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Treed like a mountain lion and surrounded by the gaping maws of the undead, Dick knows this is how he is going to die. In his haste to escape the small pack of zombies he dropped his bag of supplies in favor of clinging to his machete. It’s basic instinct nowadays for anyone that ventures outside the wall to keep their weapon first when in a panic, Bruce’s training just re-enforced it. However, using his machete on the zombies surrounding his unfortunately isolated tree means putting himself on branches well within the decaying fingers, so it is nearly useless to him.
He can’t survive another day without water.
The black backpack sits right behind the ring of undead, mocking him. Soon he will have a decision to make. After the apocalypse he isn’t much of a religious man, but he sends out murmured pleas to any entity that will listen. He needs a miracle, he needs to survive, he’s the only hope of rescuing Damian. His stomach twists with the knowledge that when- if- he dies here, he didn’t make it far enough away from the compound. His corpse could wander to the walls and Bruce- Bruce will see him and know how he disobeyed his orders. How he disappointed him, failed Dami. ‘Fuck, please, anyone.’ He chants internally. ‘Don’t let me die out here.’
There’s a whistle through the air and a solid thunk hitting the trunk that makes him jolt. An arrow pins a zombie through the back and up against the tree, it still reaches for him. Bruce? Did he know he snuck out to follow the fresh tracks? Did the Justice Council come to a decision this quickly? He tries to peer through the branches but all he can make out is horses. If Dami was here he’d be able to tell if they’re from Gotham stables with a glance.
In rapid succession, the other eight zombies are dispatched with clinical precision. The undead man in the red shirt stays locked onto Dick even as the group approaches. Dick frowns, realizing just how new the man is, he’s only a few days max. In the beginning, they always have better focus and dexterity. His attention is drawn away from the freshly undead and watches as a group of about ten men approach. Mercenaries.
Dick’s stomach drops as he recognizes their leader, Slade Wilson. Bruce allows them to trade and stay the night at the compound once in a while, but he doesn’t like it, he doesn't like any mercenaries. He said they prey on the grieving by putting bounties on bodies or keepsakes, that they don’t treat the zombies with proper respect, and when we begin to forget that the undead were once humans, humanity will be lost. Dick can see both sides. They provide a dangerous service to retrieve something to remember your loved ones by, however, their prices are frankly predatory.
Slade Wilson is likely the best mercenary around, not only has he put to rest and retrieved the highest number of contracts anyone can think of, he’s also killed the most problem zombies. Breakers, Trappers, and the abnormally smart, Bruce even hired him once for one zom that remembered how to climb fences.
Dick doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He will help, he’s helped the compound before. Bruce will happily pay once his son is back, out here a man’s word and reputation is the most powerful bargaining tool. He takes a steadying breath and calls out, “Hey! Up here, thank god you’re around!”
Immediately the sense of dread is back as the mercenary band’s eyes turn to him, a gazelle facing a pack of lions. He swallows dryly. He grips his machete more assuredly and waves. Dick is not defenseless, he reminds himself that he’s counted amongst the best Protectors in Gotham, he’s dangerous too.
But in front of the band of grizzled bounty hunters, he feels even younger than his twenty years as hungry eyes track him.
“Bonus prize! Hell yeah!” one shouts, pumping his fist in the air.
Another shoves his horse into the first. “Like you’d get him,” he snorts.
Slade’s voice cracks through the group like a whip, “Remember this is just a pit stop, do the job you’re being paid for first.”
They grumble but get to work. A man pulls a bowie knife and stabs the zombie straight through the brain and rips him off the arrow he was stuck on. “Wedding ring?”
Slade nods, holding his hand up to catch the ring and the severed finger it was on. He takes it off, wipes it on his pants and adds it to what seems like a dozen on a chain around his neck. “Wife wanted the wallet and belt buckle,” he instructs as the man digs through the undead man’s pants. Slade walks closer and toes open the corpse’s mouth with his boot. “Hmm he’s fresh enough, someone will want his teeth too.”
Dick is frozen in disgust as the men spread out to the other zombies, taking barely worn shoes off and rifling through their pockets. One man gropes an undead woman, laughing as his buddy does the same. When he looks down to Wilson, he finds the one eyed mercenary staring at him, something like amusement pulling up his lip. “Sure enough, we got a little bird up here.”
