.
“Just you,” Dick whispers.