“I- uh, thank you for taking… care of the zoms, I’ll get down and be on my w-”
An honest to god smirk spreads on the man’s face now, “You’re from the compound, aren’t ya?” He laughs, “This is just what using the whole buffalo looks like, kid.”
Dick can’t pretend to be polite any longer. He has his machete, no one has grabbed his bag yet, he can make it. Bruce was right, these guys are bad news. “It’s what desecrating a corpse looks like,” he spits, not waiting to watch Slade’s expression recalculating him. He leaps out of the tree into a gymnastics roll and pops up running. He snatches his backpack and takes off towards a stand of dense trees. Probability of zombies, high. Probability of horses following him through, low. It’s worth it.
Behind him he hears men panicking, yelling at each other, and trying to get to their horses. One man’s voice never changes, “Calm down, I got him.” He whistles high once and thunderous hooves answer.
Dick can’t focus on what’s behind him right now, he needs to make it into the tree line. It’s not far, he’s not faster than a horse but he is still fast. He hopes the old man is slow to get on his horse but he has his doubts. The hooves are gaining.
“Stop kid, or this’ll hurt.”
He keeps running, something tells him that if they get their hands on him no matter what it’ll hurt.
Almost there, almost there, almost-
FUCK
A zombie lumbers out of the woods, Dick switches directions but Slade is prepared. The whoosh of air is his only warning before a lasso flies over his head and despite his jump, snags both legs together. He’s yanked backwards, his stomach hitting the ground hard. His lungs protest but he’s got to move, he swings back wildly with his machete and slices through Slade’s rope. The horse is close but the zombie is closer, he rolls to give himself more space but a gunshot sounds above him. It makes him jump and not react in time to escape the crushing weight of the undead man landing on him. He’s shocked, guns are rare this far into the crisis, only used in desperate times. Slade just rang the dinner bell.
The huge man pulls the zombie off of him, his pistol aimed directly at Dick now. He raises his hands placatingly, his eyes searching the treeline and hills for any zom movement. “So,” the man drawls. “You gonna let me take you quietly or would you like to take your chances with a hoard?”
Behind Slade, his men are all packed up and racing towards the two of them, the moans reaching their ears before the footsteps. Dick looks back at the tree line desperately but already a few are fighting their way through the brush. He closes his eyes tight for just a second, Dami needs him and that means he needs to be alive for that, for him. Humans can be reasoned with, he assures himself, even the seemingly unreasonable ones.
Slade is already mounted and holding his hand out when he opens them. He grabs it and Slade hauls him up. Even as they move further from the deadly choir of voices, Dick knows he’s not any safer.
~~~
For mercenaries who work alone half the time, they set up camp like a well oiled machine. Dick sits where he was placed in the center of camp, fighting his conflicting urges to run and bury his head in his knees. At some point, the one man, an older mustachioed one, gives him water. He’s grateful, Billy is the only one who looks at him normally. He never thought that’d be something rare.
It’s dark. The men join him at the bonfire, passing around whiskey and dishing up some sort of stew. Slade and Billy flank him, he’s not comfortable, but it isn’t the worst place in the circle. They make sure his bowl is full and offer him pulls of whiskey that he refuses. At least Slade can hold his liquor unlike the rest of them. Billy retires early and while he’s been kind, he pretends to not read the desperation infused puppy dog eyes Dick throws at him while he’s leaving.
It’s not too long after that Slade has to break up a fight.
“C’mon, it’s been ages for me!”
“You don’t even like guys.”
“Well he’s prettier than a lot of girls we snagged,” the first one splutters.
“Smells better too!” a man even drunker chimes in.
It turned physical fast, Slade had to pull one of them off of Dick before entering the brawl. He subdued each drunk faster than the next, slamming them back down in their seats around the fire. Unwillingly, he was entranced by how he moved. Bruce is the best hand to hand fighter he’s ever met, but against Slade, it would be a close match. Before it felt like any time had passed, Slade sat back down heavily next to him.
“No one is allowed whiskey for two weeks since you get so sloppy. What’s one of our rules, what don’t we fight over?”
“Bitches,” they mutter sullenly.
Dick can’t help his head from snapping toward Slade and his mouth dropping open in shock. “You’re gonna catch flies like that, kid. So here’s the deal, no ones gonna force you into anything, but there’s no extra tents. You choose someone to share a tent with, or you sleep out here and pray you can keep the fire going.”
Dick looks at the smoldering fire, already getting cold, and the stumps no one had split yet. He looks around the fire and there are no good choices. Obviously Billy retires early because of this shit show.
No good men, no safe options, but… there is someone who could help Damian. If this is the way the night has to go, so be it. “You,” he rasps.
Slade’s eye fills with mirth, his warm hand comes up to rest on the back of Dick’s neck and guides him up, “Ok kid, come on.”
Dick doesn’t shake as he’s led to Slade’s tent, but no one would blame him for trembling. He’s shocked as the man tosses a blanket at him, strips down and crawls under the rest of his blankets on the bedroll. “You- we, we’re not gonna-”
“If you want, I guess, otherwise I’m sleeping.”
“I thought- nevermind, I am good with sleeping. I just, I know you.”
“Yeah? Lots of people think they know me, kid,” he scoffs.
“Before this, I heard stories of you. They all said you’re a good man. That you always fulfill your contracts. And… my name’s Dick.”
“I always fulfill my contracts, kid.”
This man makes him want to scream. He takes a calming breath before continuing, “My brother, he’s missing. We are heading in the right direction already but I know I’ll need help getting him out. Bruce would pay you anything to bring him home, you’d be welcomed in our community whenever, all the food you could eat, anything, we’d give you anything.” He pleads, failing to keep the emotion out of his voice.
Slade is quiet for a while, long enough that Dick feels awkward still standing and sits cross-legged. It makes him nervous. When he finally speaks, it makes Dick deflates, “I don’t take contracts from people offering someone else’s money.”
“Everything valuable in my possession is from Bruce. I don’t have anything of my own, if I did, I would give you it. Please, there has to be something I can do, he’s my little brother.” Dick’s clutching the blanket between his hands, desperate to prevent himself from reaching out.
Slade’s eye roves over him lazily and Dick’s throat is dry again, “I thought you said-”
“It’s different, this would be a bargain… Are you a virgin?” He asks, his tone too casual for the type of question coming out of his mouth.
Dick turns red up to his ears, “No. Well, sorta. I never- with a man- we never…”
“So you’ve never had another man inside you,” he confirms, his eye already darkening with lust. “Spend the night with me, and I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll only think about it?”
“That’s the best offer you’ll get, kid, don’t push it,” he warns lowly.
Dick nods his head miserably, but strips down to his underwear before he can second guess himself. “What do I do, how do you want-”
“Grab that blue bottle and lay yourself over my lap.” Dick uses the short walk to steel himself. Men have done this for ages, he’s always been curious after all, at least he’s using lube. He’s mortified as he leans over Wilson’s lap, trying to keep his dick from rubbing against him. Slade doesn’t allow it, squeezing his ass and massaging it while steadily pressing him down. “Good boy.”
He pulls his underwear down and all the way off his legs, arranging them to give him the best access. His thumb strokes over his hole once, twice, the third he jumps, trying to scramble off of the huge mercenary’s lap. “Wait, wait. I’ve changed my mind, I can’t.”
Slade keeps him exactly how he had him, running his palm over his lower back and ass. “Yes you can,” he murmurs. “All a man’s worth nowadays is their word, you gonna break that?”
Dick fights through hitched breaths, “No.”
He nearly jumps at the sound of the lube bottle but manages to suppress it. His body is completely tense and Slade slaps his ass hard, “If I wanted to fuck something that tight I’d stick my dick in a chinese finger trap. Relax. And listen to me.”
Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out, just like training cool downs. Dick tries to get himself under control, but it’s difficult as a slick finger slides against his hole. It’s not necessarily bad, just alien. He shudders as it presses in, pressure building and building until his body gives under man. A sound he’s not proud of escapes him as Slade crooks his finger and digs, as if searching for something. The slightest brush of his finger pads feels electric.
He nearly jolts off the man, but his other hand is more than enough to keep him pinned. Once he’s not trying to escape, fingers softly detangle his hair, and scratch his scalp. “That’s it kid, you’re a natural,” Slade murmurs, finger prodding his walls and exploring further. Dick can’t help clenching as he feels another finger begging entrance.
“I know you too, Grayson.” Slade says quietly, distracting Dick from the relentless press of his digits. “One of Wayne’s brats, the crazy one who distracted the climbing zombie well enough for me to get a kill shot. Watching you fly was impressive. I asked him if I could train you, but he wouldn’t let you fly the coop.”
Two fingers thrusting inside him and still, he has the capacity to blush at the compliments. He lays his head down on the bed roll, still adjusting to the foreign feeling, and tries to unclog his brain enough to respond, “It was nothing, anyone would’ve done it.”
“Tried to? Maybe, but kid, you pulled it off,” he praises. Slade doesn’t allow him to respond as he scissors him open further until he groans. “Feel good?”
No, not particularly. It’s pressure and new nerves lighting up, but it isn’t pleasurable he can't stop now. Not when Damian is on the line, so he doesn’t answer but he also doesn’t pull away, not until a third finger joins.
“Wait.” he pleads again.
Slade doesn’t pause, shoving his fingers in deeper, the third pushing at his rim. “I’m getting really tired of that word.” He growls. “You want your brother back?” Dick nods miserably. “Then ask for another finger.”
Dick only hesitates a moment before he’s babbling. “Please, please give me a third.” It burns, he never adda more lube. He grits his teeth, as Slade’s last finger stretches him. It seems to last forever and just a second as he pulls his hole open. Dick chokes on his pain, shoving it down and preparing for more.
“That’s enough, don’t want to stretch you out too much,“ he says, shoving Dick off of his lap and pressing him into the bedroll.
All of sudden the enormity of the day catches up to him. He tries to crawl away as something much much larger than three fingers pushes in. “No. No, you’re gonna break me.” A sob rips out of him as he fights the force on top of him, Slade barely moves. “I can’t. Deal is off, please let me up!”
“Too late. I finish my contracts, kid, soon you’ll learn to too.”
He yelps as Slade crams the head in. A flash of heat rolls over him, sweat breaking out across his forehead. He sobs again, not realizing Slade has stopped moving to sooth him like a nervous horse, running fingertips up and down his flanks.
“Shhhh, you’re doing so good, look at you,” he murmurs, brushing hair off of Dick’s sweaty forehead. “Give in and I’ll make it as good as I can. Lift your hips up.” He says with a sharp slap on his thigh.
And Dick, damnit, Dick listens.
He bites down onto his own forearm as Slade forces more of his cock into him. He tastes blood by the time Slade’s hips meet his ass. Dick doesn’t understand how he’s not been ripped in two already.
Slade pauses, his hand reaching under Dick to stroke his still soft cock. Despite the fear, despite the pain, his body responds. As his orgasm builds he doesn’t notice Slade’s hips moving. They grind into him steadily until he’s panting instead of trembling.
“There you are kid, moan for me.” He orders, snapping his hips into Dick harder. It feels like a coke can cramming into him, it’s awful, but still his body responds. He moans, cumming into Slade’s hand.
Slade stops holding back as Dick falls limp under him, shoving his cock mercilessly into him. Dick feels like a ragdoll as he lets the man take him, no energy left to fight. Finally, finally, the mercenary stutters and cums, collapsing on top of him.
Slade rolls off of him and brusquely wipes himself and Dick off with his discarded shirt. He’s exhausted, overwhelmed, and out of it as Slade raises a cup to his lip. “You gotta drink, little bird.”
Dick gulps the water gratefully as Slade pets his hair.
After Slade pulls the water away, there’s something unreadable in his face. “Sorry kid, you won’t have a good time of it when you wake tomorrow.”
Dick tries to ask what he means but his tongue is heavy and useless in his mouth. He passes out before a single word can form.
~~~
Dick gave up begging to the crowd pretty quickly, it only brought jeers and projectiles down upon him. The other kids in this pit don’t learn as quickly. He wanted to yell across the labyrinth to warn them to be quiet but then it’d lead the moans of the undead to him.
Instead he skirts the walls, avoiding the particularly rowdy spectators to try to reach the other three souls trapped down here with him. He hasn’t seen a zombie yet, but the twisted game master said it was going to be a “fair fight” this round; four humans against four of the undead, no weapons except for what the crowd might throw down.
Dick is pissed he allowed himself to be drugged and tricked into these sick games, he should’ve known better than to trust meecenaries. He should have listened to B when he spoke of the monsters that hungered for blood and flesh in a way more depraved than the undead.
He stuffs down his righteous anger and focuses on finding the others. If they can stay together he can protect them, they have a better chance of survival as a group. From what he could see of the other ‘contestants’, they were all much younger than his twenty. He moves quickly, the face of a particular boy stuck in his head; dark hair and so very young- probably as young as Damian- twelve and no more.
Dick freezes as he hears feet shuffling on the other side of the wall with that tale-tell slow, awkward gait. As quietly as he can, he backtracks and turns down another corridor. He knows he is faster than them, but that is his only advantage down here. Without a weapon, he can’t afford to be surprised or backed into a corner.
Close by, the crowd’s cheers have gotten louder. However, underneath the din he can still hear the blonde girl’s begging, promising the bloodthirsty crowd anything if they get her out. Her sobs turn quickly into screams and Dick forgets caution and sprints towards her.
He skids to a stop, finding two of the undead cornering her. She fends them off with a weapon that looks like a mop handle filed into a spike. His stomach turns as he realizes she is shirtless. A man in the crowd, with a face as grotesque as any zombie’s, holds her shirt to his nose and inhales while watching her fight.
Dick doesn’t kill humans, hell he doesn’t even like killing zombies, but that man has made his list.
He throws himself at one of the zombies as the girl stabs at the other. They tumble to the ground and Dick makes sure to use his legs to keep space between him and the gaping maw full of teeth and disease. As he distances himself, the rotted man swipes out with a hand. The undead use the full strength of their muscles until they snap or rot away, Dick doesn’t want one catching hold of him. He blocks but the zombie’s forearm gives too easily under his fingers, meat and tissue slough off in his hand even as the arm keeps reaching for him.
Swallowing his vomit down, Dick rolls up to his feet. Before the zombie can follow he knocks it back down with one kick and drives his heel into its skull to finish it off.
He pulls his foot out of the gore with a wet sound and turns to check on the blonde.
She stands above the corpse victorious, breathing hard but with a relieved smile.
He easily returns it, until icy horror grips his heart.
Dick should’ve listened closer to the crowd, should’ve realized their excitement was not for their success but at the prospect of more blood.
A brutalized hand reaches for the girl before he can warn her and latches onto her. He’s in motion before either of them can utter a word.
The skin on the zombie is still pink, the blood vibrant; he’s newly turned, one of the other contestants.
With his strength and musculature still intact, she can’t break free to grab the stake out of the dead zombie’s head. The freshly undead teen pulls the blonde back towards him as her eyes helplessly meet Dick’s, she turns resigned as his teeth tear through her neck like butter.
Dick screams louder than she does.
The spray of blood from her carotid artery hits him as he slides on his knees to retrieve the weapon, pulling it out and stabbing it under the zombies chin with one fluid motion. Her body hits the floor before the corpse’s, Dick only hesitates a second to check for a pulse before driving the stake through her head as well.
Tears flow well in his eyes as he reminds himself she was already gone, no pulse, he doesn’t need any more of the undead in here with him.
Swiping his vision clear, he stays on the ground to catch his breath. He tries to block out the crowd but it’s hard when what they’re yelling is so disgusting.
“Strip and I’ll toss you a dagger!” One old man offers.
“Agree to be mine and I’ll throw down the ladder, handsome.” A venomous looking woman entices.
Dick grabs a handful of gravel and flings it up into the crowd as hard as he can. In the cacophony of pain and anger he gets to his feet and heads back into the maze, away from the main crowd looking down on him. He can’t waste his time screaming at them, they are just lucky the walls are too high for him to climb.
As he makes his way into areas he hasn’t explored he counts what players are left, two zombies and the kid. Dick tries to stay hopeful as he searches, further encouraged after taking down another one of the undead with no fresh blood on his mouth. He keeps his faith that the boy is alive. He’s gotta be.
Soft sobbing draws his attention as he gets near the back corner of the pit. There’s no spectating crowd forming here yet so it’s blessedly quiet. He finds the youngest contestant cowering on the ground, his knees drawn up tight to shield his sweaty, fearful expression.
Dick is careful to call out to the boy before approaching, scaring him off is the opposite of his goal. “Hey, hey you’re alright. I’m here now, we can fight the last one together. Are you with me, bud?”
The boy lifts his head at Dick’s voice but his face stays miserable. Tears cut clean tracks through the grime on his skin, it only accentuates the boyishness of his round cheeks.
It's only then that he notices how ghostly pale the kid looks.
Dick’s feet slow to a shuffle, finally taking a second to look at the whole picture.
The boy still doesn’t respond to him, simply raising his hand to swipe at the snot running from his nose.
Fresh blood, bright red, runs down his forearm.
It’s instinctual the way he shies back from the kid.
“Shit!” He curses, shoving a hand into his hair. Dick grips his roots painfully, trying to ground himself. “Fuck… it-it’s okay, we can still figure this out-”
Maybe it wasn’t a bite? There’s many ways to bleed down in these pits. He could be fine. It’ll be fine. Dick just needs to clean it up to get a good look at it and-
“He’s been bit, Grayson,” A familiar voice mocks from above. “It’s definitely not okay, you’re a little too late.”
Anger snuffs his panic like a bucket of ice water as he takes in the Mercenary above him. “You motherfucker, this is all your fault!” He accuses, gritting his teeth against more rage that wants to boil out. “Get me out of here now. We had a deal!”
Slade’s mouth quirks up as he pulls out a cigarette and lighter. “Think you’re mistaken, kid. I never agreed to anything.”
“The fuck you did! You went back on your word,” Dick seethes.
The man inhales unhurriedly before taking it out to answer. He squats down so Dick can better see his face. “That’s where you’re wrong, kid,” he taunts. “You needed help, I needed bait, I never agreed to shit. I could get through these doors without bringing along fresh meat. It was just your unlucky day.”
Slade flicks open a small pocket knife, tests the edge on his arm hair before folding it back up and tossing it at Dick’s feet. “I’m almost sorry to do this to you, but you’re quick and you’re crafty. Keep your head on and I bet you’ll make it a few more rounds.”
In the rage-inducing presence of Slade, the boy and the last zombie are all but forgotten.
Dick is shaking, holding himself back from throwing the knife right back where it came from. He still bends to retrieve it and clenches it tightly in his fist. He’s not quite dumb enough to throw away a weapon.
But god, he’d been so stupid.
B taught him- trained him- not to rely on anyone, yet he had trusted the mercenary and followed him blindly into hell. He gave him his virginity to be stuck in these pits.
Slade stands, flicking his cigarette butt into the pit beside Dick. “Good luck kid, you make it out of here, come find me and I’ll give you the fight you’re burning for.”
Dick is suddenly jolted out of his anger, the very person who put him in here could be his only hope of getting out. He’s got nothing to bargain with except his own body and a hunch.
“Your daughter was wrong about you,” Dick says to Slade’s back as he starts to leave.
The mercenary’s muscles ripple with tension as he freezes, his head turning to zero in on Dick. Slade’s voice is dangerously low, nearly a growl as he demands, “What did you say?”
Dick can’t help the victorious smile that takes over his face. “That night I overheard you and Billy. You said you were looking for someone, never said who, but then I saw a girl with white hair and a familiar type of arrogance… and I knew.”
“When did you see her, is she still here?”
“No. They took her, the same place they took my little brother. You get me out of here and I can lead us there.” He bargains, crossing his arms defensively.
Even from the pit, Dick can tell Slade is grinding his teeth.
“Tell me where they took her and I’ll consider pulling you out.”
Dick can’t help but laugh, “I may have been naive enough for that to work the first time, but I’m not stupid.”
Slade’s raised eyebrow begs to differ. “You aren’t ready for what it means if I get you out of here,” he warns ominously.
Dick scoffs, “I’ve been on the run before, Bruce is harder to lose than these fuckers.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. We aren’t running, I’m not blowing my cover for you.” Slade’s eye traces Dick’s body lasciviously, taking time to contemplate his next words before speaking. “If I pay them for you, then you’re mine, in all the ways you aren’t prepared for.”
Dick’s face turns red, finally realizing why only the pretty ones get spared. “You’re sick.”
“I’m realistic and I don’t do charity work.” Slade lets his words settle in, clawing their way under Dick’s skin. When his horrified expression doesn’t change, Slade shrugs, “That’s unfortunate, but I’ll find her on my own just as easily. You had potential, kid, but you’re too soft for the world outside your daddy’s walls…”
The man waits on the edge of the pit- giving Dick one last chance to change his mind- before turning his back again. It’s enough to pull a desperate, involuntary response from Dick, “Wait!”
Slade pauses, his head just barely visible to Dick beyond the pit walls. “Please, wait. My brother was shipped off to the same place as your daughter, he needs me. I-if I accept, you help get him out too.”
He glances over his shoulder, unmoved. “You are not in a position to negotiate-”
“PLEASE. Whatever you want from me: I”ll do anything, BE anything. Just promise.” Dick swallows the lump in his throat before using his last bit of ammo. Either Slade will pull him out after this or he won’t have to live knowing he failed his little brother. “Rose said you were a man of your word, don’t make her a liar.”
Slade twists around before Dick can blink, his glare pinning him in place like a physical entity. The mercenary’s controlled mask slips and all that’s left underneath is rage. It’s poisonous, all consuming… Dick can’t look away. He tries to take it back, he’s never miscalculated this poorly before meeting Slade, but the man cuts him off.
“You still want to get out of there, still want to belong to me?” Slade asks in a voice terrifyingly devoid of emotion.
Dick forces his fear-frozen body to respond, he can only manage a miniscule nod.
“Prove it. Kill the boy.”
He recoils immediately, “No!”
Slade tilts his head at the kid, “He’s at death’s door anyway, all you’re doing is shortening the wait time.”
Dick finally becomes aware of just how shallow the young boy’s breathing has become while he’s been arguing with Slade. He looks at the kid, who raises his head to meet his gaze. His face is empty of blood, lethargic but sweating profusely, he could turn at any moment… but he’s still just a boy right now. His pulse is so strong, he can see the poor kid’s heart looking like it wants to escape his chest. Dick’s face crumples in distress, turning to Slade in hope of finding any sympathy in his expression.
Slade’s face is as cold and closed off as ever. “He’s just about your brother’s age, isn’t he?” The mercenary asks as if just realizing.
Dick doesn’t remember starting to cry, it blurs his vision as looks back at the boy whose chin has started to tremble.
“We- we don’t kill the living,” Dick says, tilting his chin up as defiantly as he’s able to.
“That hippy shit is gonna get you killed someday, don’t let it be today,” Slade warns. “Kid’s only got a few more minutes, why’s it so wrong to put him out of his misery?”
“I won’t do it,” Dick nearly shouts. “It’s Bruce’s one rule-”
“Please,” A weak voice interrupts him. “Please, do it. I don’t want to be a monster.”
It’s an agonizing decision and Dick closed his eyes the whole time his knife goes in.
~~~
Dick wasn’t actually prepared for what it meant to get out of the pits. Slade stole their entertainment from them and they expected something in return.
“It’s just a blow job kid, don’t tell me you haven’t given or gotten one before.”
“Fuck you, it’s never been in front of an audience before.” He hissed, trying desperately not to focus on the lecherous eyes around.
”Don’t think I don’t remember you as that little acrobat orphan that would still try to cheer people up, even at the end of the damn world. You’re a performer, Dick. Perform.”
He sucks in a deep breath and drags Slade’s zipper down with his teeth. It doesn’t last long, the bitter tang of Slade’s cum coats his mouth as the man shakes hands with the evil people here. Dick doesn’t care anymore, he’s gone too far now. As Slade looks down at him, a sparkle of pride lighting up his eye, Dick’s afraid of how much further he’ll have to go.
It doesn’t matter if Dick won’t be allowed back in the compound, as long as Damian makes it home. He can live with it, he has to.